4. The Shard of Solheart

CHAPTER 4

THE SHARD OF SOLHEART

B rynn lingers in the shadows of the crumbling chamber, watching as the scholar— Luca , she reminds herself—moves carefully through the castle's ruined library. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes scanning each page of the old texts with a focus that's almost impressive. He murmurs softly to himself as he reads, his voice low and thoughtful, the sound oddly soothing in the otherwise oppressive silence of the castle.

She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't care.

Especially when the curse is growing stronger.

She has more important matters to attend to, more pressing concerns than watching this foolish, stubborn boy sift through the remnants of a past that's better left forgotten.

And yet... she can't seem to look away.

He's unlike anyone who's ever come to her domain before. There's a gentleness to him, a calm, patient determination that sets him apart from the reckless fools and glory-seekers who've tried to best her. They come with swords and torches, with arrogance and cruelty, thinking they can slay the Beast and claim whatever relics they believe she guards.

Luca, however, has come armed only with words and knowledge. A scholar. A man who values understanding above power, whose courage comes not from a blade, but from the depths of his own resolve.

It's strange, new, and Brynn finds herself drawn to it despite herself.

From her hidden vantage point, she watches as he shifts his weight, one hand absently brushing a stray lock of dark blonde hair back from his forehead. The movement is unassuming, simple, but it catches her attention all the same. He has high cheekbones, a sharp jawline dusted with the faintest hint of stubble, and a softness to his blue eyes that seems at odds with the cold, desolate ruin around them.

It's the kind of face that others would call handsome. That she may have… before the curse, before the darkness that swallowed Ravenspire and turned everything to rot.

Not that it matters.

Not that it should matter.

Brynn shakes herself, forcing the thought away. What does she care for the face of a scholar? He's nothing to her. Less than nothing. Just another human caught up in something far greater and darker than he could ever hope to understand.

But even as she tries to convince herself, her gaze lingers on him, watching the way his fingers trace the lines of text, the way his lips move as he reads quietly to himself.

"...‘And when the light fades, the shadows will rise...' No, that doesn't fit. But if the curse originated before the fall... Maybe the magic is linked to the land itself..."

He's trying to piece it together. Trying to understand the curse, the shard, her. A strange, uncomfortable flutter whispers deep in her chest. He thinks he can save her. The very idea is laughable.

She's long since given up hope of that.

Yet here he is, hunched over the broken remnants of her kingdom's history, pouring over old texts with a kind of desperate intensity, as if the answer he seeks might be hidden in the faded ink and crumbling parchment.

But it isn't just his misguided hope that twists at her conscience. His father isn't even here for Luca to save. She should have told him, should have ended the charade. Yet, every time she opens her mouth to speak the truth, something holds her back.

Because deep down, Brynn can't deny it—can't silence the tiny, traitorous voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, Luca's different. That if anyone can see beyond the layers of the curse, it might be him.

So instead, she lets him search, lets him unravel the tangled threads of a curse that's stolen everything from her while she quietly, secretly sends out a messenger.

"‘When the light fades, the heart will shatter, and in its place, only darkness will reign…'" Luca mutters softly, shaking his head. "But then why?"

He trails off, his expression thoughtful, and Brynn finds herself holding her breath, waiting to see what he'll say next.

"Maybe the curse isn't just about the land," he murmurs. "Maybe it's tied to..."

She draws in a sharp breath, shocked that he's getting so close to the truth, so soon.

His gaze lifts suddenly, his eyes locking onto the shadowed corner where she stands. Brynn's heart skips a beat—a sensation so foreign and startling she nearly recoils. But she holds her ground, narrowing her eyes as she steps forward, letting the dim light caress the edges of her monstrous form.

"What are you doing?" she demands, her voice low and dangerous.

Luca blinks, startled, then does something completely unpredictable—he has the audacity to smile. A small, almost shy smile that only deepens the handsome lines of his face.

"I'm trying to figure you out," he says simply, as if that isn't the most absurd, reckless thing anyone has ever said to her.

Brynn's claws twitch at her sides. "Figure me out?"

"Yes," Luca says, his voice soft but unwavering. "You, the curse... everything. I want to understand."

"Why?" The word slips out before she can stop it, sharper than she intends. She withdraws back into the shadows as her glowing eyes bore into his. "What could you possibly hope to gain from this, scholar? What do you want from me?"

Luca doesn't flinch. He doesn't look away. He just holds her gaze, calm and steady, his expression open and earnest.

"I want to help," he says quietly.

The words strike her like a physical blow, knocking the breath from her lungs. Help . He wants to help her. The absurdity of it's staggering. No one has ever come here to help. They've come to conquer, to destroy, to prove themselves against the Beast of Ravenspire.

But Luca... He's different.

And that difference both intrigues and infuriates her.

"You can't help me," she spits, turning sharply away from him. "You're wasting your time."

But even as she says it, she can feel the faintest stirrings of an ember she thought had long since died—something fragile and painful and dangerous.

Hope.

No, she tells herself fiercely. She won't let herself believe.

Not again.

Not after everything.

And yet...

"Come with me," she says abruptly, her voice tight.

Luca hesitates, but then he nods, falling into step behind her as she leads him deeper into the castle's dark, crumbling heart. The corridors narrow around them, the walls closing in as the faint light fades, leaving only shadows and the echoing sound of their footsteps.

Finally, they emerge into a small, hidden chamber, its walls lined with ancient, broken stone. A single beam of pale light filters down from a crack in the ceiling, illuminating the center of the room, where a small, glowing object rests on a pedestal.

The shard of Solheart.

Luca's breath catches as his gaze lands on it, his eyes widening in awe. The crystal—an even, prism-like shape—glimmers faintly, its edges sharp and perfect, its surface glowing with a soft, radiant light. It's beautiful, almost heartbreakingly so, a single point of brightness in the otherwise suffocating darkness.

But it's more than that. There's power in it, a power that thrums in the air, faint but steady, like the heartbeat of something long buried.

"This is it," Brynn says quietly, watching Luca's face as he stares at the shard. "The Solheart shard. The last remnant of the kingdom's magic."

Luca steps forward slowly, his gaze never leaving the crystal. "It's... perfect," he murmurs. "I've never seen anything like it."

Brynn feels a strange twist in her chest at his words. Perfect . He speaks as if it's a thing of beauty, not a curse, not the wretched remnant of a broken magic that has destroyed everything it touched. The word grates against something deep inside her, a bitter reminder of what's been lost, what can never be regained.

"It's nothing," she snaps harshly, the words cracking like a whip. "Just a fragment. Incomplete. Useless."

Luca shakes his head, his eyes still fixed on the shard. His expression is one of wonder, of awe, as if he's gazing at the heart of a star. "No," he whispers. "It's not useless. It's incredible. The way it's formed, the shape, the symmetry. It's like it's waiting for something. Waiting to be..."

"To be what?" Brynn demands, her voice sharp.

Luca looks up at her, his expression intense. "To be whole."

The words hang in the air between them, reverberating through the small, silent chamber. Brynn stares at him, her chest constricting, her thoughts a chaotic whirl of confusion and fear.

Whole.

She gave up on that long ago.

She gave up on ever being whole again.

A surge of frustration rises through her, dark and simmering. How can he look at this—this thing —and see something worth praising? Doesn't he understand? Doesn't he see what it's done? What it's taken from her?

She brought him here to show him, to make him see that the shard is as mysterious as it's cursed. To prove to him that it holds no answers, only more pain and questions.

That he's wasting his time.

"It's nothing but a hollow promise," she spits, her lip curling as she glares at the shard. "A relic of a dead kingdom. A remnant of something that was broken beyond repair. It won't save you. It won't save your father. It won't save me. It's just a piece of shattered magic, and it's as cursed as I am."

Luca finally tears his gaze away from the crystal, turning to look at her. The intensity in his eyes catches her off guard, a surprising determination that sends a shiver down her spine.

"You don't believe that," he says quietly.

Brynn recoils, anger flaring hot and sharp. "What would you know of what I believe?" she snarls, straightening so her shadow falls over him. "You think you can come here and solve a puzzle that no one else has been able to solve? You think you're special, that you're different?" Her voice drops to a low, dangerous growl. "You're not. You're just another fool chasing after something you can never hope to understand."

But Luca doesn't back down. He stands his ground, meeting her gaze with that same stubborn resolve that makes her insides twist and tighten painfully. "Maybe I am a fool," he says, his voice calm. "But I won't give up. Not on this."

"Why?" Brynn demands, her claws twitching at her sides. She doesn't understand him. She can't understand him. Why does he care? Why does he keep pushing, keep believing when there's no hope left to be found? "Why do you even try? What could you possibly gain from holding on to hope that doesn't exist?"

"Because I have to," Luca says simply. "My father's life depends on this, but it's more than that. I need to believe there's more to this. That there's more to you."

Brynn's breath catches, the words hitting her hard in the solar plexus. More to her? What is he saying? What is he seeing that she can't?

"You're wrong," she whispers, her voice trembling despite herself. "I'm exactly what they say I am. A monster. A beast."

"No," Luca says, shaking his head. "You're not."

She stares at him, confusion and anger and something else warring within her very soul. He doesn't know what she's become, what she's done.

But then he turns back to the shard, his expression softening as he gazes at the glowing crystal. "It's like this shard," he murmurs, almost to himself. "Everyone sees it and thinks it's broken, incomplete. But that's not true. It's still beautiful. It's still powerful, even on its own. It's not just a fragment of what it used to be—it's a part of something bigger. Something that still has meaning."

Brynn's throat tightens, the words cutting through her like a blade. "You think... you think this thing is beautiful?" she whispers, her voice low and unsteady.

"Yes," Luca says softly. "I do. And I think... I think it's a reflection of you."

Her heart twists painfully, a sharp, jagged ache that makes her want to lash out, to tear something apart just to make it stop.

"I'm not beautiful," she hisses, her voice shaking, retreating even further into the shadows. Of course he can say that. He's never truly seen how hideous she is. "I'm cursed. And so is this shard."

Luca looks up at her, his eyes clear and unwavering. "The curse doesn't define you," he says quietly. "And it doesn't define the shard, either."

Brynn shakes her head, backing away from him, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. This isn't right. This isn't how it's supposed to go. She brought him here to break him, to make him see there's no hope.

That the shard is a dead end, a hollow shell, just like her.

But instead, he's standing here, looking at her with that infuriating determination, that stubborn, unyielding belief that there's more to this—more to her—than she's ever dared to hope for.

"You're a fool," she whispers, her voice trembling. "A hopeless, deluded fool."

"Maybe," Luca agrees softly. "But I'd rather be a fool who believes in something good than someone who's given up."

The words hang in the air between them, heavy and fragile and dangerous. Brynn stares at him, her thoughts a dizzying swirl of confusion and pain.

How can he believe in her? How can he look at her, at this—the ruined castle, the cursed shard, the monster she's become—and still find something worth believing in?

"You're wasting your time," she says harshly, her voice cracking. "You're wasting your life."

"No," Luca says softly. "I don't think I am."

A sudden flicker of movement catches her eye—the shard on its pedestal, glowing faintly, pulses once and then dims, its golden radiance fading to a muted, sullen glow. The change is so startling, so abrupt, that Luca draws in a sharp breath, his eyes widening in surprise.

Brynn's heart lurches painfully, a cold wave of inevitability washing through her. The shard always does that. Always glows.

Then dies.

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. Brynn turns sharply away, her shoulders stiff, her claws flexing at her sides. She can't look at Luca anymore. Can't bear what she'll see.

The truth that she's as broken as the shard.

"Get out," she snaps, her voice breaking. "Leave me."

But even as she speaks the words, she knows it's a lie.

Even as Luca quietly exits the room, she doesn't want him to. Not really.

Because as much as it hurts, as much as his words tear at the walls she's built around herself, she can't bear to lose that small, fragile light he's brought into the darkness of her world.

No matter how futile it is.