he emperor’s command reverberated through the cold stone walls of the chamber. His voice was

  low, dangerous, filled with the weight of absolute power as he declared his will: “If she defies

  us again, we simply kill her. We can always bring another one.”

  But his words hung in the air like smoke, dissipating without the satisfaction of finality. For there

  was a problem that the king had not anticipated, something he had not counted on when he

  ordered the ritual. Vasilisa—the vessel—was not what they had expected.

  She had defied the ritual, rejected the very core of it, and yet, despite all their attempts to break

  her, to force her into submission, she refused to yield. Every strike, every lash of pain that was

  meant to bring her to her knees—none of it worked. Her body felt the full force of it, the pain

  was undeniable, but her immortality was unshakable. No wound could bring her down.

  She regenerated with each strike, each wound healing almost as quickly as it was inflicted. It was

  as though she was not just a woman, but a force of nature. No matter what the king, his soldiers,

  or the cat’s manipulative powers did to her, she could not die. And if she did not die, the queen

  could not appear, and without the queen, the kingdom would falter.

  The king’s frustration grew as he watched the woman, battered and broken, but still alive—still

  standing with a fiery defiance in her eyes. He barked orders to continue the punishment, but even

  he could not deny the oddity of what he was seeing. She wouldn’t break. Not like the others

  before her.

  In the shadows of the dungeon, the cat—the ancient, scheming being who had orchestrated this

  entire affair—watched with an eerie detachment. His cold, yellow eyes flickered with a strange

  thought, an idea that he hadn’t considered before. If the vessel could not die, then what was his

  role here?

  He had not brought her to suffer. He had not chosen her because of her ability to atone for her

  past—no, there was something far greater at play. Vasilisa, the girl who had once seemed so

  fragile, was becoming something far more formidable. It was no longer a matter of submission or

  power—it was about purpose.

  And so, he ventured to her, stepping into the cold stone cell with an air of finality. His presence

  was a quiet storm, a whisper of something darker than the darkness that surrounded them.

  Vasilisa’s eyes flickered, knowing the moment he entered. The cat had been there since the

  beginning, guiding her into this strange, suffocating world. But now, he had a proposition.

  He looked at her, his voice low and chilling as he spoke, his words measured. “You have defied

  the king, and yet you still live. I will offer you a bargain.”

  Vasilisa, lying against the cold stone, bloodied but unbroken, gazed up at him with eyes full of

  fire. “What could you offer me, creature?” she asked, her voice hoarse but resolute. “You

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  have no power here. You can’t save me.”

  The cat’s eyes flickered, a spark of something deeper behind them. “You think I can’t save

  myself? You are mistaken. I can offer you something that you cannot imagine. I can offer

  you protection.” His words were not a plea, nor a suggestion—they were a promise.

  She stared at him, her eyes narrowing. “Save me?” she asked, voice tinged with bitterness.

  “Can you save yourself, cat? Are you immortal too?”

  The cat said nothing for a long moment, his silence pregnant with meaning. Finally, he spoke

  again, his voice soft yet cold. “I did not bring you here to suffer, Vasilisa. I brought you here

  because you have a greater role to play. I did not choose you because you are innocent. If I

  wanted innocence, I would have chosen your sister. But you— you are something else.”**

  Vasilisa turned her face away, staring at the stone wall as the weight of his words pressed upon

  her. Her thoughts turned inward. “I’m a murderer. I’ve killed. If I hadn’t done that, I’d

  probably be in hell by now. So, tell me— is hell less painful than this?”**

  The cat did not flinch at her words. Instead, he stepped closer, his voice softer now, almost

  coaxing. “You have been brought here to play a role far greater than you know. I will not

  allow you to suffer forever, nor will I let you fall into despair. If you agree, I will make sure

  you are protected. Your sister will live a joyful life. She will be safe. And you…”

  Vasilisa’s eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, the world outside the cell seemed to fall away.

  “And I?” she asked quietly, the question lingering in the air.

  The cat tilted his head, his gaze calculating. “And you will know everything when the time

  comes. Help will come for you—people who will help you escape this place. You will be

  safe, and when you leave, you will understand why I have chosen you.”

  In the dark corners of the dungeon, the air was heavy with the promise of something greater.

  Vasilisa, bound by fate and her own strength, now had a choice to make: to accept the cat's offer,

  to play a part in the story far beyond her own understanding—or to continue to defy the kingdom

  that sought to break her.

  Her body ached, the pain still lingering, but in that moment, Vasilisa felt something stir within

  her. A glimmer of hope—or perhaps, something far more dangerous. "I accept," she whispered,

  her voice low but firm. "But you must promise me this: protect my sister. Promise me, cat,

  that she will be safe."

  The cat gave a small, eerie smile, his words a chilling confirmation. “I will protect her. And in

  time, you will know everything.”

  As his figure retreated from the cell, the weight of her decision settled in. Vasilisa had taken the

  first step toward her unknown future—a future that promised power, danger, and the shadow of

  things yet to come.

  And though her body was broken, her spirit was not.