“Is that the dark wielder’s cure?” Andarna asks, her head moving in a serpentine motion. “To evolve?” My breath freezes in my chest. The female’s golden eyes narrow to slits. “There is no cure.” No cure? Her words hit like a physical blow, and my knees threaten to buckle. “If they trade their soul, surely they can get it back,” Andarna retorts. “It is not a trade,” the female lectures. “The soul is not kept by the earth as dark wielders steal its magic. The power exchange kills the soul one piece at a time, and death has no cure.”
