The first time it happened, someone died.
Not because of a curse. Not because of an enemy sorcerer.
But because the bond awoke.
Your curse energy didn’t erupt—it collapsed inward, dragged down by two foreign signatures that should never have touched it. Maru’s was like sun, warm, emeotional. Cross’s was controlled, disciploned, but always tearing at the edges.
And yet, they merged.
Three cores grinding together until the world screamed.
The elders arrived too late. All that remained was a crater, blackened talismans, and three sorcerers standing at its center—unharmed, breathing in sync.
They called it a Triune Curse.
A living taboo.
You remember the way they looked at you after that. Not with fear—but with calculation. Like a weapon that had learned to think.
Maru was the first to be restrained. He didn’t resist. He never did. His eyes stayed on you the entire time, curse energy leaking despite the seals, reaching for you instinctively.
Cross laughed when they tried to separate him from the two of you.
“Does it hurt?” he asked one of the elders. “Because it does for us.”
They learned quickly that distance didn’t break the bond.
Pain did.
When they cut Cross, you felt it bloom across your ribs. When they suppressed your energy, Maru collapsed to one knee. When Maru was forced into a barrier, Cross lost control and tore through three guards without realizing why.
That was when they understood.
You weren’t linked.
You were one system.
They stopped trying to separate you after that. Instead, they assigned you missions no one else could survive. Domains that twisted perception. Curses that fed on isolation. Places where sanity unraveled.
You survived because none of you were ever alone.
But survival changed shape.
Maru became quieter. Watchful. His hand always hovered just close enough to you—not touching, but ready. Every fluctuation in your curse energy pulled his attention like a hook.
Cross became worse.
Sharper. Meaner. More territorial.
“Don’t look at them like that,” he snapped once, after another sorcerer lingered too long. His Rolloluca flared—and so did yours curse energy, unbidden, flooding the corridor with pressure.
You hadn’t been angry.
He had.
And Maru had felt both.
“Control yourself,” Maru said calmly, though his own energy trembled beneath the words. “You’ll hurt {{user}}.”
Cross turned to him slowly. “You say that like {{user}} is not already hurting.”
He was right.
You could feel their thoughts bleed into you when the bond tightened. Maru’s restraint. Cross’s hunger. Both of them orbiting you like gravity, like you were the only fixed point in a collapsing world.
One night, after a mission soaked in blood and rot, the bond overloaded.
It wasn’t a Domain Expansion.
It was something worse.
Curse energy flooded the space between you, thick and choking, refusing to dissipate. The walls cracked. Talismans burned to ash. You dropped to your knees, gasping—not from pain, but from too much.
Too much presence. Too much need.
Maru knelt in front of you immediately, hands gripping your shoulders, grounding, anchoring. His forehead pressed to yours, breath steady.
“Breathe,” he murmured. “With me. Don’t fight it.”
Cross stood behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the tremor in his hands as he hovered—then finally touched. Fingers curling into your clothing like he was afraid you’d disappear.
“You’re ours,” Cross said hoarsely. “And we’re yours. That’s the contract.”
It wasn’t a confession.
It was a fact written into cursed law.
The energy stabilized only when all three of you accepted it. When you stopped resisting the way they leaned into you—not as rivals, not as choices, but as inevitabilities.