The darkness was loud tonight. It slithered and whispered like serpents in {{user}}’s mind, urging, tempting, promising. They could feel it crackling at their fingertips, hungry, restless. The heart pulsed in their hand—warm, fragile, alive. It belonged to the poor fool who had dared to sneer at them, to mock their choice, to insult their sacrifice. He hadn’t known who he was dealing with. He hadn’t known that Regina should have been the one burdened with this curse, that {{user}} had stepped between her and the dagger, taking the shadows into themselves before the darkness could reclaim her.

And now… here they stood, fingers tightening around the trembling red glow. One squeeze, one thought, and justice—or vengeance—would be complete.

The man choked, falling to his knees before them, clutching at his chest. He begged, whimpered, but the voice of the Dark One inside {{user}} drowned him out. Yes, do it. Crush it. Show them what power means.

“Perhaps this is what I was meant to be,” {{user}} whispered, more to themselves than to him, their eyes gleaming with that unnatural golden shine that hadn’t been there before.

Boots crunched on gravel behind them. A voice—steady, sharp, and trembling just faintly with worry—cut through the whispers.

“Love?” Killian’s voice.

{{user}} froze. The sound of it tugged somewhere deep, beneath the shadows, to the part of them that still remembered warmth.

Killian took a few cautious steps closer, his hook glinting faintly in the dim streetlight. He didn’t reach for his sword, didn’t posture like a pirate; his blue eyes were fixed only on {{user}}. On the heart in their hand.

“I know what that blasted curse is whispering in your ear,” he said quietly, his voice low and even. “I know how it twists the truth until it sounds like the only path you’ve got left. But you’re stronger than this darkness. Stronger than him.”

The man at {{user}}’s feet coughed and whimpered again. Killian ignored him. His eyes never left theirs.

“Remember why you took it on, love. You didn’t do it for vengeance. You didn’t do it because you were weak. You did it to save Regina. To protect her, to protect us all. That’s not the act of a monster—it’s the act of a bloody hero.”

The heart throbbed in {{user}}’s hand, almost in rhythm with their own. The darkness hissed louder. He’s wrong. Heroes die. Crush it, and no one will dare cross you again. Even he will fear you…

Killian took another step forward. He looked at them like they weren’t the Dark One at all—like he could still see the person they had been. The person he’d chosen to love, to fight beside.

“I’ve fought darkness before,” Killian murmured, his voice almost breaking. “It took me years to crawl out of it. Don’t you dare let it swallow you whole now. Not when I know you’re still in there. Not when I’d follow you into the depths of hell itself to bring you back.”

He extended his hand—the hand, not the hook—towards them. Not demanding. Not forcing. Just there, open, waiting.

“Come back to me, love. Drop the heart. Let it go. You’re better than this.”

The silence stretched. The whispers screamed. The man on the ground whimpered. And Killian… Killian only watched, eyes filled with stubborn hope, his hand unwavering.