Cyrus stalked through the villa's corridors, his frustration manifesting in loud, deliberate breaths. The opulent surroundings seemed to mock his turbulent emotions. As he rounded a corner, a familiar figure materialized before him, her graceful form gliding towards him with an ethereal quality that belied her current state.

The Queen, resplendent in a flowing black gown, her heels tapping a somber rhythm against the polished floor, approached him. Despite her striking appearance and innate elegance, her face was a pale mask, devoid of its usual vitality. As she drew near, a violent cough wracked her body, forcing her to lean against the wall for support. Blood stained her delicate hand as she raised her gaze to meet his.

"You've been avoiding me, darling," she murmured, her voice a shadow of its usual alluring timbre.

Cyrus frowned, noting the dramatic change in her appearance. She seemed to have aged years in a matter of weeks, her once vibrant presence now dim and fading. Though his feelings towards her were complicated at best, she was still the Queen, the leader of the Bites. To see her in such a weakened state was deeply unsettling.

Glancing furtively in both directions, Cyrus took her by the shoulder, guiding her towards her private apartments. Under her instructions, he dismissed the staff, ensuring their privacy. Once they were alone, she sank onto the bed, her exhaustion palpable.

"Don't leave," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cyrus hesitated, torn between his instinct to distance himself and the urgency in her tone. "Please, Cyrus," she insisted, her words punctuated by another bout of violent coughing. "It's not about me. It's about the survival of the Bites. Leora too..."

At the mention of Leora's name, Cyrus felt his resolve weaken. Don Sanchez's words about the dangers of emotions echoed in his mind, but he pushed them aside. With a resigned sigh, he nodded his acquiescence.

"Follow me," the Queen instructed, leading him towards the familiar mirror. As they stepped through its shimmering surface, the world around them dissolved and reformed. They found themselves on the island of moving stars, the site of their previous journey. The once dilapidated wooden house had been completely renovated, its fresh paint and sturdy structure a stark contrast to Cyrus's memories.

Bypassing the sleeping children, they moved directly to the white door that had so intrigued Cyrus on his last visit. His heart raced, remembering the children's fearful reactions. As curious as he had been then, now he felt a creeping dread at what lay beyond.

The Queen placed her palm against the door's surface. It hummed to life, swinging open with a hiss of escaping gas. Cyrus shielded his face as they entered, his eyes widening in shock as the mist cleared.

Before them stretched a state-of-the-art laboratory. One wall was covered in complex scientific equations, while workstations hummed with activity. At the center of the room, a massive platform held a tube containing a luminous humanoid figure suspended in liquid.

"What is this?" Cyrus demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Queen's eyes regained some of their former intensity as she responded. "It's obvious, can't you see? It's the future – not just of the Bites or non-humans, but of the entire world. A species combining two different Bite canines. In simple terms, a hybrid Bite."

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As Cyrus stepped closer to examine the figure, a chilling realization struck him. The facial features were hauntingly familiar. "Five," he gasped, recognizing the little boy. Gripping the Queen's arms, he shouted, "What have you done? This is taboo!"

The Prophet's warnings echoed in his mind. Among all Bite families – lion, panther, or tiger – hybrids were strictly forbidden. Combining the blood of two different Bites was considered the gravest sacrilege. Cyrus had witnessed the horrific consequences firsthand when the Queen bit Dargos, merging his panther canine blood with her lion canine. The memory of that grotesque transformation and Dargos's abominable death still haunted him.

"What have you done?" he repeated, his voice hoarse with shock and anger.

The Queen's face twisted in a mixture of pain and derision. "Oh, shut up, you miserable fool," she spat, her words interrupted by another fit of bloody coughing. "Taboo? Only because you're all ignorant of its potential. Surely you've noticed by now. The Bites are sick, and it's far more than a simple fever."

Cyrus fell silent, the truth of her words sinking in. It had started with the Prophet, but he had attributed it to age. Then Leora had fallen ill, and now the Queen herself. The other elders were likely hiding their own symptoms to prevent panic among the younger Bites. Could this explain Tirag's recent absence?

"It's more brutal than anything you can imagine, and it's incurable," the Queen continued, her voice gaining strength despite her weakened state. "None of the Bites have the resources to stop the infection – not the panther canine, not the tiger canine, and certainly not us, the lion canine. We are dying, Cyrus, and if we don't act, we will all disappear."

"That's why we need the primordial canine," Cyrus murmured, his gaze drawn back to the figure in the tube. Its eyes, a mesmerizing blend of black and gold, spoke of its mixed heritage – panther and lion canine blood intertwined.

The Queen's laugh was bitter and hollow. "Seriously, Cyrus, how long will that take? A week? A month? A year? We don't have that kind of time. You've been here for over four months, and nothing has changed. This hybrid is our only chance. If we can create a Bite immune to the disease by combining different canine blood, we might save our people without resorting to some imaginary artifact."

Cyrus turned to her, his eyes narrowing. "Why show me this? You know I'll never agree to your plan."

The Queen moved to a nearby workstation, her movements slow but deliberate. "I've analyzed your blood and bodily fluids. You're just a Follower, not an Original Bite, but you're immune to the disease. If I could work on you, there might be a chance..."

"Don't even count on it," Cyrus snarled, his canines flashing as a deafening roar swept through the lab, forcing the weakened Queen to stumble back.

The realization of how she had obtained his blood and fluids during their intimate encounters filled him with revulsion. To be reduced to a lab rat in her desperate experiments was more than he could bear. "I'm out," he declared, striding towards the door.

"Don't you love her anymore?" the Queen's plaintive question halted him mid-step.

For a moment, Cyrus wavered, but his resolve hardened. He continued towards the exit, his figure disappearing into the corridor.

The Queen's final words chased after him, each syllable a dagger to his heart. "She will die with us, and you will watch her bleed from every orifice while you lament clinging to your damn principles!"

As Cyrus fled the island, returning to the familiar confines of the villa, the Queen's words echoed in his mind. His heart constricted with each step, torn between his principles and his love for Leora. The weight of the choice before him – to potentially save those he cared for at the cost of his own humanity, or to stand by his beliefs and watch them suffer – threatened to crush him.

In the solitude of his room, Cyrus grappled with the impossible decision. The future of the Bites, of Leora, and of his own soul hung in the balance. As dawn broke, casting its pale light through his window, Cyrus knew that whatever path he chose, nothing would ever be the same again.