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I study her face. She’s not afraid, not drawn to dramatics the way the others might be. She’s silent, but in that silence, she’s making decisions. Dangerous ones. Her magic brushes mine again, a brief static flicker like something too volatile to fully restrain. It coils at the edge of her skin, shimmering low and deep like a second heart—and the Keep responds to it. The carved floor pulses once, steady now, not erratic. Acknowledging her. Not Branwen.Her.

“This isn’t about legacy,” I say, stepping forward, voice low but sharp enough to draw every eye to me. “We’re not here to preserve what Branwen left behind or trap what’s left of her in another damn seal. That bitch is already dead. This place isn’t sacred because she made it so. It’s sacred because she buried something in it. A contingency. A way out.”

Luna shifts her gaze toward me, and for once, she doesn’t look like she wants to tear me apart for saying what everyone else is too careful to admit. Her eyes are cold, but clear. Focused. She's listening, not because she trusts me, but because sheknowsI’m right.

“She built another pillar,” I continue, letting the thought slide into the open like poison, “and she hid it here, beneath the bones of a ruined stronghold no one would ever think to search. Because we all assumed this place was already dead.”

Orin, steps forward with the quiet purpose of someone ancient enough not to waste movement. His gaze sweeps across the seal, then to Luna. “She built the Hollow in her image. But she didn’t trust it. She modeled it after her empire, her rituals, her war. But the real power? The way back to the world she lost?” His gaze settles like gravity on Luna. “She wouldn’t have risked that being found. She would have buried it at the center of a place no one could reach. Except someone like her.”

“If the portal is here,” Riven says, stepping beside her, his voice lower now, almost intimate, “it won’t open for just anyone. She had to embed it in something. In someone.”

“And now it’s waking,” I add, letting my eyes settle on Luna, not looking away. “Because it sees her.”

Luna tilts her head slightly, not enough to break that perfect stillness, but enough to speak volumes. “I don’t want Branwen’s power,” she says, her voice calm, controlled. “I’m not her.”

My response is immediate, even, and without apology. “You don’t need to want it. Youhaveit.”

She doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t protest. She simply breathes in once, steady and shallow, then lowers her gaze to the floor where the glyphs are still glowing beneath her boots. The seal remains dormant—but alert. A predator in wait. The kind that doesn’t chase. The kind that knows its prey will come willingly.

Behind us, Elias fidgets. He mutters something to Silas that sounds like a joke, and Silas snorts, but there’s no real humor behind it. There never is when Luna’s involved. Elias steps forward, attempting levity like it’s a shield. “So… we’re just gonna hope the glowy death seal is the path to a secret portal and not… you know, spontaneous combustion? Great. Love this plan. Very safe. Verynormal.I give it… eight out of ten fireballs.”

“I’d say nine,” Silas adds cheerfully. “But only if Lucien goes first.”

Lucien’s look could flay stone. “I’d rather burn.”

“You might get your wish,” I mutter.

Orin’s voice slices through the noise, firm but quiet. “This seal is older than any of us. It’s a binding ritual, yes—but not one meant to tether a soul. It’s an anchor. One side to hold the Hollow in place. One to tear a hole through it. Branwen would’ve needed both. She only built one pillar before she fell. This was her fail-safe. If she failed to escape—this place would open the way back.”

“And now it needs her magic to complete the circuit,” I finish, letting the weight of it sink in. “And it’s already recognized Luna as enough of her to try.”

She steps forward once, into the outer ring.

The reaction is instant.

The glyphs bloom brighter, cascading around the circle like a pulse of starlight. Not violent. Not inviting. Justinevitable.I watch her body absorb the shift without hesitation, but I can feel it—how every nerve in her skin goes taut, how her breath sharpens, how the power curls low in her spine and doesn’t settle. She’s a fuse. A conduit. Branwen’s magic isn’t clinging to her—it’s circling her, waiting for her tochoose.

Orin turns to her, the words slow and deliberate. “The pillar will be buried behind the final seal. Once it opens, we’ll know if she built the way out—or something worse.”

Lucien moves sharply. “You’re saying she has to finish it.”

“She already started it,” Orin replies. “There’s no turning back now.”

Luna lifts her eyes to his. And then, slowly, to mine.

Her voice is quieter this time. Not uncertain. Just resigned. “What happens if it opens something else?” My answer isn’t kind. But it’s true.

“Then we deal with it. Or we die in here with it.”

She holds my gaze. Doesn’t look away. And then she nods once, deliberate.

She steps fully into the seal. And the Keep begins to wake. The glyphs surrounding her flare brighter, casting warped shadows across the marble floor that writhe and twist, alive in ways shadows shouldn’t be. The light isn’t light at all—just the illusion of it, pulled from some other plane, bending through Luna’s presence like a prayer spoken in reverse.

We’re both watching the same thing: the way her magic coils outward, not like it’s being forced from her—but like the Keep is siphoning it, coaxing it with reverence, with hunger.

A low grinding begins beneath our feet.

The seal doesn’t just glow now—itshifts. Stone plates slide beneath the glyphs, rotating in precise, measured rings. Each layer beneath her begins to unlock a new level of the ritual, and with it, the entire room groans. Not metaphorically. The Keepmoans, like it hasn’t moved in centuries and is furious at the intrusion.