Page 69

The blow caught him across the chest, slicing through fabric and flesh with terrifying force. He was thrown backward, crashing into a broken column before collapsing onto the stone.

I ran.

I didn’t think—I ran.

The knight stepped between us, but I ducked beneath its reach, magic already burning at my fingertips.

I screamed the word. " Expello! "

The blast erupted from my hands, not aimed at the knight this time—but at the cracked column beside it.

The stone groaned—then shattered.

A chunk of ancient marble crashed down, slamming into the knight’s shoulder and knocking it off balance. Another followed, hitting its leg, then its helm. The beast staggered, runes flaring wildly.

One final piece of the arch gave way and collapsed on top of it.

The knight disappeared beneath the rubble with a guttural grinding sound.

The silence that followed was absolute.

“Sam!”

I was at his side in a breath, slipping on blood as I fell to my knees. His shirt was soaked through—ripped wide from collar to waist. I tore the fabric apart with shaking hands, revealing not only the wound—but the rest of his tattoos.

I froze.

His chest was a tapestry of ink—dragons, serpents, runes I didn’t recognize. They curled over his shoulders, down his ribs, across his heart. The details shimmered faintly, like they were carved with more than ink. They pulsed. Like they were alive.

The wound across his chest stole my breath.

Deep.

Clean.

Bleeding too fast.

I pressed my hands to it, frantic. “No no no—stay with me—stay with me—”

The Raven’s Echo pulsed at my throat.

"Do not let him fall," it whispered, curling around my panic like smoke. "You have the power. You always have."

“I—I don’t—” My throat closed.

"You do." The voice was firmer now. Older. Steadier. "Still your mind. Focus your breath. Magic listens to need, not fear."

Tears blurred my vision.

“Samael,” I whispered, cupping his face. “Stay with me. I’m here.”

His eyes fluttered—barely.

"He gave you his trust," the Echo urged. "Return it. Bind him to this world with your flame."

I moved my hand back to his chest and inhaled shakily.

My magic trembled inside me, erratic and wild.

I closed my eyes.

"Still your mind."

I focused on the feeling of his skin beneath my palm.

The sound of his ragged breath.

The weight of what I was about to lose.

I raised my hand, and the healing spell came like a river breaking through a dam.

“ Restaura. ”

A rush of golden-orange magic erupted from my fingers. It swirled into the wound, weaving through torn muscle, sewing skin together strand by strand. The spell sang through my bones, deeper than it ever had before.

His body arched slightly beneath me, but I pressed my free hand to his shoulder.

“Breathe,” I said through clenched teeth. “Come back to me.”

The spell pulsed.

The bleeding slowed.

And then—miraculously—his chest rose in a steady rhythm.

The magic shimmered and then dimmed, leaving behind a faint scar and the still-glowing runes beneath his skin.

I didn’t have the strength to heal him fully, my magic depleted. I fell forward, forehead pressed to his shoulder, sobbing silently.

After what felt like an eternity, a rough hand brushed my arm.

“Little raven,” he rasped.

I sat up instantly, blinking away tears. His eyes were open now—glazed with pain, but awake. Present.

“You idiot,” I whispered, laughing through my tears. “You absolute, reckless idiot—”

“You saved me,” he croaked. “Didn’t think—I’d ever say that out loud.”

“You nearly died.”

He managed a half-smile. “Worth it.”

I wiped at my face with the back of my sleeve. “You’re not allowed to die. Not yet. Not here.”

Then I surged forward and kissed him—quick, fierce, trembling with everything I couldn’t say.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was desperate, shaking, and real, a frantic tether to keep him here, to keep him mine.

His breath hitched beneath me, lips parting against mine, and for one dizzy second, I could feel the pulse of his heartbeat—weak, but there.

I pulled back, gasping, my forehead pressed to his.

“You stay,” I whispered. “Do you hear me? You stay.”

His eyes opened slowly, the faintest smile ghosting across his lips.

“I’m trying,” he breathed. “I swear I’m trying.”

Samael shifted slightly, winced. “How bad is it?”

“You’ll live,” I said, “but I’m buying you a new shirt.”

His smile turned into a grimace.

“Can you stand?”

“I’ll try.”

I helped him up slowly, his arm around my shoulders. He was heavy, his legs unsteady, but we made it to our feet. The glow from the tower still flickered in the distance, like a lighthouse through a storm.

“That’s where we’re going?” he asked, breathing hard.

I nodded. “We don’t have another choice.”

He looked at me then—truly looked.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “Back in the tower. I would kneel for you.”

I swallowed hard.

“I don’t need you to kneel,” I said quietly. “I just need you to stand.”

And together, we turned toward the tower.

Samael leaned heavily against me, his arm draped across my shoulders, his breath still ragged as we moved deeper into the ruins.

The glow of the tower flickered in the distance, sometimes visible through gaps in the stone, other times vanishing entirely behind the twisting maze of walls. The terrain was unforgiving—fallen arches, crumbling steps, and narrow gaps that forced us to squeeze sideways between stone.

Dead end.

We turned around.

Another path—stairs that led nowhere.

Another dead end.

Frustration crawled beneath my skin, itching like fire. Every time I thought we were getting closer, the ruins turned us around again. It was like the stronghold itself refused to be navigated, reshaping its corridors just out of spite.

And then—I heard it.

A scream.

High. Sharp. Familiar.

“Bethany,” I gasped, turning toward the sound.

Samael stiffened beside me. “We have to go.”

We had no direction, and the ruins—the ruins were endless.

I started forward again, pushing past shattered stone and thorn-wrapped archways, forcing us through narrow halls. My eyes scanned for any path that might lead toward the source of the scream.

We had to find them. We had to find her.

Then, the Raven’s Echo flared against my chest—sudden, searing.

I gasped and stumbled to a halt, one hand flying to the pendant. The smoky quartz glowed bright beneath my sweater, heat blooming across my sternum like a heartbeat pressed to flame.

“Left,” it whispered, the voice silk-soft and ancient. “The way is veiled in ruin. Look closer, little flame.”

The air thickened. The world seemed to hold its breath.

Then I saw it.

A narrow gap in the wall, nearly hidden behind a curtain of creeping vines and half-buried in rubble.

A rusted iron gate stood twisted at its base, crooked and broken, guarding the mouth of a sloping tunnel that vanished into the dark.

Frigid air coiled up from the passage, damp and electric, humming faintly with magic older than anything I’d ever felt before.

“You wouldn’t have seen it without me,” the Echo murmured, its voice almost fond. “But your path is yours to walk. Go. Downward lies the thread.”

I turned to Samael. “This is it.”

He didn’t question.

We moved.

I hesitated, heart pounding.

Together, we descended into the dark.

The air thickened instantly—cool and musty, filled with the scent of old stone and decay. The walls were damp, slick with centuries of condensation. Our footsteps echoed strangely, distorted by the narrow tunnel and the silence pressing in from all sides.

The stairs twisted and turned, deeper and deeper, until the ruins above felt like another world entirely. At the bottom, we emerged into what could only be described as catacombs.

Dozens of arched alcoves lined the curved walls—each filled with weather-worn bones, collapsed tombs, and the remnants of long-dead priests or kings. Massive stone columns supported the domed ceiling, their surfaces carved with ancient, unreadable runes.

Everything smelled of dust and forgotten rites.

“This place is older than the tower,” Samael muttered.

His voice was low, echoing eerily off the ancient walls, each syllable a ghostly whisper in the stagnant air.

He shifted beside me, pain etched across his features, but his eyes were hard and determined.

“It must be. It’s like nothing we’ve seen. Not even in the Academy archives.”

“It feels—wrong,” I whispered back, my words barely breath as they left my lips. There was a thickness in the air, a heaviness, as if the shadows themselves were watching us. I tightened my grip on

Samael, the ache in my own limbs a dull reminder that there was no time to waste.

Then the silence broke.

A low, clicking sound echoed through the catacombs. Fast.

Sharp. Non-human.

We both spun toward the noise, my free hand straining to keep the light of my Lucenara spell steady. The glow flickered over damp stone and tangled shadows, quivering in time with my pulse.

Something was moving in the dark.

Not walking—gliding. Rapid.

Clicking.

The sound skittered along my nerves, lighting them on fire.

My heart gate into my throat, and I squeezed my eyes shut for the briefest moment, trying to block it out.

“Hide,” Samael said, his voice a choked gasp.

He pulled me behind a crumbling column, and then he ducked behind a collapsed stone altar. We dropped low to the floor, sliding beneath fallen rubble and the thick, stifling air. I barely had time to draw breath before it entered the chamber.

The creature was barely visible—just a shape, a shadow, made of sinew and claw and sleek black wings that stretched impossibly wide.

Its body moved like smoke, rippling and half-formed.

Long limbs ended in razored fingers that curled against the stone.

It had no eyes, only pits of empty black where a face should be.

It clicked rapidly—each sound sharp and short, like snapping twigs in succession.

It was listening.