Page 96

Esmyra

ONE WEEK LATER

T he past week had been a whirlwind of preparation, each day a blur of tasks, meetings with the council, and decisions that left Esmyra too busy to dwell on Draevyn’s betrayal.

Syrena was relentless in her guidance, speaking of ancient rites and the importance of aligning their energies for what was to come.

The people of Maerinys were prepared as well, their queen’s guards and advisors ensuring they knew all possibilities of what to expect—the earth quaking beneath them, the breaking of the dome, a sudden rush of waves.

But the truth was…no one truly knew what to expect.

So, they were sure to prepare for anything imaginable.

This wouldn’t just affect their lives, or that of their people, but all those above the surface as well—including her father.

If Esmyra and Syrena were able to break their curse and free themselves from their mortal bindings, then there was a chance Cyrus Blackwood’s curse would be shattered as well.

He would be able to walk on land. No longer would he suffocate on the shores of Rymelle or in the prison that held him these past several weeks.

Esmyra and Syrena had gathered their offerings for the other gods.

The sand from the ocean’s floor, marking the offering for Villaem, the god of agriculture and growth.

A torch to light for Irah, the god of rage and war.

And all that was left were their fears for Vydenne, the goddess of Illusion, which neither sister had spoken of what they would bring.

Esmyra contemplated everything that led her there. She had a plan, a sacrifice she was more than willing to make, hoping this offering would rid her of it, banishing it for the remainder of her existence.

Now, Esmyra and Syrena stood before the entrance to the crypt, while Azarian and the council trailed behind them in hooded robes.

Her breath hitched as she looked at the sealed door of their tomb, knowing nothing would be the same again once they reclaimed their power.

But what if they failed? Or if Syrena was wrong regarding what it would take? What if this was what they were always meant to remain as?

“Are you ready?” Syrena’s voice broke through her thoughts, bringing her a sense of peace she didn’t realize she needed.

Esmyra met Syrena’s gaze and, perhaps even for the first time, she saw Syrena for who she really was—she saw someone who shared her burden, who understood the weight of what they were about to do, likely even more than she did herself.

“Yes,” Esmyra answered, her voice unwavering, even as the beat of her heart pounded in her ears. “Let’s get this done.” Her gaze moved back to the door, and in unison, both sisters placed their palms against the cool stone.

The stone groaned, the ancient seals trembling under their touch.

A low hum filled the air, vibrating through the floor beneath their feet.

Neither spoke—they just stood entirely still, their eyes narrowed on the entrance to the crypt as it opened for them.

Slowly, the runes engraved on the door began to glow, faint at first, then brighter, illuminating the cavern just as before.

Only, the door wasn’t opening as it had the last time, refusing to slide down into a pocket of the earth as she had expected.

But with a deep, resonating crack , the stone split down the center.

Dust and fragments burst, and the massive slabs shifted outward, revealing the yawning darkness.

A rush of stale air greeted them, sending their hair flying backward.

Syrena swirled a taloned finger in the air and sent several orbs of merlights shooting into the crypt, revealing the shadowy alcoves and the two slabs of stone that held their bones.

Esmyra’s eyes instantly drifted upwards, to the two daggers hung on the wall, parallel to each of their resting places, with the Aeress trident suspended between them.

“Together,” Syrena whispered, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder.

She nodded and took the first step, crossing the threshold into the crypt. Azarian lit the torches lining the walls by striking two rocks together as he moved through the room, and their flames flared to life as if welcoming them—or warning them.

Esmyra’s gaze was locked on the raised platform. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her emotions churning as she stared at the altar holding the goddesses’ bones. The goddesses who were betrayed by someone she had loved—someone they both trusted.

But she knew better now and history would never repeat itself again.

Esmyra vowed to herself that she would no longer be a tool for others to use or a weapon for them to wield. A being of divine and ancient power, she would unleash a millennium’s worth of fury on anyone who tried to manipulate her again.

“Do you feel it?” Syrena asked, turning to look at her. “The magic here? The power?”

Esmyra closed her eyes and let herself feel, let herself reach out with more than just her senses. The crypt thrummed with energy, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. It called to her, whispered to her, demanding her attention.

It wasn’t just power—it was hers. It was theirs , and never again would they let it slip through their grasp.

“I feel it,” she said softly, almost wickedly.

Syrena’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “Good. We need to embrace it fully. It will take a significant amount of power to do what we plan.” As she spoke, her subjects lined the room, standing on the outskirts, their eyes remaining locked on the twins.

Esmyra’s feet felt heavy as she ascended the steps. She stopped at the edge of the platform, staring down at the perfectly intact bones that made a devastating chill run along her spine.

Syrena joined her, standing on the opposite end, the two stone tables between them. “Once we rebind ourselves to what was taken, we’ll finally be free.” The crypt seemed to hold its breath around them. “Just follow my lead, sister.”

Syrena reached forward first, Esmyra following the movements.

Her hand trembled over the ribcage of her skeleton, and as Esmyra’s fingers brushed the bone, a pulse of heat jolted through her, like fire in her veins. She gasped, clutching the edge of the altar to steady herself.

Syrena shivered as if an invisible wind had passed over her. “They call to us,” she breathed. Her stare lifted to Azarian, who now stood directly before the trident on the far side of the crypt. “Bring us the offerings, and once we have them, you must guard the door.”

Azarian obeyed, and together, Esmyra and Syrena took their offerings from his silver tray.

They summoned the water from the vessel, a string of it swirling through the air like a liquid ribbon, before pouring itself onto each altar.

They watched as it spilled over the bones like a living river, filling the cracks, pooling in the sockets and grooves of the ancient skulls.

In tandem, they scattered earth from the shores of Maerinys, which dissolved into silt, swirling and merging with the water like clay.

Azarian then removed the daggers from the walls, offering them to each twin as their blades glistened beneath the mix of mer and torchlight. The moment Esmyra’s fingers touched the hilt, her breath hitched.

I’m holding my own murder weapon. The blade that stole her life, driven into her chest by the man who claimed to love her.

She twirled the dagger, watching the swirling mix of the teal merlight and the fire’s flame mingle on its reflective edge. A bitter laugh slipped from her as she watched the dance of her water and Irah’s blaze mock her.

Esmyra’s stare lifted to her sister’s, each giving the other a sharp, sudden nod.

In unison, the twins held out their palms and sliced their blades through their flesh.

They both let out a sharp hiss as their skin tore.

Blood pooled in their hands, before turning their wrists and allowing it to fall onto the bones—which drank in the offering eagerly.

Onyx, spider-like veins instantly spread over their palms from the velsinyte.

“And lastly, it demands fear,” Syrena’s voice echoed eerily in the cavern.

Their eyes met, and Esmyra’s bloody fingertips grazed over the necklace Draevyn had given her the night of the celebration—the night she had given herself to him—mind, body, and soul. The night that changed everything, and the night she vowed to never repeat again.

Beautiful and blue with sharp edges. It reminded me of you , he had said.

Her fingers wrapped around the pendant, and she ripped it from her neck, the chain snapping before throwing it onto the altar.

“And what is it you fear, sister?” Syrena’s voice swirled around her, as if she were everywhere all at once.

Esmyra’s lips parted as her eyes remained on the blood-stained crystal. “Love,” she answered.

Her gaze slowly lifted to Syrena. “And what is it you fear, sister?” Esmyra echoed.

Syrena glanced down at the dagger in her hand, her arm trembling with a sudden rage, before she tossed the blade into the offerings. “Death,” she answered, her voice barely a whisper.

The air instantly grew thick with power—the weight pressed on her lungs, making each breath a struggle. As their blood seeped into the remains, the runes upon them pulsed with a faint glow.

Syrena reached out and grabbed Esmyra’s hand, their bleeding palms smashing together as their blood continued to rain onto the stone. Her twin’s lips parted as she gave her a subtle nod—the cue to begin their chant.

And together, their two voices intertwined, becoming a single, enchanting melody that resonated through the tomb.

By the tides that swallowed our name,

By the earth that buried our flame,

By allies that whispered lies untold,

We summon the power we once did hold.

From the gods who bound our bones in shame,

We summon your fear, your blood, and our name.

Essence of water, fire, stone, and mind,

Unravel our chains and return what is mine.