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LUKE

The moment Felix begins the ritual incantation, I feel the air change. Power gathers around us, responding to his words, to the blood we’ve offered, to the objects that represent our connections to Gaida. The triangulation circle pulsates with soft blue light, its precisely drawn lines activating one by one. I haven’t dared to believe this will bring her back, but the boys need it. They need to do something. So, I’m here, holding onto my last shred of sanity while I give them this thing. This is one thing I know she would want me to do, even if it nearly kills me.

I’ve witnessed countless magickal workings over the centuries. Rituals that could raise mountains, call storms, or communicate across vast distances. None have carried this particular quality of anticipation, this sense of standing at a cliff edge between what is possible and what should be impossible.

“ Vocare ex terminus, anima perditum ,” Felix chants, his voice resonating through the chamber. “ Sanguis ligatum, tres vincula, unum propositum .”

The ancient words flow off his tongue as if it were his natural language. Dante stands opposite him, eyes closed in concentration, both hands extended palms upward as he contributes his energy to the working.

“ Per sanguinem nostrum, viam aperimus ,” I add, taking up my part of the incantation. “ Per memoriam nostram, te invenimus .”

The chalice of blood placed in the centre trembles, and the crimson liquid emerges in a perfect sphere.

“ Per amorem nostrum, te revocamus ,” Dante completes the first triangulation, his voice steady despite the emotion clearly visible on his face.

The personal items we’ve contributed glow, radiating an energy that corresponds to the blood sphere, creating visible connections between them. Strands of light weave through the air, forming a complex geometric pattern above the centre of the circle.

“We call to you, Gaida Aragon,” Felix continues, switching to English. “We who are bound to you by blood and memory, by shared experience and emotion.”

“We create a pathway between worlds,” I add, focusing intently on memories of her.

“We offer ourselves as anchors,” Dante says, the compass in front of him spins frantically. “Three points of connection. Three bonds unbroken by your sacrifice.”

The geometric pattern above us becomes more complex, the strands of light shifting and reconfiguring themselves into what resembles a doorway. The energy in the chamber intensifies, pressure building as the boundary between worlds thins.

“Speak your truth,” Felix instructs us, voice strained with the effort of maintaining the working. “Complete the bond triangulation with absolute honesty.”

Taking a deep breath, I release it and close my eyes. “I love you, Gaida.” Saying her name is hell, but I have to keep going. It feels like my heart has been torn out of my chest, that I’m not alive, just existing. “I have never known love before you entered my life. When I first saw you, I knew you were different. Special. The way your spirit shone so bright, your courage in the face of danger, your capacity for kindness even to those who didn’t deserve it. I’ve lived for centuries, but I’ve never been truly alive until I met you. Losing you has been like losing the sun, and I’ve been wandering in darkness since. Come back to us. Come back to me.”

I open my eyes when strands of light connect to my offering, shining bright. The ruby pendant rises slightly, hovering just above the circle’s edge.

Felix follows, his voice thick with emotion. “Gaida, my sire, my creator, my friend. You saved me when I should have died. You gave me a new life, a new purpose. The bond between us is unlike anything I’ve ever known, deeper than friendship, more profound than family. I need you. Without you, I’m lost, incomplete. The hunger grows stronger each day, but it’s nothing compared to the emptiness where you should be. Please, if you can hear me, follow our connection back.”

His blood-stained shirt trembles, rising to match my pendant.

Dante takes a shuddering breath before speaking. “Gaida. From the moment we met, I was drawn to you. Not because of what you are, but who you are. Your strength, your humour, your heart. Your willingness to fight for what’s right even when it’s difficult. You changed me in ways I never expected. You made me want to be better, to be worthy of you. I promised we would have a future together—children, a life. I need you to come back so I can keep that promise. I love you more than I ever thought possible. Please, come home to us.”

The compass floating before him spins wildly, then stops, pointing directly at the centre of our circle.

Then everything collapses.

The connection implodes with a thunderous crack. The blood sphere falls, splashing across the ritual circle. Our personal items drop to the floor, their glow extinguished.

“No!” Dante cries, stepping forward as if he could physically grasp what has disappeared.

Felix staggers, nearly falling to his knees with exhaustion. “Something’s missing,” he gasps. “The triangulation was incomplete.”

The chamber feels suddenly cold, the air heavy with failed potential. The candles flicker, several extinguishing entirely.

“We need to try again,” Dante insists, his face tight with desperation.

“Not immediately,” Felix cautions. “The energies need time to stabilise. And we need to identify what went wrong.”

I remain stock-still. It was me. I didn’t believe. Not truly.

“We try again,” I say, grimly, determined this time to push aside the pain, the grief, the desolation.

“We don’t know what went wrong,” Felix says.

In a flash, I’m beside him, gripping his arm. “We try again,” I grit out.

Felix nods, giving me a death stare. “Give me a minute to reset the circle.”

I release his arm, aware I’ve left bruises that are already healing. My control is slipping. I need to rein myself in if we’re to have any chance of success. Everyone seems to have forgotten that I’ve lost my sire, too. Again. For the third time. I’m not sure who I’m going to have to kill first, myself or Felix, if this doesn’t work. I close my eyes again and try to control my breathing. After a moment, I open them again and return to my place.

Dante collects our personal items while Felix redraws the ritual circle with fresh blood-infused chalk. I stand back, watching them work with single-minded determination.

“The triangulation was incomplete,” Felix murmurs, more to himself than to us. “But why?”

“Perhaps we misused the chalice,” I suggest, knowing I should come clean, but I will hurt them both if I admit that I’m not altogether convinced by this ritual. But I have to be. I have to let myself dare to hope, or it will fail every time. I just need a minute to feel it.

Retrieving the chalice from where it fell during the ritual’s collapse, I stare at it. The vessel that contains our blood, the Blood Queen’s consciousness and Gaida’s essence feels unusually warm in my hands.

“That’s it,” Felix says suddenly, straightening. “We’ve been thinking of this as a summoning, but it’s more complex. We’re not just calling to her, we need to provide a physical anchor for her consciousness to return to.”

“The chalice itself?” Dante asks.

Felix shakes his head. “No, but close. The chalice contains her essence, but it’s designed to contain, not release. We need...” He hesitates, then looks at me. “We need blood. Fresh blood.”

“How much blood?” I ask, immediately slicing my palm open with my fangs. “And where?”

“Not just any blood. Blood with intent. You didn’t believe,” he accuses me.

I flinch at the accusation. “You’re right,” I admit, the words tearing through me. “I didn’t truly believe. I wanted to, for both of you, but...”

“But you’ve lost too many people,” Dante finishes quietly. “You were protecting yourself.”

Felix’s expression softens slightly. “This won’t work without complete conviction from all three of us. The triangulation requires absolute belief.”

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. Can I truly believe? Can I dare to hope that she might return to us? The pain of losing her is still so raw, so consuming that I’ve been sleepwalking through existence, punishing myself nightly in this chamber.

“I want to believe,” I whisper.

“That’s not enough,” Felix says, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You have to know it, feel it in your core. The way you know the sun will rise.”

The compass spins again, slower this time, but with purpose. We all watch it, transfixed.

“She’s still trying,” Dante says. “Even after our failure, she’s still reaching for us.”

Something shifts inside me. A crack in the fortress I’ve built around my grief.

“You have to believe,” Felix implores me, every ounce of feeling going into those four words.

It nearly kills me.

“Please,” he says, quietly, tears in his eyes. “You have to.”

I take a second, two, three.

Then, I nod. “I believe.”

And I do. I have to, because without that hope, she is truly gone, and my world will shatter.