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34

SERAPHINE

T hey keep me in a stone room with no windows, just flickering torchlight and the constant drip of water somewhere behind the wall.

I think it's been two days. Could be three. There’s no natural light, and the guards don’t speak. They bring food twice a day—thin broth, stale bread, a tin cup of water. I don’t eat much. I don’t trust it.

No one tells me who’s in charge.

I ask. They smirk. Shrug.

Say things like, “Does it matter?” or “You'll meet them when you’re meant to.”

The way they say it makes my skin crawl. Like there’s someone else. Someone watching. Someone pulling the strings, but even they don’t really know who.

A shadow of a shadow. And whoever it is sure as hell isn't ready to face me yet.

By what I think is the second day, I’ve had enough.

When the guards come to drop food, I meet them at the door, arms folded.

“Let’s get on with it, then.”

They blink.

One snorts. “You’re eager,” he says.

“Hard to be eager when I’m stuck rotting in a medieval mold box,” I snap. “If you’re gonna drag me into your cult freakshow and make me do your apocalypse ritual, at least be punctual about it.”

He just laughs.

“Soon,” he says. “All in good time.”

I nearly slam my head into the wall when they leave.

Hessa shows up sometime late that night, or maybe it’s morning again. Time’s nonsense down here.

She enters like she owns the place, same smug strut, same too-clean cloak, her boots echoing against the stone like punctuation marks on a lie.

I don’t look at her. Not at first. Just sit on the edge of the cot and stare at the floor.

“You could've knocked,” I mutter.

“You always did like sarcasm when you were cornered,” she replies smoothly.

“I always liked sarcasm. Period.”

She sits across from me like we’re old friends, like this isn’t a goddamn betrayal baked in blood and cowardice.

“I liked you, Sera. I really did. But you were always destined to be a queen in the wrong kingdom.”

I laugh. Bitter. “You’re talking to the woman chained to a wall like a rabid dog.”

“You’re powerful,” she says. “But you’ve been wasting it—fighting humans, hiding your bloodline, protecting them. ” Her eyes flash. “You could be more than this. Black Sun isn’t evil. It’s truth. It's balance. The old ways, brought back to burn the lies down. You’re one of us, whether you like it or not.”

“No,” I say quietly. “I’m not.”

She leans in, voice low and almost tender. “He doesn’t belong in our world. He’s just flesh. You’re legacy. You’re power incarnate.”

My stomach twists.

“This is about Jackson?”

“Of course it is. You’ve bound yourself to a dying species. To prey. It weakens you.”

“No,” I say, rising to my feet. “He makes me stronger.”

Hessa’s expression hardens. “You’ll regret that.”

They come for me on the third day.

Two of the bigger warlocks, draped in ceremonial robes, their arms inked with fresh binding glyphs. They don’t speak as they unlock the door and haul me out.

But I’m ready. Not to fight. Not yet.

I’ve been studying the markings in my cell. Watching the way they move, how they conduct their spells. They’re obsessed with control—ritual, repetition, alignment.

That’s their flaw.

All their power relies on precision. Symbols, order, time. Break that, and you break the magic. And they’re sloppy.

They never expected me to want to understand it. They thought I was just a vessel. They forgot I’m a goddamn witch.

As they drag me toward the chamber—massive black doors carved with the symbol of Tharos, the ancient god they think will give them everything—I run through my plan again.

When they start the incantation, there will be a moment—brief, but real—when the power shifts from summoning to binding. It’s when they’ll try to fuse the bond between me and Jackson into a doorway.

That’s when I twist it.

Just a word. One word spoken backward in the old tongue, laced with blood and intention.

It’ll corrupt the spell matrix, invert the direction of the flow.

They think they’re tapping into my power?

They’re going to get a taste of what happens when you dig into a bloodline that was meant to stay buried.

They think I’m a key?

Fine.

But they forgot what keys do to locks when you shove them the wrong way.

They snap.