Page 39

Cold. Dark. Damp.

These sensations filter through my consciousness as I struggle to figure out where I am. My head pounds with each heartbeat, and my mouth tastes of copper and ash. The air is thick with the scent of ancient stone and something chemical and sharp that burns my nostrils.

I’m on my knees, and I try to stand up, but my limbs feel leaden and impossibly heavy.

The room around me gradually takes shape. Stone walls slick with moisture, vaulted ceilings lost in darkness, and peculiar symbols etched into the floor in what I can smell is dried blood. The space is vast, cavernous, with shadowy alcoves housing shapes I can’t quite make out.

“You’re awake. Excellent. ”

The voice echoes from the shadows, familiar in its cultured tone, and makes me shudder. I strain to lift my head, searching for its source.

Blackridge steps forward.

“Where am I?” My voice comes out as a rasp, shifting my shoulders as I remember being flayed. If he is working for The Collector’s, I’ve got so much more to come, and I can’t move an inch.

“Somewhere safe,” he replies, approaching my stone slab with measured steps. “Or more accurately, somewhere others are safe from you.”

“What does that mean? I haven’t hurt anyone.”

“Not yet.” He circles me, studying me with clinical detachment. “But you would have. The violence spell affected everyone in that courtyard, except you. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The brand on my chest flares. “The witches.”

“They were an unfortunate complication,” Blackridge interrupts. “Their petty jealousy nearly interfered with my experiment. I hadn’t accounted for their personal vendetta against you.”

The casual way he dismisses the torture I endured sends a chill through me. “Experiment?”

He stops in front of me, looking down at me with those unnervingly dark eyes. “Did you think that sudden outbreak of violence was random, Miss Morvoren? A spontaneous mass hysteria affecting dozens of powerful supernatural creatures simultaneously?”

“Well, no, but it was you? You caused it? You triggered the violence.”

“I merely created the conditions,” he corrects, as if the distinction matters. “The violence was already there, simmering beneath the surface in every creature present. I simply removed the inhibitions.”

“Why?”

“To see who would resist, of course.” His hand hovers over my head, not quite touching. “Violence magic is one of the most primal, most difficult to resist. It bypasses higher consciousness, targeting the primitive brain. It should have affected you like everyone else.”

I remember the strange clarity I felt in the courtyard, the way I remained untouched by the bloodlust consuming everyone around me. “But it didn’t.”

“No,” he says, hunger flashing in his eyes. “It didn’t. Even your brother succumbed, despite his considerable power. But you stood untouched, your mind clear, while chaos reigned around you. That shouldn’t be possible, Miss Morvoren.”

I try to push myself up further, but the invisible weight pressing me down intensifies. “What have you done to me? Why can’t I move?”

“A simple containment spell,” he says dismissively. “ Nothing that will harm you, but necessary until I understand exactly what you are.”

“I’m a vampire,” I say, though the words sound hollow.

Blackridge laughs, the sound echoing ominously through the cavernous space. “If that were all you were, Miss Morvoren, the violence magic would have consumed you like the others. No, you are something far more interesting than a vampire, even the female twin aspect isn’t enough to make you stand out quite so starkly.”

He moves to a shadowy alcove and returns with an ancient tome. “The Collectors want you because you’re rare,” he continues, his voice taking on a lecturer’s cadence. “They believe a female twin vampire makes the perfect vessel for dangerous knowledge because of the sympathetic bond with your male counterpart. A reasonable assumption, but incomplete. They are butchers masquerading as scholars. They destroy what they claim to preserve, reducing living beings to mere vessels.”

“Then why am I here? Why did you take me?”

“To protect you, in part,” he admits, turning pages in the grimoire without touching them. “You being flayed by a bunch of petty students, wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

He smiles, but it is completely devoid of warmth. “You’re quite welcome.”

“Where are we? Is this still SilverGate?”

“We are beneath it,” he replies, gesturing vaguely at the stone ceiling. “Far beneath. These caverns predate the academy by centuries. They were the reason SilverGate was built here in the first place, to guard what lies below.”

“And what’s that?”

His smile grows colder. “Knowledge, Miss Morvoren. The kind of knowledge that should never be revealed. The kind that The Collectors would kill to possess, and have, many times over.”

“I still don’t understand why I’m here,” I say, fighting against the crushing weight holding me down. “If you wanted to protect me from The Collectors, you could have done that without abducting me.”

“I protect SilverGate and its secrets above all else,” Blackridge says sharply. “When a student displays unusual abilities, particularly resistance to ancient magic, I must understand the nature of that anomaly. Are you a threat or an asset? That is what I intend to determine.”

“I’m neither,” I protest. “I just want to be left alone.”

“No creature with your potential is ever left alone, Miss Morvoren. Surely your parents taught you that much when they locked you away for twenty-one years.”

The mention of my parents brings a surge of anger that momentarily burns through my fear. “You don’t know anything about my family.”

“I know far more than you might think,” he counters. “I know that your bloodline carries secrets even your parents don’t fully understand.”

“What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, Blackridge turns back to the living grimoire. “Do you recognise these markings, Miss Morvoren?”

I squint at the writhing symbols, which seem vaguely familiar yet utterly foreign. “No.”

“Interesting. Your body responded to them, even if your conscious mind did not.” He taps the page, and the symbols glow faintly. “These are the sigils of binding used by the First Coven. Not witches, as we understand them today, but something far older. The ancestors of all modern magical bloodlines.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Tell me, Miss Morvoren, have you ever wondered why your defensive magic is so uniquely powerful? It’s quite interesting, and far more dangerous.”

He moves to another shadowy alcove and returns with a silver basin filled with a liquid too dark and viscous to be water. Setting it beside me on the stone floor, he produces a small knife with an ivory handle.

“What are you doing?” I ask, alarm spiking through me.

“A simple test,” he replies. “Blood never lies, Miss Morvoren. Especially old blood.”

Before I can protest, he takes my hand and slices across my palm. The pain is sharp but brief as my vampire healing immediately begins to close the wound. He quickly catches the welling blood in the silver basin, where it hisses upon contact with the dark liquid.

“There,” he murmurs, watching intently as my blood spreads through the basin, creating patterns like a complex constellation. “The patterns never lie.”

I strain to see what has captured his attention so completely. The blood forms swirling symbols similar to those in the grimoire.

“Just as I suspected,” Blackridge breathes, his eyes reflecting the glow from the basin. “You carry their blood, their magic. After all this time...”

“Whose blood? What magic?” My voice rises with frustration and fear. “Stop speaking in riddles!”

“Something darker than you can imagine, something so monstrous, the likes of which this academy has never been subjected to. You are in quite the wrong place, Miss Morvoren.”

“Meaning,” I ask, licking my lips.

“SilverGate sits on a nexus point. The same nexus point that exists throughout realms. There are other versions of this academy, and you belong in one of them. Yet you are here.”

“What am I?” I ask, my voice cracking.

“Rise, Miss Morvoren.”

I try to stand up, but I can’t. I struggle, but the magic is holding me in place.

“Come on, Miss Morvoren, put your back into it.”

Glaring at him with a low growl, I use all of my innate strength to break free from his containment spell. The magic crashes through the chamber, but he remains standing as if nothing happened. It didn’t affect him.

The basin beside us suddenly erupts in silver flames, my blood burning with a bright light that burns my retinas. The symbols carved into the floor glow in response.

“You don’t belong here.”

“Then where do I belong?” I spit out.

“A place far darker than here.”

“This makes no sense.”

“No, it doesn’t, does it. And yet, blood doesn’t lie. Magic doesn’t lie.”

Blackridge circles the basin, watching the silver flames consume my blood with an unsettling fascination. “Tell me, Miss Morvoren, have you ever wondered why William Harrington’s ghost has been so drawn to you since your arrival? ”

“Because I can see him,” I say uncertainly. “Because I’m in his room.”

“Many students have occupied that room over the decades. It’s true that none could see him, and none sparked his interest as you have.” Blackridge dips his finger into the silver flames, seemingly impervious to their heat. “What you’re witnessing is blood recognition. Your defensive magic isn’t defensive at all, it’s Sanguinarch blood.”

“Sanguinarch?” The same creature William is?

“Blood architects of extraordinary power and rarity. William Harrington was one, the reason for his rather macabre nickname, the Butcher. His experiments with Blood Magic were revolutionary and disturbing.” Blackridge withdraws his finger, now coated with my burning blood. “And you, Miss Morvoren, are like him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I protest, though something deep within me resonates with his words. “I’m a vampire.”

“That is also a fact.” He traces a symbol on the floor with my blood, which sizzles where it touches the stone. “But you are so much more.”

The symbol he draws shimmers ominously.

“You’re saying I’m like William?” I ask carefully.

“Blood calls to blood, Miss Morvoren. It’s why he recognised something in you, even if he couldn’t identify what. It’s why your magic manifests as shields rather than offensive spells like your brother’s. You’re not creating barriers, you’re manipulating the blood in the air, in the stones around you that blood has soaked into, you get the drift.”

“Does William know about me?”

“Who knows? William Harrington was murdered by The Collectors.” Blackridge’s expression darkens. “They hunt Sanguinarchs relentlessly. They are highly prized to be placed on collectors’ shelves as living dolls.”

“Dolls?” I croak. Horror washes over me. “That’s why my parents kept me hidden. They knew what I was.”

“They suspected enough to be afraid, I’d imagine. Again, who knows,” Blackridge says. “But I suspect they didn’t fully understand the nature of your blood, or they would never have sent you here.” He moves to the wall, pressing his palm against a stone that looks no different from the others. It sinks inward, and suddenly, the entire ceiling becomes transparent, revealing not the academy above but a vast network of glowing lines, blood channels, spreading throughout SilverGate’s foundations.

“SilverGate Academy is a place where the veil between worlds is naturally thin, where Blood Magic can achieve its highest potential. The nexus.”

Through the transparent ceiling, I can see the intricate patterns extending throughout the entire academy, through walls, floors, even the courtyard where the violence spell erupted earlier. Every stone, every beam seems part of an elaborate design I never noticed before.

“This is why you allow fights to go ahead…”

“Blood freely spilt in combat is unique,” Blackridge acknowledges without a hint of remorse. “It activates dormant sigils that have waited centuries for the right catalyst.”

“And I’m the catalyst.” It’s not a question.

“You are a Sanguinarch standing at the centre of the most powerful Blood Magic construct ever created. What do you think happens when such power encounters its perfect vessel?”

As if in answer, the silver flames from the basin suddenly leap upward, spiralling around me in a whirlwind of light. I gasp as they touch my skin, sinking into my veins, filling me with a strange, ancient knowledge that makes me nauseous with this brutality.

“What’s happening to me?” I cry, watching in horror as glowing sigils appear on my arms, identical to the ones carved into the chamber floor.

“The nexus recognises you,” Blackridge says, backing away respectfully. “The blood knows its master.”

Through the haze of silver light engulfing me, I see the symbols on the floor shift, rearranging themselves into new patterns that glow menacingly.

“I don’t want this,” I gasp, fighting against the power flooding through me. “Make it stop!”

“I cannot stop what has already begun,” Blackridge replies, his voice almost gentle. “None of us can. The blood nexus has awakened, and with it, your true nature.”

A tremendous groaning sound reverberates through the chamber as the foundations of the academy shift. Dust and small stones rain down from above.

“What’s happening to SilverGate?” I demand, panic rising as the silver flames continue to pour into me.

“It’s transforming. Returning to its original purpose.” Blackridge gestures at the ceiling, where I can now see students and professors above us, unaware of the changes occurring beneath their feet. Some stagger, looking disoriented, as if something is draining their energy. “SilverGate was built as a conduit between worlds, Miss Morvoren. A bridge held stable by Blood Magic. Your Blood Magic.”

Horror dawns as I understand. “You’re using me to open a doorway to another dimension?”

“Not I,” Blackridge corrects. “The nexus itself. It has waited centuries for a Sanguinarch of sufficient power to activate it fully. ”

The silver flames surrounding me suddenly contract, rocketing inward until they sink completely beneath my skin. I cry out as they burn brands into my flesh that fade almost immediately, leaving no mark but sending waves of knowledge through my entire being.

“Stop fighting it,” Blackridge murmurs. “Accept your blood. Accept your heritage.”

“I don’t want it!” I cry, tears streaming down my face.

“You were born for this moment. This convergence. The question you must ask yourself, Miss Morvoren, is whether you were sent here for protection or for sacrifice.” Blackridge steps closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “Did they hope SilverGate would help you control your abilities, or did they deliver you to the nexus knowing what it would do to you?”

The ground beneath us lurches violently, throwing Blackridge against the wall. I remain standing, somehow anchored by the silver energy coursing through me. The blood channels above grow brighter, pulling at something deep inside me.

“I can feel them,” I whisper, horrified. “Everyone who has bled on these stones.”

The silver energy suddenly inverts, imploding toward my core with crushing force. My back arches as I feel my very essence collapsing inward, compressing into a single point of unimaginable density .

Then, like a star going supernova, I explode.

The walls of SilverGate detonate outward with the force of my release, the centuries-old blood sigils activating all at once in a cascading failure that sends shockwaves through the entire academy. The screams of a thousand students echo in my consciousness as their life force, briefly connected to mine through the nexus, surges back into them with concussive force.

I hang suspended in a void of my own creation, lit from within like a candle about to explode, neither fully in this world nor the next.

And in that moment of perfect liminality, I finally understand the truth.

My parents didn’t send me to SilverGate for protection or for sacrifice.

They sent me here to become something else entirely.

Dark Fate, Book 2: Dark Fate