Page 39 of Infernal Crown (Cursed Darkness (DarkHallow Academy) #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

LYSITHEA

The portal deposits me back in our hell dimension room just as the afternoon heat reaches its peak. After spending hours in DarkHallow’s cold, dark hallways, the hellish warmth feels like coming home.

All three guys look up from whatever they were discussing around the massive round table near the balcony.

Maps and documents scatter across the surface, marked with territorial boundaries and trade negotiations.

The business of ruling never stops, even when your queen is off playing student and mentor to reality-eating monsters.

“You look like someone just handed you an impossible task,” Dathan observes, closing whatever report he was reading.

“Close enough.” I slump into one of the leather chairs, suddenly exhausted. “Blackgrove wants me to stabilise a Void Wraith.”

Evren’s ice-blue eyes sharpen with interest. “A what now?”

“A creature that erases things from existence just by being near them. Kael’s been locked in a reality-warped room across from mine for two years, slowly going insane from isolation.

” I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

“Blackgrove thinks I can help him. I had a thought to use divine power to create some kind of barrier that contains his abilities without suppressing them entirely.”

“Fuck,” Verik says succinctly. “That’s not mentoring. That’s cosmic engineering.”

“Exactly. And I have no idea where to even begin.”

Dathan leans back in his chair. “What do you know about Void Wraiths specifically? Their origin, their nature, how the power manifests?”

“They touch things, and those things cease to exist. Reality just... edits itself around the absence.” I pull the compendium from my bag, setting it on the desk.

Evren reaches for the book, flipping through the pages. “These accounts are all external observations. No one’s actually communicated with a Void Wraith long enough to understand how the power works from their perspective.”

“Because most people can’t survive extended contact,” I point out.

“But you can.” Verik’s eyes burn with familiar intensity. “Divine authority should provide protection against existential erasure. The Crown’s power exists on a higher level than reality manipulation.”

“Should provide protection. We don’t actually know that for certain.”

“Only one way to find out,” Dathan says pragmatically. “You’ll need to study Kael more closely, understand exactly what happens when his power activates.”

I consider this, weighing the risks. Getting close enough to observe a Void Wraith’s abilities in detail could result in accidentally erasing myself from existence. On the other hand, trying to create a containment solution without understanding the problem guarantees failure.

“I don’t have time for that. I need to sort this out. Now,” I say. “If I’m going to forge something that can interface with void energy, I need to know what properties it requires.”

Evren looks up from the compendium. “According to this, traditional magical barriers fail because they try to block or redirect the void energy. But what if the barrier doesn’t resist the power? What if it channels it instead?”

“Explain.”

“Think of it like a lightning rod. Instead of trying to stop the energy, you give it a path that leads away from anything important.” He traces diagrams in the air with one finger. “A containment system that accepts void energy and funnels it somewhere it can’t cause damage.”

“Where exactly do you funnel reality-erasing power?” Dathan asks sceptically.

“Into the void itself,” I realise, the solution crystallising in my mind. “Create a feedback loop. His power touches the barrier, the barrier absorbs that energy and feeds it back into itself. Contained erasure that only affects the containment system.”

Verik nods slowly. “Self-sustaining, self-destructing, and self-regenerating. The barrier exists specifically to be unmade and remade continuously.”

“The real question,” Evren says quietly, “is whether you can control divine creation precisely enough to build something that complex.”

Fair point. The Crown’s power flows through me like liquid starlight, but I’ve never attempted actual creation with it. Folding space is one thing. Bringing new realities into existence is considerably more advanced.

“I’ll need practice,” I admit. “And probably backup plans in case the first attempt goes catastrophically wrong.”

“We’ll help,” Verik says immediately.

“I can research the theoretical frameworks,” Evren offers. “Find historical precedents for divine creation projects.”

“And I’ll work on contingency plans,” Dathan adds. “Ways to contain or reverse any accidents that might occur during the forging process.”

The offer of help hits me harder than expected. “Thank you,” I say, meaning it completely.

“You’re our queen,” Verik says simply. “Your problems are our problems.”

“Besides,” Dathan adds, “this sounds infinitely more interesting than trade negotiations.”

The fierce protectiveness in their voices makes my chest tight with emotion. I’ve spent so long being dangerous and isolated that having people willing to tear reality apart to save me feels almost overwhelming.

“I love you,” I say softly. “But let’s try not to declare war on DarkHallow unless absolutely necessary.”

“No promises,” Verik mutters, but he’s smiling when he says it. “Get some rest, and we will work on some theories.”

I nod, stifling a yawn. I am beyond tired, and even though I feel like I should help, I can’t focus for long enough.

I curl up in bed, and my eyes close instantly.

When I wake up late in the night, the guys are still huddled around the table, arguing quietly about something or another.

Evren notices me first. “You’re awake.”

“Yep, what are you arguing about?”

“Whether to wake you up to let you know we found a solution,” Dathan says. “Seeing as you are up, here.” He holds up a piece of paper with some instructions on it.

I climb out of bed and take it from him, staring at it and then at him. “Are you fucking joking?”

“Nope,” Verik says. “We thought about it, and you are a goddess. Your power is to create shit. So you just… create the barrier. Simple as that.”

“Gee,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “So fucking helpful.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Verik says. “Besides, I’m coming with you to give you an architectural boost.”

I nod, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. “Let’s go.”

“Now?”

I shrug. “Why not?”

We step through the portal together, leaving Evren and Dathan behind to hold the fort.

My room is silent, shadows clinging to the corners like old friends.

“This is insane,” I whisper as we cross the hall to Kael’s door.

“All our best plans are,” Verik says.

I place my hand on the obsidian surface. The door dissolves.

Reality flickers at the edges of my vision, space twisting in ways that make my stomach clench. In the centre of the chaos, Kael’s void-wrapped form waits.

“You came back,” his voice echoes around the room.

“We have a theory,” I say, my voice steady despite the nausea.

Verik steps past me. Hellfire, hot and controlled, flows from his hands, weaving a shimmering, three-dimensional grid in the air around Kael. It flickers, struggling to hold its shape against the void.

“The framework is stable, but it won’t last long,” Verik says, his focus absolute. “Fill it in.”

Right. Just create. Simple.

I close my eyes, ignoring the flickering reality.

I reach for the divine power running through me, the knowledge of creation that came with the Crown.

I don’t think about spells or components.

I think about a barrier. Something that can absorb the void and feed it back into itself.

I picture it, I feel it, I will it into being.

A single point of silver light appears in the centre of Verik’s grid. It doesn’t explode. It doesn’t fizzle out.

It grows.

Silver light weaves itself into a web, filling the hellfire grid like a star being born. The power flows from me like a thought taking form. It’s effortless. Instinctive. The grid solidifies into a sphere of shimmering, liquid starlight that encases Kael completely.

The moment the sphere is complete, the room snaps into focus. The nauseating flicker of reality stops. The air settles. It’s just a room now, plain stone and shadows. The oppressive wrongness is gone, contained within my creation.

The barrier hums, a low, perfect note. I can see the void-shadows touch its inner surface, not bouncing off, but being drawn in, flowing across the silver lattice in harmless, looping patterns. A contained infinity.

The darkness around Kael recedes. For the first time, I see a face. He’s just a young man, pale and thin, with wide, dark eyes filled with utter disbelief.

“It’s working,” he whispers, his voice a single, steady sound. He raises a hand, his fingers trembling, and presses it against the inside of the sphere. His touch doesn’t erase it.

Verik lowers his arms, the hellfire framework dissolving. He watches the sphere, then me, a slow, impressed smirk spreading across his face. “Not bad for a first try.”

I blow out a slow breath. It worked. I just created a self-contained paradox, a cage made of divine will. And it was easy. Terrifyingly, beautifully easy.