Page 32

CALLUM

T he council chamber smelled of candle wax and fear.

Callum’s voice had torn through the roundhouse not an hour ago, pouring everything he witnessed into the stunned silence: the crimson dome, the runes bleeding light, Cora’s body chained by spell lines.

Maeve cursed under her breath, Edgar fumbled vials of ward-ash, and Varric’s weathered face turned grey beneath wolf-etched braids.

They argued. They debated sigils and counter-runic geometry.

They spoke of gathering every witch and warlock for a full-circle severance, of bringing down the moonstone staff kept under lock at the Glade library.

All good plans, but each required time Hollow Oak did not possess and Cora could not afford.

Callum felt every second like barbed wire scraping his lungs.

He left while they waited on consensus, rage simmering hot enough to warp reason. Maeve grabbed his arm at the door, nails digging in.

“Do not go alone,” she hissed.

“I already did,” he answered, voice low. “And I will again. She doesn’t have time for our committees.”

“Council backup will come. Give us half an hour.”

“Half an hour is eternity when you’re bleeding,” he said, and broke away.

Now twilight bled over the ridge as he sprinted, boots pounding the leaf litter.

The forest looked sick under the fading light, bark leaching color, brambles choking paths that should have been clear.

The Veil murmured wrong notes against his skin, humming of fracture.

Above him clouds smothered the sky; the moon hid her face behind bruised dusk.

Cora’s scent led him, lilac drowned in copper and ash. Fear bit deep, sharper than any claw. He would not lose her. Not like Tessa, not like the others whose names ghosted his dreams. His lion prowled just beneath his skin, urging claws, urging teeth, urging to tear the world until she was free.

The glade broke open ahead, a wound of white trunks and crimson glow.

She was still there, kneeling before the stone, shoulders bowed as if under a weight no mortal spine could bear.

The red cuffs on her wrists pulsed with each labored breath.

Her skin looked too pale, lips cracked from whispered pleas.

Callum’s heart roared. He stepped forward and red flame whipped up like a living wall, searing the moss at his boots.

Elric stood on the far side of the altar, hands clasped behind his back, cloak rippling like spilled ink despite the still air. His eyes gleamed black, reflecting the dome’s light.

“You came without your council chorus,” the warlock called, voice smooth as poisoned honey. “Predictable.”

Callum’s claws punched through his fingertips. “Let her go.”

Elric chuckled. “You were more polite earlier. I suppose desperation breeds manners out of guards.” He lifted one hand, summoning a swirl of crimson sparks that danced across his palm. “Do you feel it, lion? The chain tightening each time you rage?”

Cora stirred, lifting her head. Her eyes met Callum’s across the barrier, full of terror and something fiercer: a warning. “Callum, no?—”

Her voice rasped like dry leaves. The sound drove a spike through his resolve. He advanced again, this time shifting midstride. Bone and sinew cracked, golden fur bursting forth, mass multiplying until the lion stood where the man had been. The barrier flared brighter, sensing his power.

He hurled himself against it. Red lightning lashed, digging into flesh, yet he pushed harder, claws raking the invisible wall. Pain sang through his nerves, but he welcomed it. Pain meant progress. Cora’s gasp echoed inside the dome, one part fear, one part hope.

Elric’s laughter cut through. “Brutish tactics. Do you really think raw force will unmake ritual? She chose me. Blood remembers.”

The lion roared, a sound that split bark and quivered stone. He leapt again, aiming for Elric’s mocking face, but the barrier threw him sideways like a rag doll. He crashed into a trunk, ribs protesting. He shifted back on instinct, kneeling in the debris, breath ragged.

“You talk a lot for someone hiding behind glass,” Callum spat, blood on his lips.

Elric’s smile thinned. “If I leave the circle, the tether weakens. Why would I grant you that advantage when you already flail so wonderfully?”

Callum’s vision blurred red. He surged up, slashing with extended claws where the barrier met the ground, searching for seams. The dome rippled though it held.

Agony spiked through his arms, scent of charred fur filling the air, but he did not stop.

Every heartbeat, he saw Tessa bleeding out, saw Cora pale inside the ring and the altar’s light dancing with her pain.

Elric’s voice sharpened. “Careful, beast. The Veil cracks further each time you strike. You might bring the whole forest down on her head.”

Callum stilled, panting. Sweat and soot coated his skin. He glared through the shimmer. Cora’s eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion dragging her toward unconsciousness. The gold sparks of her magic tried to rise again but fizzled under the red cuffs.

“Elric,” she whispered, voice shredded. “Please. Let them go. I will stay.”

Callum’s heart fractured at her surrender. “No. Cora, don’t?—”

She shook her head weakly. “He wants me. If that saves Hollow Oak… if it saves you?—”

“I do not need saving,” Callum snapped, voice raw. The admission tasted like blood: he had never needed to save himself before, because saving others was his penance. But Cora was not a penance. She was life.

Elric lifted his dagger, now coated in his own blood from carving sigils. He traced the tip across the air, red ember lines forming runic letters that floated until they latched onto the dome. The structure hardened, color deepening toward black.

“There,” he said, satisfied. “Now only my command may open or close this prison.”

Callum’s claws receded as hopelessness iced his veins. He forced steady breathing. Think. He had come alone, but Maeve and Edgar would follow. They needed minutes, he needed to stall.

“Why chain her if she has already accepted?” he asked, stalling for time.

Elric cocked his head. “Trust is wiser than rage, it is true. But scars guarantee obedience. And I enjoy insurance.” He flicked the dagger, red sparks floating to Cora’s cuffs. She winced.

Callum tasted iron from biting his tongue. He could not lose control. Not now. Losing control meant Elric won.

He took one step back, palms open. “Let’s talk.”

The warlock arched a brow. “You think words will unweave years of preparation?”

“I think you want an audience.” Callum’s heart slammed in his chest. “You pulled a raven stunt to deliver a simple threat. You want witness to your victory. Take me instead. Let her go, you still crack the Veil. The ranger of Hollow Oak at your mercy—that is a trophy.”

Cora shook her head, mouthing no, but he did not break eye contact with Elric.

The warlock considered, fingers drumming the hilt of his dagger. “Tempting. Yet she is the key, not you.”

The slow rustle of leaves behind Callum told him Maeve and Edgar were close. He could smell Twyla’s jasmine blend drifting on the wind. They needed seconds.

Time he did not have.

Inside the dome, Cora pushed shakily upright. “Callum, back down,” she rasped. “Please. Go.”

He didn’t move.

“Back down!” Her voice rose, cracking under strain. Tears streaked her cheeks. Gold sparks flared at her fingertips again, brighter than before, fighting through the red. The cuffs blazed scarlet in response, tightening like snakes. She screamed.

Callum’s body jerked toward the barrier, instinct overriding thought. He collided with the wall, pain scoring his chest, but he braced there, hands pressed against the hot pulse, eyes locked on hers.

And that was when Elric turned, strolling to Cora’s side with a leisurely grace, dagger spinning between elegant fingers.

“Let me show you how much control over her I have,” he said, voice silky with cruelty. He raised the blade, touched it to her throat. Blood welled, a single drop sliding down pale skin.

Callum’s roar thundered through the glade, the sound of a heart breaking in real time, even as the warlock smiled, cold and triumphant.