Page 68

Callum

I cast the protection spell with practiced precision, my hands weaving intricate patterns through the air as shadows gathered around us. The ancient words fell from my lips in a rhythmic cadence, each syllable charged with power that rippled outward like ripples in a still pond.

"Obscuro, protego, defendere vitam," I intoned, feeling the shadows respond to my command, thickening around our small group like a living cloak.

Sierra stood between Rowen and Archer, her silver hair gleaming in the dim light of the elevator that would take us down to the deepest level of Hell. Her face was composed, but I could see the tension in the set of her shoulders, the way her fingers nervously twisted the hem of her shirt.

"The spell will shield us from the worst of the heat," I explained as the final words of the incantation settled into our skin like a second layer. "But it won't last forever. We'll need to work quickly once we reach the forge."

Lightsbane hung at my side, its familiar weight both comforting and strangely heavy today.

My fingers wrapped around the hilt, my knuckles whitening with the force of my grip.

This blade had been in my family for generations, passed down through the royal line of the Dark Fae.

To lose it would be to lose a piece of our history, our legacy.

But the sacrifice was necessary. I knew that. If transforming Lightsbane into Lightbringer was our only hope against the Shadow Beast, then so be it.

The ancient elevator groaned and shuddered as it began its descent, the metal cage rattling around us like bones in a tomb. The farther down we traveled, the warmer the air became, despite my protection spell. By the time we reached the bottom, sweat beaded on my brow, trickling down my temples.

"This way," Rowen said, his voice echoing in the cavernous space that greeted us when the elevator doors creaked open. "The forge is several levels deeper, accessible only by the stairs."

Sierra's eyes widened as she took in our surroundings. The walls were made of obsidian so dark it seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Veins of molten red ran through the stone like blood through arteries, pulsing with an inner heat that made the air shimmer.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, reaching out to touch one of the walls before thinking better of it.

"And deadly," Archer warned, his ice-blue eyes scanning our surroundings with practiced caution. "Don't touch anything unless Rowen says it's safe."

We moved as one unit, instinctively forming a protective circle around Sierra as we approached the staircase Rowen had indicated. It spiraled downward, carved directly into the obsidian rock, each step glowing faintly with runes that responded to Rowen's presence.

The descent seemed to take forever, the air growing hotter with each step.

My protection spell shimmered visibly around us now, a faint blue barrier against the increasing heat.

Despite its power, I could feel sweat soaking through my clothes, my skin flushing with the effort of maintaining the enchantment.

"Are you alright?" Sierra asked softly, noticing my discomfort.

I nodded, not wanting to waste energy on words. The truth was, maintaining a spell of this magnitude was taxing, especially in an environment so hostile to fae magic. The depths of Hell were Rowen's domain, not mine, and my power was diminished here.

Finally, the stairs ended, opening onto a vast chamber that took my breath away. The forge of creation, the birthplace of demon lords and celestial weapons, spread before us in all its terrible glory.

A lake of liquid fire dominated the center of the chamber, its surface bubbling and churning like a living thing.

The heat that radiated from it was beyond anything I'd ever experienced, making even the protection spell flicker and strain.

Platforms of black stone jutted out over the molten lake at various points, providing precarious access to the forge itself.

"By all the ancient powers," Archer breathed, his wings manifesting unconsciously in response to the primal energy that permeated the chamber.

Sierra stood transfixed, her silver eyes reflecting the orange glow of the forge. There was something in her expression. A strange mixture of fear, awe, and... acceptance? The sight sent a chill down my spine despite the overwhelming heat.

"We need to move to the central platform," Rowen instructed, pointing to the largest outcropping of stone that extended into the heart of the lake. "That's where the ritual must be performed."

I gripped Lightsbane tighter, feeling the sword respond to the proximity of the forge. It seemed to vibrate slightly in my hand, the runes along its length glowing with a deep blue light that pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

As we carefully made our way around the edge of the chamber toward the central platform, I noticed Sierra hanging back slightly, her gaze fixed on the molten lake with an intensity that unnerved me.

"Sierra?" I called, extending my hand to her. "Stay close."

She nodded, but there was a distant quality to her eyes that made my unease grow. Whatever she'd whispered to Archer earlier had left him visibly shaken, and he hadn't had a chance to share it with us before we began our descent.

The central platform was larger than it had appeared from a distance, roughly circular with ancient symbols carved into its surface. The heat here was nearly unbearable, my protection spell straining to its limits despite my constant feeding of power into it.

"Callum, place Lightsbane in the center," Rowen instructed, gesturing to a raised dais in the middle of the platform.

I approached the dais, drawing Lightsbane from its sheath. The blade caught the orange light of the forge, the runes along its length now glowing so brightly they were almost painful to look at.

With reverence, I laid the sword on the dais, feeling a strange sense of loss as my fingers released the hilt. For a moment, I could have sworn I heard whispers. The voices of my ancestors who had wielded this blade before me, who had imbued it with their power and purpose.

I couldn't make out the words, but I knew I had their approval.

This is what the fates meant to happen.

"Now what?" I asked, stepping back from the dais.

"Now Archer adds his blood," Rowen replied, turning to our third mate. "The vessel of dual blood, as the prophecy states."

Archer nodded, rolling up his sleeve to expose his forearm. One of his daggers appeared in his hand, the blade gleaming wickedly in the forge's light.

"Wait."

Sierra's voice cut through the heavy air, stopping Archer mid-motion. We all turned to look at her, and what I saw in her face made my heart stutter in my chest.

Determination. Resignation. And a sorrow so profound it seemed to age her beyond her years.

"It's not Archer." Her voice was steady despite the emotion in her eyes. "It's me. I'm the vessel the ritual requires."

"What are you talking about?" Rowen demanded, his tail materializing and lashing behind him in agitation. "The text clearly states 'one of dual blood'—"

"It means a hybrid," Sierra interrupted. "Someone who carries multiple bloodlines, multiple essences. Archer is half-angel, half-demon, yes. But I'm quarter-angel, part witch, and now bonded to all three of you—demon, fae, and angel-demon. I'm the true hybrid the prophecy speaks of."

Ice formed in my veins despite the overwhelming heat. "No," I said, the word coming out harsher than I intended. "That can't be right."

But even as I denied it, I could see the truth in her eyes. She'd known. She'd known all along, or at least since her conversation with Azrael. This was what she'd been hiding from us.

"Sierra," Archer said, his voice tight with barely controlled panic. "What exactly did Azrael tell you about your role in this ritual?"

She looked at each of us in turn, her silver eyes filled with a love so fierce it was almost painful to witness. "The ritual requires a conduit," she explained quietly. "Someone who can channel the combined powers of angel, demon, and fae into the weapon. That's me."

"And the sacrifice?" I asked, dreading the answer. "What sacrifice does the ritual demand?"

Sierra's gaze dropped to the glowing sword on the dais. "Everything," she whispered. "My memories, my connection to you all, perhaps even my powers. The Sierra who emerges from the ritual may not be the same Sierra who enters it."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Losing her, not to death, but to a transformation that would strip away everything that made her our Sierra, was almost worse than death itself.

"No," Rowen growled, moving to stand between Sierra and the dais. "We'll find another way."

"There is no other way," Sierra said, her voice gentle but firm. "Azrael confirmed it. The Shadow Beast grows stronger every day. Soon it will break through completely, and nothing will stop it from consuming everything in its path."

"I don't care," I snarled, shadows gathering around me in response to my rising emotions. "We'll find another solution. We always do."

Sierra's smile was sad, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Not this time, Callum. This is the only way to save the realms. To save you."

"We're not worth it." Archer's wings spread wide behind him, his body vibrating with his fury. "Not if it means losing you."

"You are to me," Sierra replied simply. "All of you are. And it's not just about us. It's about everyone, everywhere. All the realms, all the lives that would be destroyed if the Shadow Beast breaks through completely."

She stepped forward, reaching out to touch Rowen's chest. After a moment's hesitation, he moved aside, unable to deny her even in this.

"It has to be me," she continued, moving to stand beside the dais. "And it has to be now, at the exact moment of my birth. 4:17 a.m."

I glanced at the ancient timepiece Rowen had brought with us. We had less than ten minutes.

"Sierra, please," I begged, not caring how desperate I sounded. "We can research more, find another way?—"

"There isn't time," she cut me off gently. "And even if there were, this is my choice. My sacrifice to make."

She turned to face us fully, her silver hair glowing in the light of the forge, her eyes filled with a determination that brooked no argument.

"I need you all to trust me," she said. "To respect my decision. And to help me complete this ritual before it's too late."

The three of us exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between us. We were caught in an impossible situation. Honor Sierra's choice and potentially lose her forever, or refuse and doom all the realms to the Shadow Beast's hunger.

"There's no guarantee you'll forget everything," Archer said finally, grasping at straws. "Azrael said the bonds we've formed might serve as an anchor, something for you to find your way back to."

Hope flickered briefly in my chest. "Is that true?"

Sierra nodded, her smile softening. "There's a chance. A small one. But even if I never remember, even if I never know what we were to each other..." Her voice broke slightly. "It will have been worth it, to keep you safe."

The timepiece chimed softly. Five minutes remaining.

"We need to begin." Rowen cleared his throat, his voice rough with emotion. "If this is truly what you've chosen, Sierra, then we will honor it."

She nodded, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you."

With trembling fingers, I unsheathed a small ceremonial dagger from my belt. "You'll need this," I said, offering it to her. "For your blood."

Sierra took the dagger, her fingers brushing mine in a touch that felt like goodbye. "Callum, I need you to weave your shadows around Lightsbane. Rowen, your demonic fire needs to surround the blade but not touch it yet. Archer, your angelic light needs to hover above it all."

We moved into position, each of us channeling our respective powers as Sierra had instructed.

My shadows curled around the blade like living smoke, Rowen's demonic fire created a ring of blue-black flame that hovered inches above the sword, and Archer's angelic light formed a halo that bathed everything in a soft, white glow.

Sierra stood at the head of the dais, the ceremonial dagger clutched in her hand. She looked at each of us one last time, her eyes memorizing our faces.

"I love you," she said simply. "All of you. Remember that, even if I can't."

Before any of us could respond, she drew the dagger across her palm, her blood welling bright and red against her pale skin. As the first drop fell onto Lightsbane's blade, the timepiece chimed again.

4:17 a.m. The exact moment of Sierra's birth.

The effect was immediate and catastrophic. The moment her blood touched the blade, a shockwave of power erupted from the point of contact, knocking us all backward. Sierra alone remained standing, her body suddenly rigid, her arms outstretched as if crucified in midair.

"Sierra!" I screamed, trying to reach her, but an invisible barrier had formed around the dais, preventing me from getting close.

Her blood wasn't just dripping onto the blade anymore. It was flowing, defying gravity to coat Lightsbane entirely in a crimson sheath. My shadows, Rowen's fire, and Archer's light were being drawn into the blood, creating a swirling vortex of power with Sierra at its center.

Her head was thrown back, her silver hair whipping around her face as if caught in a violent wind. Her eyes were open but unseeing, glowing with a light so bright it hurt to look at directly.

"What's happening to her?" Rowen demanded, his voice barely audible over the roar of power that filled the chamber.

"She's channeling everything," Archer shouted back. "All our powers, all at once!"

Sierra's body began to lift from the platform, hovering several feet in the air as the vortex of energy intensified. Her skin seemed to become translucent, revealing a network of light that flowed through her veins like liquid starlight.

The forge itself responded to the ritual, the lake of molten fire surging upward in great gouts of flame that somehow didn't touch us, protected as we were by my spell. The entire chamber shook, obsidian walls cracking under the strain of containing such power.

And through it all, Sierra remained suspended in the air, her body the conduit for forces beyond comprehension.

Then, suddenly, everything stopped.