Page 14

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~ D evin ~

I’d never feared magic.

Not the twisted kind that danced from revenant blades, not the deathlight I carved from the Veil, not even the whispering rot that clawed at my soul when I reached too deep. I was born to it. Molded in it. I’d watched kingdoms fall under the weight of magic and never blinked.

But standing before the Void—emptiness radiating from the abyss—I understood what it meant to be afraid. The Void was the unspeakable darkness where true destruction lived. The Rift was a tear in the fabric of reality, the opening our enemies used to attack Lunaterra, to harvest souls. The magical gate our ancestors built inside the Spire was covered in glowing runes, magic and ritual used to hold the gate, seal the opening, keep our world safe from the ravenous dark entities that forced humans, like Cleo, to flee their home world, their ancient Earth.

The Rift loomed like a scar carved into reality itself. A towering arch of bone-white stone and obsidian black, each stone etched with runes that shimmered like breath on a winter morning. Light and shadow warred across its surface in a constant dance, runes pulsing like the beat of a dying heart.

It wasn’t just a portal. It was a wound. A tear in the world’s skin that bled possibility and madness.

And it was awake. I could feel it watching.

Cleo stood beside me, her hair still laced with gold light from the spell she’d unleashed. Nova’s Requiem. The spell of legends. The power of ancient queens. She had become something radiant in that moment—something divine. Yet… her Starfire hadn’t touched me.

It had swept through the hall like a celestial tide, burning the lies off Jarrik and his sycophants, peeling the darkness from the Knight Eternal’s soul, and yet… it hadn’t grazed me. Hadn’t even noticed me.

Why?

I’d watched her stand in the center of that storm, eyes blazing, skin crowned in flame, and felt her power roll over me like a promise. And still… nothing.

Not a flicker. Not a whisper of recognition. Was even her magic avoiding me? Was the darkness in me so deep it made me invisible to light?

“You’re brooding,” Cleo murmured, not looking at me. Her hand found mine, fingers slipping between mine with effortless familiarity. “That’s a new record. It’s been what—ten minutes since something crazy happened?”

I forced a smile. “Just taking in the ambiance.”

She snorted. “You mean the ancient soul-eating gate at the center of the world? The one we’re now supposed to have sex in front of?”

“That would be the one.”

Ahead of us, Elarra waited by the ritual chalice, which sat on a pedestal of what looked like petrified bone and crystal. Her hunched form seemed smaller here, the room swallowing her shape in shadow. She’d been strange from the beginning—flamboyant, madcap, brilliant. The kind of teacher who laughed during curses and offered cupcakes after necromantic theory.

I’d trusted her. She and Kassio were the last ones I trusted.

“Come,” she croaked. “Stand together. Hands over the bowl, lovers. Let the blood remember what the soul already knows.”

Cleo arched a brow at me. “That’s not creepy at all.”

We moved as one.

My hand trembled slightly as I unsheathed the ritual knife. Not from fear. From something older. Instinct.

I ignored it.

Cleo held out her hand without hesitation, eyes steady.

We cut.

Our blood mingled with the sacred herbs and wine already in the chalice, swirling into a deep crimson gold that shimmered with threads of both fire and shadow. What flowed from us wasn’t just blood. It was truth. It was the bond.

Elarra’s hands moved fast—too fast—as she lifted the chalice and poured the mixture across the stones beneath the Rift.

The runes ignited.

Now she would leave us. I would undress my new bride, claim her here, in the ritual chamber, our magic would bind us to the runes, reseal the Rift. But Lunaterra needed time. Time to train more Death Mages. Recruit more Vampires and Necromancers. Find more mates for our people. More power.

The runes burned. But not with gold, nor the violet flame of my magic. Not with light.

They turned black. Veil-black. Rift black. Void black.

Wrong.

Cleo flinched beside me. “Something’s not right.”

The Rift hummed . Deep. Hungry. The kind of sound you felt in your ribs before it reached your ears.

“Elarra?” I stepped forward. “What are you?—”

She straightened and shed her disguise like a snake sloughing its skin. Gone was the hunched old woman in velvet robes and bird-skull pins. In her place stood a goddess of ruin. Queen Solenna.

Her robes shimmered with runes that moved like serpents across the fabric. Her hair fell in silver waves, her skin pale as moonlight, her lips blood-red. Her eyes…

I remembered those eyes. Eyes that once watched me with love. Now, they burned with something far colder. Hatred. The kind of disdain one could only feel after a broken heart. Betrayal. She’d wanted me to open the Void for her. Instead, I’d tried to kill her. That was more than a hundred years ago.

“Hello, my love,” she purred.

Cleo gasped beside me.

I stepped forward, shadows coiling around my hands. “Solenna.”

“Still so handsome,” she murmured. “Still so broken.”

“Who are you?” Cleo’s voice sharpened. “Solenna? I thought your name was Elarra?”

Solenna turned, and her smile widened. “This, little star, is the truth you’ve been too na?ve to see. You were never meant to seal the Rift. You were meant to open it. Starborn blood. Death Mage soul. A bond of light and shadow? The perfect key.”

Cleo’s eyes widened. “You lied. You trained me. You showed me where to find the book. You knew I’d read it. You wanted the king to die.”

Solenna cackled, hysteria and insanity in the sound. “I taught you how to reach your power. Fed you tales of legacy and hope. All so you’d walk willingly into the jaws of destiny.”

The runes flared brighter. Pain bloomed in my chest. My knees buckled.

I reached for Cleo—found her shaking. Her light was pouring out of her. Not in controlled flares. Not with intention. With power.

In loss.

Cleo screamed.

The Rift drank it in, greedily, hungrily, veins of gold and black lashing out from the stone like lightning.

“No!” I tried to cast—but the magic slipped through my fingers like water. My link to the Veil… fractured. The spell draining me was old. Older than Revenants. It had my soul by the throat. Our blood bound us to Elarra’s dark spell.

Cleo dropped to one knee, breath ragged. “I… I can’t…breathe…”

“You’re killing her!” I roared.

“I’m freeing her,” Solenna snapped. “From the lies of balance. From the shackles of false gods. From you.”

I forced myself forward—each step a war. My body felt unmade. “Why didn’t her light burn me?” I gasped.

Solenna’s eyes glittered. “Because you never let it. Because deep down, you still believe you’re cursed. And curses, my dear, protect themselves.”

Cleo screamed again.

The Rift cracked, the sound like thunder inside the chamber.

Beyond the gate, something moved. Massive. Shifting. A shadow with a hundred eyes. A god that had forgotten its name.

Solenna reached toward it. “I’ve waited five hundred years for this,” she whispered.

“No,” I snarled. “You waited five hundred years for me. ”

I pulled everything. Every shard of shadow. Every scream of the soul. Every drop of death I’d hoarded in my cursed veins. And I unleashed it.

It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t beautiful. But it worked.

The pedestal shattered. The chalice exploded. The runes flickered—and fought back.

The Rift didn’t close. But it recoiled.

Cleo collapsed against me. Her skin was fever-hot. Her veins glowed with light.

I caught her. Held her. Glared up at the woman who had once taught me how to love… and then betrayed everything love meant.

“This isn’t over,” I spat.

Solenna laughed, stepping backward into the undulating mouth of the Rift. She stepped through the crack in reality, into the seam. “Of course not. The first act is never the last.”

And then she was gone. The Rift pulsed once. Fell silent.

Cleo trembled in my arms, unconscious but breathing.

The gate was still open. The Rift was wider. Not sealed. But my bond with Cleo? Shattered.

Solenna, the woman I once trusted with my soul, had used both of us to start the end of the world.

I’d barely gotten Cleo into my arms before the Rift screamed.

It wasn’t a sound, not really—more like a vibration that shattered the world from the inside out. The floor beneath me buckled, stones cracking in a perfect circle around the portal. Light and shadow flared along the arch, the runes pulsing faster, out of rhythm—panic, pain, power too wild to be held.

And then they came through. Not in one wave. In layers .

The first were shadows—figures of smoke and bone, slipping through the cracks like spilled ink. They had too many limbs, no eyes, mouths that split vertically like ruptured skin. They didn’t move like men. They slithered, twisted, glided, dragging chains made of sound.

One screamed, and I felt blood leak from my ear.

Cleo stirred in my arms, unconscious but glowing faintly. Her light was pulling them in like a beacon.

They wanted her.

I stood, pain shrieking in every joint, and stepped between her and the oncoming tide.

They paused. Not because they feared me—but because they recognized me. One of their own. Half-cursed. Part-shadow. Almost broken.

I met their gaze—if they had one—and summoned what was left of my magic. Deathlight flickered in my veins, sickly and dim.

I was nearly dry. The drain from the false ritual had gutted me. But I’d die on my feet before I let them touch her.

“Come on,” I hissed, lifting both hands. “Let’s finish this.”

They came. Faster than thought. A blur of limbs and talons and memory . One touched the edge of my magic and screamed , unraveling into black ash and jagged light.

But more poured in. Behind them, the Rift widened . The arch strained, runes burning blood-red, and something massive moved just beyond.

I glimpsed it—just once.

A god, if gods were made of teeth and silence. Its form was wrong , shifting, folding in on itself and reforming, eyes opening where there were no faces. It hadn’t crossed the threshold, but it wanted to.

And it was using her light to anchor itself.

Cleo’s chest flared, and a bolt of gold fire erupted into the air.

It arced across the ceiling, struck the stone, and carved a glowing sigil in midair.

I felt it. A heartbeat. Not mine. Not hers. Ours.

My knees buckled. The ground cracked again. The Rift pulsed once, twice—and vomited another wave of creatures.

These were different. Larger. More complete.

Wraithborn, but not twisted by madness— perfected . Controlled. Armored in shadow. Their blades were made of weeping metal, their robes stitched from stolen names. One stepped forward and looked at me—and smiled .

Not friendly. Recognition.

Brother. It’s voice slithered into my mind.

I spat blood. “Not in this lifetime.”

He raised his blade. I realized too late—I couldn’t beat them. Not alone. Not even with all my power at full strength.

And Cleo… Cleo was dying . Drained, fading, burning up from within.The Rift was taking her. I had minutes. Maybe seconds. The darkness wasn’t just pressing in.

It was winning.