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Dahlia

Calliope rose from the throne with the elegance of a goddess and the smile of a snake.

She stepped barefoot across the obsidian dais, the hem of her black silk dress whispering against the stone. The firelight made her glow like a carved statue, all sharp edges and impossible beauty. And at her feet—barely conscious, bound in blood-stained sigils—was Silas .

She didn’t even look at him.

“Dahlia Moore,” she said, savoring my name like it tasted exotic. “It’s been such a pleasure watching you. The girl who unlocked the locket. The girl who drew blood from my chimera. The girl who ruined everything.”

“I’ve never met you,” I snapped. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” she purred, descending the steps slowly, “but I’ve studied you. I’ve felt you—through the locket, through Kieran. Through every ripple you’ve made across the spellwork I bled for.”

Kieran, still kneeling beside me, forced out a ragged breath. His shadows curled like broken wings. “She’s stalling,” he whispered. “Whatever she’s planning—she’s not done yet.”

Calliope grinned like she’d heard him.

“Oh, I’m just getting started.”

She turned her gaze to me, eyes flashing with something ancient and hungry. “The original Rite was meant for one thing: ascension. A soul becoming something more. It required a coven. Blood-bound. Sacrificial. Willing and unwilling.”

Her smile turned vicious.

“But covens die. Loyalty fades. And I was left with scraps.”

She raised one hand.

Blue flames surged behind her, and from the shadows, figures emerged. Hooded. Silent. Dozens of them.

The Order .

“What’s left of them, anyway,” she said casually. “Every last faithful little follower. Ready to burn for me.”

I stared, horror rising.

“You’re going to sacrifice them.”

“I’m going to use them,” she said. “And Silas. And Kieran.” Her voice softened, almost wistful. “And you… If you’ll stop struggling. You could be my conduit. The locket’s final key. One girl standing in the center of the storm.”

“No,” I breathed.

Kieran tried to stand. “You’ll kill everyone.”

Calliope didn’t flinch. “That’s the point.”

And something inside me broke.

“You’re insane,” I spat. “This isn’t ascension—it’s slaughter. You’re just a parasite wrapped in silk.”

Calliope turned fully to me now, her expression cooling.

“You want to stop me?” she asked. “Then come try.”

I stepped forward, Mercy drawn from my back, the blade catching fire at the hilt.

“I challenge you,” I said, voice sharp as the edge I held. “By blood, by bond, by whatever bullshit you need to hear. You want my life, my power, my name— earn it. ”

For the first time, her smile faltered.

“You dare—”

“I dare. ” I burned. “I’m not part of your Rite. I’m the end of it.”

Calliope’s lips parted—first in disbelief, then fury.

“Such insolence,” she hissed, her glamour flickering at the edges. For the first time, I saw something unpolished beneath the surface—cracks in the marble. “You ignorant little nothing—”

She raised her hand, magic lashing through her fingers in a swirl of black and crimson.

“ I will turn you inside out and make Kieran watch— ”

A voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Enough.”

The torches dimmed as a figure stepped forward from the shadows—one of the Order, but not hooded like the rest. An Elder .

His robes were marked with runes that shimmered faintly in the torchlight, older than Calliope’s twisted glamour, older than the room itself.

His eyes were clouded, but his presence was razor-sharp.

Calliope’s arm faltered.

“Do not,” the Elder said, voice low and heavy with ancient weight. “You know the law. She invoked a formal challenge. You cannot strike her outside the binding.”

“She’s nothing,” Calliope snarled. “A thorn. A vessel. Not even blooded. ”

The Elder tilted his head. “And yet she stood where none of your chosen have. She shed monster blood and challenged you in front of your faithful. If you deny the rite, they will see you as afraid.”

A murmur rose from the gathered Order. Barely audible. But it was there.

Doubt.

Calliope’s jaw clenched.

The Elder stepped closer, and his voice dropped. “If you refuse her, the weaker ones will question dying for you. But if you kill her in the circle, you silence them all.”

Calliope slowly lowered her hand. Her gaze cut to me like a blade.

“So be it,” she said, voice tight. “Let the blood decide.”

The floor began to tremble.

Runes flared to life in the stone beneath us, burning a deep crimson. A circle rose, etched in light, ancient and unbroken.

“The Bloodrite is invoked,” the Elder intoned, his tone final and reverent. “But it need not be immediate. A time must be agreed upon by the challenger and the challenged.”

Calliope’s gaze never left mine. “Two days.”

I nodded, fire still coiling around my spine. “Two days.”

The Elder inclined his head. “So it is written.”

A dagger rose from the center of the circle, hovering between us like fate.

Calliope stepped forward first, slicing her palm with ceremonial precision. Her blood fell onto the ring and hissed.

I stepped forward, and Kieran grabbed my arm. “Flower, don’t do this.”

“I have to.” I met his eyes. “For you. For Silas. For Henry.”

He let me go, jaw tight.

I took the dagger. Cut deep. My blood fell. The runes pulsed.

The pact was sealed.

Calliope tilted her head and smiled—slow, wicked, triumphant.

“Two days,” she purred. “Try not to die before then. I want the satisfaction of doing it myself.”

Then she turned, descending the steps with a swish of silk, her bare feet leaving no sound as she vanished into the shadows behind the throne.