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Dahlia

The sound of my own footsteps echoed like war drums.

Each one rang out louder than the last, ricocheting through the cold stone corridor as if the walls themselves were listening, holding their breath.

I clutched Mercy’s hilt, knuckles white, heart thudding like it might tear through my ribs. The passage opened into the ritual chamber ahead, and already I could feel the heat of the bloodward etched into the floor—the magic there simmered, humming like a struck chord deep in my bones.

This was it.

If I failed… everyone I loved would die.

Henry, still unconscious in a hospital bed for reasons no one could explain. Thea, probably pacing back and forth right now, ready to burn the world down if this went sideways. Silas—bleeding and broken—but still somehow fighting. And Kieran…

Kieran, who wasn’t here yet.

A sharp breath cut through me.

I told myself it was fine. He would come. He always came. But the absence of him beside me now—the hollow where his presence should’ve been—made the fear louder. Made it real.

I stepped into the chamber.

It was massive. A cathedral carved into the belly of the earth, cold stone and open space, lit by the flickering blood-colored runes carved into the floor. At the center, the circle waited—glowing, thrumming, ancient and terrible.

And on the far side of it, just outside the boundary, was Silas.

He was on his knees, bound again in glowing shackles that pulsed with dark magic. His head hung low, chin pressed to his chest, shoulders shaking slightly with each shallow breath. Unconscious. Drained.

Alive. But only just.

My stomach twisted.

Beside him stood the Elder, his hands folded calmly behind his back, expression unreadable beneath the flickering torchlight. His eyes followed me as I entered, but he didn’t speak. Just watched.

The room buzzed with magic, with waiting, with judgment.

I took another step forward and clenched my fists, letting my breathing slow.

I was Dahlia Moore. I’d survived a cursed locket, shadow monsters, and a chimera from the depths of hell. I had fire in my veins, Kieran’s soul braided into mine, and enough fury in my heart to ignite the world.

I would survive this.

I had to.

Because if I didn’t, it wasn’t just my life I’d lose—it was everyone’s.

And Calliope… she’d burn everything.

Not if I had anything to say about it.

Not while I could still stand.

Then—

Footsteps behind me.

I turned just as Kieran reached me, breath shallow, eyes locked on mine.

His shadows rippled like stormclouds around his shoulders, barely leashed.

He didn’t speak. Just reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a small piece of parchment, lined in tight, careful runes that shimmered faintly like they remembered the sun.

Without asking, he lifted the locket from around my neck, opened the back, and slid the charm inside.

“It’ll activate if you need it,” he said quietly, fastening the clasp again. His fingers lingered at the base of my throat. “Just… try not to.”

I stared at him.

“Kieran—”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to mine for a brief, burning moment.

“You come back to me, Flower. No matter what.”

I didn’t want to pull away.

Not from the weight of his touch. Not from the fierce, quiet desperation in his voice. Not from the way he said come back to me like it was a vow, like it was already tearing him in half.

But the Elder cleared his throat, and the circle pulsed again—hungrier this time.

I stepped back. Just enough.

Kieran’s hand slipped away from mine.

Then—

A gust of cold air swept through the chamber, and the torches dimmed to a dull, icy flicker.

She appeared like a shadow peeled from the wall.

Calliope.

Draped in black that shimmered like oil, her feet bare against the stone, she walked with the grace of a queen and the menace of a dagger drawn too slow. Her smile was soft. Cruel. Icy with amusement.

“Well,” she purred, eyes raking over me like I was a failed experiment. “Look at you. All dressed up and nowhere to run.”

Her gaze drifted to Kieran and the locket he’d just closed back around my neck. Her smile twitched.

“How touching,” she drawled. “A charm? From your little relic? How sweet. It’ll make such a beautiful heirloom—after you bleed out at my feet.”

I didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

Just stepped into the circle and let the fire crackle in my bones.

"For someone so powerful, you sure love to hear yourself talk.”