Page 52 of The Sin-Binder’s Fate (The Seven Sins Academy #1)

The ground groans beneath me. Stone shifts, grinds against itself, deep and resonant, sending vibrations through the frozen earth. I brace my stance, rolling my shoulders, feeling the weight of it, of this land, of its history, of what’s coming.

Everything has to be perfect. Because when the Sub-Sins come, when he comes, I want them to realize, with every step they take, that they’re walking straight into my battlefield.

I exhale, stretching my fingers before I drag them through the air. The motion is instinctive, my magic surging outward, sinking into the world beneath me, spreading deep into the bones of the academy’s land.

And then, I move it.

The valley beyond the school shudders, and the jagged remains of a collapsed structure, one of the old training halls, wrench themselves upright.

Splintered walls rise, reshaping themselves into jagged barriers, forming a choke point where there wasn’t one before.

The ruins, once a useless wreck, now form a fortified funnel, forcing anything that enters the pass to bottle-neck themselves into death.

Good.

I turn, gaze sweeping across the terrain, calculating, adjusting.

The land around Daemon Academy was built to keep us in, a valley of jagged cliffs, thick, dark pines that stretched like shadows against the mountains, ridges of exposed bedrock that slashed across the land like old scars.

But now, it needs to keep them out. I extend my fingers, curling them tight, and the cliffs move.

Deep beneath the academy, the earth buckles, stone rising in jagged, serrated ridges, like the very land is baring its teeth.

The ground rolls, shifting ancient slabs of rock to redirect the landscape, carving deep trench-like crevices into the open field, each one a trap meant to slow, maim, or kill anything that comes too close.

From above, the battlefield is unrecognizable. What was once an open pass leading to the academy is now a network of death, a labyrinth of impassable ridges and strategic choke points. A place designed not just for defense, but for a slaughter.

I take another breath, deep and slow, before setting my sights on the rivers.

The academy sits on land that was once carved by glacial waters, deep veins of underground rivers running just beneath its surface. Forgotten. Unseen.

Until now.

I spread my hands wide, fingers flexing, the ice groans. The rivers beneath us crack, shatter, explode outward, veins of black water ripping through the ground, bursting through ancient stone, rerouting, expanding, flooding into the trenches I carved.

The battlefield shifts, morphs, turns into something alive. Instead of an easy approach, there are now barriers of jagged rock, treacherous water crossings, frozen ground that I can break apart beneath their feet in an instant.

And at the center of it all? The only path forward. A single narrow bridge of land, leading directly toward the main gates. A path they will have to take. A path I will be waiting on.

I exhale, rolling my shoulders, magic simmering through my blood, settling into the landscape like something claimed.

This is my battlefield now.

Let them come.

Let them drown in it.

I flex my fingers as my magic thrums low, steady, eager beneath my skin, I want more.

It’s been too long since I’ve had a real fight.

Not a controlled sparring match, not a calculated strike, but a real fucking fight, one where I don’t have to hold back, where I can tear through something, someone, until the world is bathed in red and there’s nothing left standing but me.

And the wraiths? They’re a good start. But they’re not enough. I want something bigger. Something uglier. Something with weight, something that can take a hit and keep coming, something that won’t drop too easy under my blade.

I hope Severin brings trolls. Or giants. Or beasts from the old lands, the ones that have been locked away in the deep, forgotten places of this world, the ones that were meant to be eradicated but never truly died. I hope he brings something that can make this interesting.

I tilt my head back, closing my eyes for a moment as the anticipation builds, curling hot and vicious beneath my ribs. This is what I was made for. Not binding. Not serving. Not being shackled to something I can’t escape.

This.

The hunt. The blood. The sheer, violent euphoria of battle.

I let my magic pulse outward, let it spread into the veins of the land, feeling how the trenches stretch deep, how the earth is primed to shift at my command, how the rivers are waiting to be unleashed.

The pull hits me low in my gut, sharp, hot, wrong.

Luna.

I roll my shoulders, trying to ignore it. But the bond isn’t that kind. It’s never that kind. It drags me toward her, winding tight around my ribs, insistent, until I can’t do anything but follow it.

I track her through the grounds, past the shattered remnants of the battlefield I carved into the land, through the iron-laced wind and the sharp bite of frost clinging to the air.

She’s close. And she’s pissed. I don’t hear her. Not yet. But I feel her. Like a raw, bleeding wound against my magic, an ache that throbs hotter, harder the closer I get.

And then, I see them.

Ambrose has her cornered outside one of the abandoned halls. Not touching her. Not hurting her. But standing too close, his posture relaxed, casual, like he isn’t standing in front of something alive and dangerous and ready to fucking ruin him.

She’s wearing a coat that’s too big for her, Orin’s, probably, wrapped tight around her small frame, her fingers clenched at her sides.

But it’s not her posture that stops me. Not her stance, not the sharp, heated look in her eyes.

It’s the ground beneath her feet. It’s shifting.

Not much. Not enough that she’d notice. But I see it.

I feel it. The cracks creeping outward in delicate veins.

The slight tremor humming beneath the dirt.

The way the frost-laced grass curls away from her boots.

My power. She’s using my fucking power. And she doesn’t even realize it .

Ambrose does, though.

I see it in the way his eyes flick down, tracking the movement, sharp and assessing.

And yet, the bastard still doesn’t back off. He smirks instead, and I feel her rage spike, pure, unfiltered.

Her hands snap up, pushing against his chest, and the ground ripples beneath her, just a second of unsteady earth before it stops, the bond snapping taut between us.

That’s when I move. I don’t say anything. I don’t announce myself. I just step in, between them, around her, in front of him.

Ambrose exhales, slow, unimpressed, shifting his weight back like he expected this. "Ah," he says, tilting his head. "There he is."

I ignore him.

I glance at her instead, my eyes dragging over her, flushed skin, sharp breaths, something still flickering hot and unsettled in her expression.

And then, slowly, deliberately, I turn to Ambrose.

"You done?"

His smirk twitches. "I was just having a conversation."

I lift a brow. "No, you were pushing."

Ambrose shrugs. "Same thing."

I don’t look away from him. I don’t step back. I let the silence stretch, heavy and deliberate, until he sighs, rolling his eyes like I’m being unreasonable.

"Fine," he mutters, stepping back. "She’s all yours, Wrath."

The words settle low, sharp, pressing against something I don’t want to acknowledge.

I wait until he turns and walks away. And then it’s just me and her. Something in her expression shifts, fury turning to something sharper, something colder, as she pulls the coat tighter around herself and finally speaks.

"Ambrose is a fucking creep."

I raise a brow.

She exhales hard, angry, disgusted, the words tumbling out before she can stop them.

“He tried to cash in his favor for sex. Before I die, apparently.” She gestures vaguely, her breath curling white in the freezing air.

“Like he’s doing me some massive fucking favor before the wraith army rips me apart. ”

I blink. And for a second, just a second, I have to fight the smirk threatening to pull at my mouth. Because of course he did. Fucking Ambrose.

I press my lips together, inhaling slowly through my nose, trying to smother the amusement curling in my chest.

She notices. Her eyes narrow.

"You think this is funny?"

I exhale, schooling my face into something neutral. "No."

She glares.

I give it two seconds before I cave, letting the edge of a smirk slip through. "A little."

Her scowl deepens, like she might actually punch me, but I lift a hand before she can.

"You should’ve never made a deal with him." My voice is even, but pointed.

She huffs, crossing her arms beneath the coat. "I know that now."

I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. “Ambrose always collects, Luna. That’s the whole point.” I tilt my head, watching her. "You didn’t actually think you’d get away with owing him a favor, did you?"

She exhales sharply, her fingers curling into fists. "I didn’t think he’d be so- " She gestures vaguely, frustrated. "So fucking gross about it."

I snort, shaking my head. "That’s literally his entire personality."

She scowls. “Well, he’s a dick.”

"Obviously."

Her nostrils flare. "You’re not helping."

I shrug, my smirk widening. "I’m not trying to help."

She glares harder. And that’s when I see it.

The faint ripple beneath her feet. The way the dirt shifts, barely noticeable, a whisper of movement that isn’t natural.

I watch her carefully, the way her body is still coiled with frustration, the way her lips part slightly, her cheeks flushed from the cold, from the anger, from everything.

And then I grin.

“Still,” I say, tilting my head. “Resisting Ambrose? That’s impressive.”

She blinks, caught off guard. "What?"

I gesture vaguely. “Most people don’t.”

She scoffs. "Then most people are fucking weak."