Page 63 of The Sin-Binder’s Fate (The Seven Sins Academy #1)

Blades clash, creatures snarl and wail, the ground splintered and soaked in ichor. My sword is slick with blood, my mind razor-sharp, calculating every move, every possible outcome. We are outnumbered, but we do not fall. We are the Seven. We were never meant to fall.

The wraiths come in waves. I move through them like a storm, each strike measured, deliberate. My blade finds soft flesh, cuts through sinew, bone. Another beast lunges, I step aside, fluid, controlled, and drive my sword through its chest. Effortless.

Then, Silas. He appears out of nowhere, wheezing, blood streaked across his face, eyes too wide.

I barely glance at him as I drive my dagger through a wraith’s throat. “If you’re here to bitch about Elias out-killing you, ”

“It’s Luna.”

Two words. That’s all it takes. Something cold, sharp as a knife, slices through me. I turn fully, eyes locking on him. His chest rises and falls too fast, panic rolling off him in waves .

“She’s down,” he says. “Bad.”

Everything shifts.

I don’t ask questions. I move.

We weave through the battlefield, cutting down anything in our path. I don’t feel the kills, don’t register the bodies hitting the ground. All I see is the direction Silas is running, where Luna is.

My boots hit stone as we reach the eastern archway, the remains of an old courtyard, fractured from years of war. And there, against the pillar that binds us to this cursed place, is Riven.

And Luna.

Riven is on his knees, his body curled around hers, an arm wrapped behind her back, supporting her against his chest. The expression on his face, raw, unguarded, Terror.

Orin is crouched over them, his head bent close, his essence flowing from his palm into the gaping wound in her stomach. The sickly glow of wraith magic still lingers on her skin, the edges of the wound dark, festering.

She’s barely conscious. Her breaths shallow. Too much blood. Too much.

Silas skids to a stop beside me. “It’s not closing,” he mutters, staring at Orin’s hands, the golden glow dimming too fast.

I step forward, forcing my body to stay calm. “Why the fuck isn’t it closing?”

Orin shakes his head, his jaw clenched, sweat beading at his temple. “It’s, it’s wraith-forged.” His voice is tight, strained, his energy flickering, waning. “I can’t counteract it.”

Riven’s grip on Luna tightens. His head lifts, and the look he gives me is deadly. “Fix it. ”

I stare at him. “Or what?”

His eyes flash with something feral. “Or I burn this fucking place to the ground.”

I believe him.

But that isn’t the real threat here. The real threat is the girl bleeding out in his arms. I kneel beside her, pressing two fingers to her pulse. Faint. Weak. A few more minutes, and she won’t have a pulse at all.

“We need to get her inside,” I say, my voice steady, cold. The way it always is. The way it has to be.

Because if I let myself feel the wrongness of this moment, if I let myself acknowledge the fact that Luna, our Sin-Binder, the girl who should be untouchable, unbreakable, is slipping through our fingers, I might just lose my mind, too. And there won’t be anything left to save.

I step forward, my voice measured. Cold. Steady. “Give her to me.”

Riven’s head snaps up, eyes burning like embers in a dying fire. “No.”

The word is guttural, torn from the depths of him, and for the first time in all the centuries I’ve known Riven, I see something I never have before, real, visceral fear.

It pisses me off. Because we don’t have time for this. Because his fear won’t keep her alive.

I crouch beside them, not close enough to be threatening, but enough to meet his eyes levelly. “You want her to die out here?” I ask, tone smooth as steel. “Because that’s what’s going to happen if you keep clutching her like a rabid dog instead of letting me take her inside.”

He bares his teeth. Good. Let him snarl. Let him fight. Let him burn with all that fucking rage of his. It doesn’t matter.

“She’s not going to die,” he growls, but his grip on her tightens, like just holding her will force her to stay tethered to this world.

I shift my stance, keeping my voice measured, unwavering. “No. She’s not. Because you’re going to let me take her.”

His whole body bristles. But he doesn’t look away.

“Orin’s magic isn’t enough,” I say, nodding toward him. “You know it. I know it. You can’t fix this out here. But I can. Inside.”

His nostrils flare, his fury palpable, raw.

I press in further. “I need you out here, Riven. You think the battle stops because you’re having a fucking crisis? It doesn’t. You leave your post, you leave us vulnerable. You leave her vulnerable.”

That hits. I see it the moment it does. A crack in the armor, slight but damning. His gaze drops back down to her, to the blood still seeping from the wound, to her lips, parted, breath barely there.

Orin looks at me, silent, waiting.

I hold firm. “You trust me to keep this place standing?”

A sharp exhale. Riven shifts, just slightly, but it’s enough. His arms loosen. His jaw clenches. Then, he relents. Slowly, reluctantly, with a look that promises I’ll lose my fucking head if I fail, he shifts Luna into my arms .

She feels too light. Too fragile for the kind of power that’s supposed to be bound to her bones. Her skin is cold, damp with sweat. She’s slipping, and I can’t afford to let her.

Riven hovers, his entire body still coiled tight. He looks like he’s about to fucking snap in two.

I level him with a final look. “Go.”

For a second, I think he won’t. Then, he curses under his breath, raking a bloody hand through his hair, and shoves himself up. He stalks away, back toward the battlefield, a storm waiting to break.

I shift my grip on Luna, her head lolling slightly against my shoulder. Orin is already moving, falling into step beside me.

Now we fix this.

I feel it the moment I step past the threshold, Orin on my heels. The house itself seems to recognize her frailty, the walls pulling in, the magic embedded in the foundation stirring like it knows what’s at stake.

Riven’s absence is a blade against my instincts. He doesn’t trust me with her. None of them do. But trust isn’t necessary, results are.

I move swiftly through the hall, ignoring the blood smearing against my chest as I adjust my grip on her. She’s too pale, her lips tinged with something that isn’t just blood.

The wraith magic is still in her. Eating away.

Orin doesn’t speak, but I can feel him at my side, his power already pulling, leeching from the academy itself, from the roots beneath the stone, from the very air around us. A slow, insidious theft of life.

It’s not enough .

I enter my chambers, the wards flaring to life the second I cross the threshold. The room is immaculate, untouched by the battle outside, but it stinks of loss.

Not again.

I lower her onto the bed, my movements precise. Orin kneels beside her without hesitation, one hand pressing against the wound, the other splayed against the floor. A deep inhale, then the world around us tightens.

The plants in the corner shrivel, the candles gutter, the fire in the hearth dims. Life funnels through him like a siphon, all of it pouring into her.

Her body jerks, her lips parting, a strangled sound escaping.

It’s not enough.

I exhale slowly, forcing the coil of frustration from my spine. Pride does not heal. It does not soothe, does not mend. It devours, it dominates, it takes. But there’s a cost to taking, and right now, I’m willing to pay it.

I place a hand over Orin’s, over the wound. I can’t pull the infection from her, can’t purge it like Orin siphons life, but I can force her body to hold.

Pride demands. And I am its vessel. I let the power seep from me, not in waves, not in healing warmth, but in sheer, undeniable command.

Hold. I will it into her bones. Into her blood. You do not fall. You do not break.

Her pulse kicks. The wound doesn’t close, but the spread of the wraith magic halts. Locks. Like it’s been told to stop.

Because it has.

Orin exhales a shaky breath. “What the hell did you just do? ”

“She’ll hold for now,” I say, voice sharper than I intend.

But Orin is already fading. His skin is paler, his breath shallow, his hands still hovering over her wound, over the place where my power forced her body to obey. But obedience is not survival.

Orin knows this as well as I do. His fingers twitch as he siphons, drawing out the poison. The veins along his arms darken, slithering up his skin like ink bleeding through paper. His body drinks the corruption in slow, excruciating pulls.

A price paid in blood and agony.

I watch as Luna’s breath steadies. The tension, no, not tension, but the unnatural stillness that sat beneath her skin, eases.

Orin groans low in his throat, swaying.

I grab him by the wrist before he keels over. “Enough.”

He swallows hard but doesn’t argue. Orin isn’t stupid. He knows his limits.

He collapses onto the floor, bracing himself on one knee. “She’s stable. For now.” He exhales roughly, wiping a shaking hand over his mouth. His eyes flick to mine, dark and sharp despite the exhaustion. “But she won’t last like this. Not in a battle. Not against them.”

I don’t need to ask who he means.

Luna stirs, just a twitch, a shift beneath the weight of everything we’ve done to keep her alive.

Orin sits back, pressing his fingers to his temple. “She needs another bond.”

I freeze. His head tilts toward me, heavy-lidded, his breath ragged. He’s waiting for me to argue.

I don’t. Because I know he’s right. One bond isn’t enough. Not for what’s coming. Not if she’s going to survive another fight. And if I deny it, she’ll keep pushing herself until she’s nothing but a body at our feet.

Orin exhales. “Silas.”

A muscle jumps in my jaw.

“He’s the right choice,” Orin continues, voice unwavering despite his obvious exhaustion. “She needs someone who can mimic what we do. If she can use our powers, she’ll have a better chance of staying alive.”

My fingers curl into my palm.

Silas.

The idea isn’t without merit. Silas is adaptable. He bends and breaks rules in ways that defy logic. And if Luna could do the same, if she could steal what she needed when she needed it…

I exhale slowly. It makes sense.

Orin watches me closely, waiting.

I nod once. “Fine.”

Because at the end of the day, I’d rather she take power from all of us than be buried beneath the dirt. I push Orin off the floor, steadying him with a grip that doesn’t linger. He’s already given more than he should, siphoning the poison, stabilizing her, now I need him on his feet, functioning.

“Go get Silas,” I say.

Orin doesn’t argue. He’s too drained for it, his movements sluggish as he stands. He spares Luna one last glance before nodding and staggering toward the exit.

I roll my shoulders, suppressing the wave of exhaustion threatening to sink its claws into me. This isn’t over. Not even close .

Silas might push back on this, his instincts will scream at him to joke, to deflect, to turn it into a game. But this isn’t a fucking game. It’s survival.

And Luna is running out of time.

Silas wants her. That much is obvious. He can barely string two sentences together around her without tripping over his own damn words. This is just rushing the inevitable.

But he better not fuck this up. Because he’s going to have to bond with her now, right now, in the middle of a war, with blood still drying on her skin, with the sounds of battle shaking the walls around us.

And Silas, for all his bravado, is a mess when it comes to her. Joking one second, panicked the next.

I exhale sharply, glancing back at Luna. Her chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, Orin’s power still working through her. She’s holding on, but barely. Silas better get his shit together. Because if he screws this up, there won’t be enough of her left to save.

Orin returns, dragging a very unhelpful Silas by the collar like a wayward cat. Silas isn’t resisting, but he isn’t exactly cooperative either. His expression is frozen somewhere between shock and horror, his mouth slightly open as if mid-malfunction.

“She’s not dead,” Orin says, kicking Silas forward. “But she will be if you keep standing there looking like you just found out your dick fell off.”

Silas blinks rapidly. “I,..what?”

I don’t have time for this.

“She needs another bond,” I snap, stepping closer. “And it has to be you.”

Silas visibly short-circuits. His face goes pale, his hands twitching like his brain is firing off every possible escape route, only to realize there isn’t one .

“What? Why, why me?” His voice cracks.

Orin, fed up already, smacks the back of Silas’s head hard enough to make him stumble forward. “Because you’re a mimic, dumbass.”

Silas rubs his head, looking personally offended. “That seems like a pretty weak reason to, ”

“She has Wrath,” I cut in, stepping into his space, forcing his focus on me.

No distractions. No jokes. “She needs something to balance it out. You can mimic our abilities. You can take them and use them. If she bonds with you, she’ll learn how to wield them without burning herself out.

And right now, she needs energy, your energy.

So unless you want to stand there and watch her fade out, I suggest you do your fucking job. ”

Silas opens his mouth, then closes it again. His fingers twitch at his sides. The weight of the moment finally settles over him.

“She’s, she’s gonna hate me,” he mutters.

I exhale sharply, gripping Silas’s shoulder hard enough to make sure he feels it. “Mimic Orin. Give her back what she’s lost. Then take her to your room and finish the bond. You don’t have long.”

Silas swallows hard. “I….I’ve never, ”

“Yeah, we know,” Orin says dryly.

Silas glares.

“Figure it out,” I order. “Or lose her.”

His expression shifts, a mix of panic, determination, and something else. Something darker. Then, finally, he nods .