Page 39 of The Syndicate’s Shadow Heiress (Branche de Lune Syndicate #1)

THE FIRST VAULT BLEEDS

Kali’s Emotional State: Unstable. Splintering at the edges. Her body is breaking. Her will is unyielding. The deeper they go, the more the Spire reflects her…fractured, beautiful, deadly.

T

he teleport left a scorch in its wake. Kali landed hard on the upper ridge of the Ashen Spire, boots skidding across stone veined with ancient runes. Blood shimmered beneath the rock, pulsing like it was alive.

The air was thick with copper and memory. And something older, something waiting.

Astraeus appeared beside her in his human form, barely breathing, his silver eyes burning.

"The Vault is beneath this level. Sealed behind seven layers of woven sigils."

Lev dropped down next, blades unsheathed, teeth gritted. "And guess who's here to say hello?"

Across the ridge, Spiral Mouth forces emerged, cloaked in blood-threaded armor, faces marked with invocation scars. At their center, flanked by sentries, stood Belladonna. Smiling.

"She wants a spectacle," Irina hissed .

"She’ll get one," Kali said, stepping forward.

Solen appeared behind her, silent as gravity, his magic pulsing like starlight through fog.

"You're unraveling."

"I'm focused."

"You're bleeding."

"I've bled before."

"Not like this," he said. "This is bond decay. Prophecy backlash. If you breach the Vault in this state"

"Then the Vault will learn what it means to bleed," she snapped.

And then she struck.

Her shadows shot forward like spears of ink and fury. The battlefield erupted in a blaze of cursed fire and unraveling time. Lev launched toward the Spiral front, slicing through magic shields like vengeance incarnate. Irina blinked in and out of sight, throat-slitting precision and dark laughter.

Then came Astraeus.

His roar ripped the sky apart. The world paused.

Then, wings unfurled. Massive, endless. A black hole of flame stitched with runes from the dawn of existence .

His body spanned the battlefield like a living warship, talons big enough to carve open mountains, horns spiraling with ancient power.

Each beat of his wings crushed the air into thunder, scattering Spiral forces like insects before a hurricane.

And Kali—Kali was war.

She moved like a broken prayer. Shadows tore secrets from bone.

Blood dripped from her nose. Her flare screamed through her spine. She didn’t stop.

Until her knees buckled.

Solen caught her mid-collapse, his hands scorching with cosmic power.

"You can't touch the Vault like this…"

"Then help me," she gasped.

He kissed her forehead, whispering something in Zarokian, a vow stitched in stardust and sacrifice.

"Zir'kai vel tharnir, draek kor'ven myr. Iin thalos, iin vyr'kai, iin shira” (You will not fall. In the ruin, in the thread, in the light, we are bound beyond fate.)"

His magic flared, wild and unmoored. For a heartbeat, he swayed, as if a part of him had been traded to keep her tethered .

The path opened.

Seven seals cracked in rapid succession. One by one, they shattered: bone, flame, shadow, oath, breath, blood, silence.

Then the door groaned open. The First Vault was alive.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

It pulsed like a heart torn from time.

Inside, a throne of petrified gods sat empty and chained.

And at its base...

A mirror. But it wasn’t a mirror, it was a wound.

The surface wept black ichor, dripping into channels carved from old magic.

Kali stepped forward, and the air thickened, clinging to her skin like memory.

The mirror didn't reflect, it revealed.

In its depths, she saw herself, not just the sovereign, not just the warrior, but every broken version of herself that had ever screamed into the dark and been heard by nothing.

A thousand deaths. A thousand betrayals. A thousand wars.

And from the bleeding glass, a voice rose—raw, merciless:

"Unmake them or be unmade. "

Her chest caved inward. Her magic recoiled. Her very soul splintered, and still, she stood.

The chaos inside her wasn’t screaming, it was silent. Heavy. Like grief that had settled too long. She didn’t know which version she feared more, the ones in the mirror, or the one still standing.

Kali reached out, hand trembling.

The mirror touched back.

For a long moment, the world held its breath.

Her heart stuttered, every beat an eternity, her magic thrumming in waves against the pull of something deeper, something untouchable. Then, as the mirror’s surface flickered once more, she felt it…a ripple of warmth and cold that sank into her bones.

A flicker of human fear or wonder.

It was gone as fast as it had come. The hesitation vanished.

And with it, her resolve hardened, sharp as bone. The vow didn’t come softly, but it came. A promise soaked in blood and the inevitable:

"I wasn’t born to beg for mercy. I was born to end the wars others were too afraid to finish."

Her voice rang out, as clear as the death sentence she had just spoken.

And when the Vault’s heart gave its final pulse, the Spire itself began to bleed.