Then to be told by Kieran that he will never love me. I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt—because it did. But the ache that runs deeper than rejection is the knowledge that he truly believes he’s unworthy of being loved at all.
Daleyzas' fingers brush against mine, and I glance at her to find her watching me, her expression softer than the firelight dancing across her face. The low rush of the waterfall mixes with the fire's crackle, wrapping the moment in a strange kind of calm.
Are you ready?
Am I ready to see more of Vespera's past? To dig into whatever twisted thing she did to create the dark magic? Hell no. I’ll never be ready for that. But it had to be done.
I lift my chin and nod. “Whatever happens, don’t stop. It’s going to hurt—but I’ve had worse.”
Slowly, I slide the enchanted dagger from my side and set it between us. Daleyza lifts her hands, brushing her fingers against my cheeks. For the briefest heartbeat, her forehead presses to mine, grounding me, before she draws back and closes her eyes.
I follow her lead, shutting out the firelight, the waterfall, everything—until I feel it. Something pressing against the walls in my mind, testing the strength of the barriers I’ve built around my mind.
And as I force myself to lower those walls, I draw in a steady breath. The air feels colder against my skin, like winter sinking into my bones. Then the first sting of pain threads through me, delicate at first, but growing, winding itself deeper.
Daleyzas' magic slips into my mind like ink in water. It’s not just touching me, it's searching, feeling along the cracks of my mind until it finds the thread of my essence. That thread isbound to the dagger between us, the steel still carrying the heat of my blood from the cut I’d made earlier.
The instant her magic touches it, darkness unfurls. My senses dull, the world beyond this spell fading like a half-forgotten memory, and all that remains is the pull of her power drawing me in.
A soft whimper escapes me as a vision appears—Vespera, younger than I’ve ever seen her, standing alone in the shadowy heart of a twisted forest. Pale bodies strewn like broken dolls around her, their lifeless faces ghostly in the darkness. Before her, a bowl filled with thick, dark blood pulses faintly, almost alive.
Surrounding the grim scene is a circle of stones, each glowing with an eerie light—deep reds, cold blues, sickly greens. Animal skulls—wolves, ravens, snakes—are arranged like silent sentinels, watching with empty, accusing eyes. A plain dagger lies at the centre, waiting patiently for its role.
Pain twists sharply inside me, burning beneath my skin as I struggle to keep it at bay. Then, from the shadows, a figure steps forward—a young man, one I recognise all too well with cruel eyes that are now ancient and terrifying. His black hair falls carelessly over his forehead, but it’s the sadistic smile pulling at his lips that chills me to the bone.
“Now the sacrifices are made,” he murmurs, voice smooth like poison, “the blood of the betrayer, the bearer of light and purity, a warrior, a demon, a shifter—all mixed with black salt to bind it.”
He moves beside Vespera, their eyes locking with a terrifying calm, a silent pact forged in shadows and blood. The darkness seems to breathe around them, heavy with something unforgivable.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
The man lifts his hand, a lazy flick of his finger, and flames curl up from the earth like they’ve been waiting for his command. The light brightens, showing more of the cruelty in his eyes.
“Now, we heat the blade. Once it's ready, we cut our palms, mix our blood with the sacrifices… and drink every drop.”
My nostrils flare, rage coiling in my body. Every instinct in me screams to rip them apart—for what they’ve already done, for the horrors I know they’ll bring.
Vespera giggles. It’s soft, almost girlish, but it makes my skin crawl. She angles her head toward him, gaze lingering on his face like he’s the sun and she’s willing to burn for him. It’s not love—it's something hungrier, something close to worship.
“You make it sound so easy,” she purrs.
His mouth curves into a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Because it is. And soon enough, we’ll kill your parents, take Velmore for ourselves… and then, piece by piece, the other realms will fall and become ours.”
Those pieces of shit.
He stoops to retrieve the blade from the dirt, holding it out toward the blaze. The fire spits and hisses as the steel begins to glow.
“Are you ready for this?” he asks, voice low, like he already knows the answer.
Vespera winks at him, gliding closer with deliberate care, the bowl of blood balanced in her hands. “I was born ready.”
His hand snaps up, fingers clamping around her chin; that’s more possession than affection. He drags her face to his and crushes his mouth against hers—hungry, messy, claiming. I want to look away, I want to shut them out, but my eyes stay locked on the scene, trapped between disgust and the certainty that I need to remember every detail.
He tears his mouth from hers and lifts the blade over his palm, hovering it above the bowl. The steel bites into his flesh with a swift, practised slice. Dark drops fall into the bowl; his smile is malicious as he watches it with fascination.
A sharp ache flares behind my eyes. Pulsing until the edges of my vision throb in time with it. A low, relentless ringing hums in my ears, drowning out the snap and crackles of the fire, leaving nothing but the pounding in my skull.
Vespera mirrors him, dragging the heated blade across her skin without a flinch.
