“You’re insane.”
“I’m practical.” Her voice sharpens. “Do you think magical power just appears from nowhere? Do you think the abilities you take for granted came without cost? Every working requires fuel. Every advancement requires sacrifice. I simply… industrialized the process. Made it efficient. Sustainable.”
“You made it monstrous.”
“I made it work.” She takes a step toward me. “And you—you’re proof of what’s possible when the work is done correctly. You’re the most powerful blood mage in three generations, Kharvek. Stronger than any natural-born practitioner. Stronger, eventually, than me. All because I was willing to do what others considered unthinkable.”
“And Imara?” I pull her closer, my arm wrapping around her waist. “What’s your plan for her in this glorious future?”
The Matron’s gaze flicks to Imara. Calculating. Assessing.
“The harvester would be your consort. The mother of the next generation.” Her voice is magnanimous. Generous. “Your children would combine your channeling ability with her precision control. They would be the next step in blood magic’s evolution—more powerful than you, more refined than her, perfect in ways neither of you can achieve alone.”
“And if we refuse?”
“Then I take what I need regardless.” The warmth drains from her voice. “I don’t require your cooperation, Kharvek. Merely your genetic material. The Womb Chamber can extract what’s necessary from both of you. Conception, gestation, birth—all of it can be accomplished without your willing participation. I would prefer your partnership, but I’ll accept your mere existence if that’s all you’re willing to give.”
Imara moves before I do.
Her hand comes up, scars flaring with crimson light. A lance of power stabs toward the Matron—precise, deadly, aimed at the throat.
The Matron deflects it with a casual wave. The attack splatters against an invisible barrier, dissipating into nothing.
“Disappointing.” She shakes her head. “I’d hoped you might see reason, but I suppose that was too much to expect from a harvester. You’ve spent too long pretending to be one of the faithful—you’ve forgotten what true power looks like.”
She raises her hand.
The blood-wards throughout the Chamber flare to life. I feel them clamp down on my channels—not blocking them, not quite, but constricting. Limiting. Like chains wrapped around my magic.
“The Chamber’s defenses are keyed to my blood.” The Matron’s voice is patient. Instructive. “And since my blood runs through you, I can control exactly how much power you’re allowed to access. Right now, you have just enough to stand upright. Try to attack me, and I’ll reduce that to nothing.”
I strain against the invisible bindings. Feel my scars burn as power builds with nowhere to go. The pressure is agonizing—not pain exactly, but a fullness that threatens to burst me apart from within.
“Stop fighting it.” Her voice softens. Almost kind. “You can’t overpower me in my own Chamber. You can’t escape wards that recognize you as part of themselves. The only path forward is acceptance. Partnership. Family.”
Family. The word is obscene in her mouth.
“I have a family,” I manage through gritted teeth. “I have Imara.”
“You have a breeding partner.” The Matron’s expression hardens. “A temporary amusement. When you’ve been alive as long as I have, you’ll understand the difference. Love fades. Blood endures.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I’m never wrong about blood.” She turns toward the Chamber’s exit. “Think about what I’ve offered, Kharvek. Take as long as you need. The wards will keep you contained until you’re ready to make the right choice. When you are—” She glances back over her shoulder. “—call for me. I’ll be waiting.”
She vanishes into the shadows.
The blood-wards pulse brighter. Tighter.
And we’re alone in the heart of the monster’s lair.
The moment she’s gone,I collapse.
The wards don’t let me fall far—they catch me, hold me in place, keep me upright through force alone. But the strength drains out of my legs. My arms. Everything except my grip on Imara’s hand.
“Kharvek—” Her voice is frantic. Her free hand cups my face, tilts it toward her. “Look at me, Kharvek. Don’t close your eyes.”
“I’m here.” The words scrape out. “She’s… in me. Part of me. I can feel it now. How didn’t I feel it before?”
