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"No, you bastard, these people⁠—"

"These people carry traces of the original thirteen founding bloodlines, however diluted. Their ancestors forged the chains that support your family's lock. By draining their blood, we dissolve those ancient chains one by one. Their sacrifice will weaken the remaining seals enough for your power to shatter the lock forever."

He gestures to an empty section of wall where iron shackles wait, suspended by chains that disappear into the cavern's ceiling. Magic hums through the metal—binding spells and suppression wards designed to hold something much more powerful than a normal witch.

"The blood moon rises in a few hours," he continues as his followers drag me toward those waiting chains. "Just enough time to prepare you properly."

The iron shackles bite into my wrists, the metal burning through my jacket sleeves to sear the skin beneath. My arms stretch above my head at an angle that sends fire shooting through my shoulders, while my feet barely touch the cavern floor.

Malachai steps back to admire his handiwork, brushing invisible dust from his pale hands. "The ancient chains hold selenic magic so beautifully, don't they? Each link forged with blood from the original binding ritual."

The metal drums against my skin, and something else hums back, making my vision blur at the edges and filling my mouth with the taste of starlight and copper.

So close now, a thought that isn't mine ripples through my mind like smoke through fabric. So very, very close to freedom.

I shake my head violently and try to clear the foreign presence from my mind. "Get out of my head."

"Oh, you think she’s in your head, dear Vessel?" Malachai laughs, the sound echoing off stone walls like breaking glass. "You're in hers. The proximity to her prison is awakening the connection your bloodline has carried for generations."

The cavern wavers around me, stone walls flickering between present reality and something else—something vast and hungry that expands beyond the boundaries of physical space. Ancient moonlight, untouched by earth, spills across impossible surfaces, illuminating a relic that belongs to another reality.

Look at what they've done to us, the entity purrs, and suddenly I'm seeing through her eyes to watch Malachai's followers arrange ritual components methodically. We have endured centuries of imprisonment, treated as nothing more than a battery for their pathetic magical seal.

"That's not—" I start to argue, but the words tangle in my throat because I can suddenly feel the rage burning through the entity's consciousness, tasting exactly like my own fury at being controlled and used.

They fear our power because they cannot contain it, she continues, sending a flood of foreign memories through my mind that feel as real as breathing. I see witches in ancient robes binding something beautiful into darkness alongside generations of Crowe members dying to maintain a prison they never chose to build.

"Stop it. Those aren't my thoughts."

"The blood moon rises higher," Malachai announces to his followers, ignoring my distress. "Begin the preparation circles. Light the ceremonial fires."

The masked figures move in fluid coordination while tracing complex symbols across the cavern floor in what looks suspiciously like fresh blood. Thick, cloying incense smoke fills the air, churning into an invisible pressure that crushes my chest beneath a suffocating cold.

Your mother understood, the entity whispers, and suddenly I'm drowning in visions that feel more real than the chains holding me. A woman with my eyes and darker hair standing in this exact cavern, tears streaming down her face as she raises a blade. She knew the only way to end the cycle was to set me free.

"My mother died fighting you. She chose to die rather than give you what you wanted."

Did she? Or is that the version your aunt told you? Look closer, Vessel. The entity's response turns silky and persuasive.

The vision sharpens to reveal Amaris Crowe with tears streaming down her face and a blade raised. The angle shifts to show what the entity wants me to see—a flash of hesitation in my mother's eyes and a split second of doubt before the end.

I snap my jaw hard enough to crack my teeth. "You're lying. You twist everything."

Perhaps, the entity's amusement ripples through my skull. But you'll never know for certain, will you?

The cavern spins around me, present and past blurring together until the boundary between my thoughts and hers feels thin as wet paper. Malachai's followers continue their preparations while chanting in languages that cause the atmosphere to vibrate. The sanguine moon's pull intensifies through the stone above us as the entity's prison strains at its seams.

But beneath the confusion and the ancient voice creeping through my consciousness, one thought remains, fiercely mine.

Darius is coming. He will find the prisoners. And while Malachai focuses his destruction on me, my family's legacy will finish what it started three centuries ago.

Drawing my eyelids down, I begin folding power inward, hoarding it like a miser counts coins, hiding the gathering storm from Malachai and the entity alike.

Let them think I'm broken and that I've surrendered.

They have no idea what's coming.

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