The ley line projection shattered, splitting into a thousand fractured shards of light, each one flickering erratically before vanishing completely.

The runes on the Archive’s walls pulsed wildly, struggling against the invisible force tangling itself within them.

A sharp ache burned in my sternum, right where Mouriana’s bond had once tethered me to her.

I gritted my teeth, shaking off the phantom pull.

“I’m this close to losing my shit, Mouriana!” I snarled, holding my fingers mere inches apart. “I know you can see how close my fingers are to each other!”

A laugh that was nothing but a hum of mocking satisfaction.

“Tick-tock, little witch,” Mouriana murmured, her voice crawling along the walls, curling around me like a lover’s whisper laced with venom. “The anchors are mine. The cycle bends for me. And time, as always, is on my side.”

The ley line projection collapsed completely, vanishing into nothing.

Azriel staggered back, cursing as the room shuddered, the aquifer’s pulse skipping violently under our feet.

Devon grabbed my wrist. “We need to go,” he said urgently.

“She’s accelerating the cycle,” Azriel said. “I don’t think she’s waiting until midnight, any more.”

I exhaled through my nose. Devon’s grip tightened, his fingers curling possessively around mine as he pulled me toward the exit.

“You’re not ready to take her on yet, C—il,” he said, voice dropping into that low, commanding tone that only surfaced when he could tell exactly what I was thinking.

I ripped my hand free, planting my feet. “I don’t have the luxury of waiting until I am,” I snapped.

The Archive groaned around us, its protective wards flickering wildly in the wake of Mouriana’s presence.

“That’s exactly what she’s counting on,” Devon shot back. “That you’ll rush in before you’re strong enough, and she’ll devour you.”

“And what’s your plan?” I demanded, heart pounding. “Wait and let her rewrite the ley lines while we sit around hoping for divine intervention? In case you haven’t noticed, Gaia isn’t coming to help!”

“We might want to have this disagreement outside the archives,” Thalion suggested, unfazed by the unfolding crisis. He gestured vaguely to the groaning stone walls, the flickering runes. “The place looks ready to crumble.”

And just like that, he breezed past us, moving toward the exit like he wasn’t standing in the middle of an impending catastrophe, like our conversation bored him.

I glared daggers into the back of his head, my frustration momentarily redirected. Then I turned back to Devon.

His jaw ticked, fingers flexing at his sides, but his eyes stayed pinned on Thalion—too sharp, like he was filing away every little interruption, every glance exchanged, every unnecessary comment.

“No. We can fight smart,” Devon said, gritted and sharp. “Take her down in a way she doesn’t expect.”

“And how exactly do we do that?” I challenged.

Azriel, to his eternal suffering, stepped between us, rubbing his temples like he was regretting every decision that had brought him here today.

“You two can have your domestic spat later,” he muttered. “Right now, we need to figure out exactly how much time we have before Mouriana fully embeds herself into the ley lines.”

I blew out a breath, forcing my frustration down, turning back to the shattered ley line map.

“And do what?” Thalion’s voice cut through the room again. “Once we figure that out, how do we stop her?”

I didn’t look at him. I wanted to, just to gauge the expression behind that calm facade of his, but I didn’t.

Instead, I glanced at Azriel. “How much time do we actually have?”

Azriel waved a hand over the runes lining the Archive walls, trying to coax the ley line projections back into place. For a moment, nothing happened. But after a few tries, the fragments of the shattered projection flickered, reassembling in jagged, broken slivers.

The ley line network remained, but instead of golden threads pulsing with elemental magic, the projection was now flooded with red—dark veins pulsing like poisoned arteries, spreading outward in a web of contamination.

Azriel’s fingers twitched. “Gods,” he whispered. “She’s moving faster than I thought. We have less than twelve hours.”

“We need to get to the Temple of the Wealdel now,” I said against the roiling uncertainty in my gut.

Devon cursed softly, running a hand through his hair. “Do you have a plan?”

I swallowed, forcing down the cold, creeping dread curling in my chest. “Yes.”

It wasn’t a perfect plan or even a safe one, but it was the only option left.

“The Temple is the only source of Gaia’s primordial power that hasn’t been completely siphoned by Mouriana,” I said, my mind racing ahead. “I will drain every last potent energy in it before Mouriana can.”

Azriel’s eyes snapped to me, sharp with disbelief. “You’re going to take Gaia’s blessings, do exactly what she’s doing?”

“Yes,” I matter-of-factly. “It’s not an ideal solution, but at this point, we are out of ideal solutions. Gaia should aid us.”

Devon exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he said. “What do you need?”

I turned to Azriel first.

“A spell to force Gaia’s intervention,” I said. “Something to reinforce the ley line’s integrity and keep Mouriana’s creep at bay while I draw their power. Once that’s done, summon the Oriental elders to the temple.”

Azriel moved instantly, already conjuring the spell work in his mind. “I’ll need consecrated candles,” he muttered, waving a hand in the air.

A dozen floating wax candles appeared, flames igniting with a flick of his wrist, hovering around him in a perfect circle of pale gold light.

“What about me, Lady Irving?” Devon asked, and that slight emphasis, that need to remind the room exactly what I was to him, made my chest flutter.

“I’m yours to command,” he added.

I almost smiled. “She will try to stop us,” I said. “Can you call your sentinels here for backup?”

His brows knitted together. “Here? Why not at the temple?”

“Because we are not going to the temple the long way.” I shrugged.

Azriel’s hands stilled mid-gesture, his fingers twitching like he was physically restraining himself from throwing a book at my head. “No way you’re planning to summon a gate outside a Blessed Ground!”

Devon’s eyes snapped to me with scrutiny. “Can you?” he asked.

I didn’t answer him.

Instead, I stared Azriel down until he sighed through his teeth and turned back to his task, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “You’re all going to be the death of me.”

He began his s—ance, his low, melodic incantations weaving through the air as the candles hovered and spun, forming a ritual pattern of light and water.

“Ideally,” I murmured to Devon, gesturing vaguely around the archive, “it should take less than a few minutes to summon one. This is Blessed Ground, after all.”

I let the words settle before adding, “But Mouriana will try to disrupt me. I am sure of it.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then”

“What about me?” Thalion asked. “What do you need me to do?”

I finally turned to him, really looking at him now. The grey eyes. The disciplined stance, the way he carried himself like he belonged in a fight but preferred diplomacy instead.

There was a time—before Devon, before all of this madness—when I had considered being with him. Not out of love, but curiosity.

Because Thalion always looked so put together, like he had just stepped out of some aristocratic dream, all refined grace and effortless charm.

He smelled obscenely good, too, which was a ridiculous thing to be thinking about right now. And the way he moved was effortless, the way he spoke, intentional and carrying power without ever raising his voice. And the way he looked at me, was never uncertain. Thalion Perseus was handsome, elegant, refined in a way that was rare among warriors but second nature to the Great Fang Houses.

And for a long time, I had thought maybe—just maybe—I would say yes if push came to shove. If my life hadn’t taken the turn it did. But I never did, and I never would.

“Thalion,” I said, his name rolling off my tongue with just enough authority to remind him that I was still in charge here.

“Azriel is distracted while he’s concentrating on that spell. Mouriana will try to stop him too, so you must protect him.”

I let the words sink in before adding, pointedly”

“My mate will protect me.”

His eyes flickered, his expression giving nothing away. Then, he nodded slowly, and I swear, there was something knowing in his gaze, something that said”

You made your choice. I know it. But that doesn’t mean I’ll leave.

Devon said nothing, but his grip on his dagger tightened ever so slightly. “Begin,” he said.

I stepped back, rolling my shoulders, dragging a lungful of breath into my lungs.

The ley lines were trembling—not just from Mouriana’s influence, but from Wridel itself trying to fight back.

I pressed my hands together, feeling the power crackling just beneath my fingertips.

Gaia, if you’re listening, I thought bitterly, this would be a great time to show up.

Not that she ever did.

With a sharp inhale, I focused, drawing the magic into me, weaving it into something solid. I had never tried to summon a gate before, but I had studied the spell, and if there was ever a time to pass the test, this was it.

The moment I began the summoning, the temperature plummeted—so abrupt, so unnatural that frost curled along the Archive’s stonework, creeping up the walls like veins of ice, a warning written in cold silence.

Just as I expected—Mouriana noticed.

The shadows along the Archive’s walls stretched unnaturally, lengthening in ways that defied physics, curving toward me like hungry things sensing a meal.

The ley line’s pulse skipped violently too, a heartbeat losing rhythm, the magic of Wridel wincing under her interference.

A gust of cold wind rushed through the Archive, flickering the candles hovering around Azriel, causing the flames to dance erratically, nearly extinguishing.

I felt her pressure, her attempt to crush my focus, to collapse the summoning before it could fully take shape.

Oh, no you don’t.

I bared my teeth, fingers tightening against the raw pull of magic, and laughed”

“You’re going to have to try harder than that, Mouriana.”

A slow, low chuckle rippled through the air, dark and syrupy, twisting into a laugh that was nothing short of delightfully malicious.

“You mistake me for the measly fragments you fought, little witch.”

The voice was everywhere and nowhere, slithering through the Archive like black silk soaked in blood. The walls groaned, the candles died, and for the first time I felt real fear.

The very fabric of reality splitting open as the darkness deepened, not just a lack of light but a presence that was thick and crawling.

“I am Mouriana,” she purred, her voice deep, layered, ancient. “Queen of Darkness.”

The runic wards embedded in the Archive flared violently, resisting, but it didn’t matter. She was already inside.

The shadows along the walls peeled away, unravelling from the stone like threads being yanked from fabric, forming into something larger, more monstrous.

And then the first scream split the air. It wasn’t human or anything I had heard before. A sound so jagged, it felt like it was carving into my bones.

Then, they came.

From the ruptures in the walls, from the splintering reality around us, things began to emerge—hulking, twisted creatures with gleaming, soulless eyes, their forms shifting between smoke and something disturbingly solid.

Not shadows, no these were not mists like I’d fought before.

Demons.

The kind that existed in nightmares long before there were words to name them. The floor cracked under me, the ley lines trembling—not just from her corruption but from the pure, unrelenting hunger of what she had unleashed.

This was a declaration of war, and she hadn’t just come to play. She had come to devour us whole.

A vortex ripped open in front of me, the tear in space itself pulsing like a bleeding wound. I hadn’t done that, she had.

I stepped back, because for the first time since Mouriana had been whispering threats in my ear, I didn’t know if I should step forward.

“Now, now, don’t be shy.”

Her voice coiled around me, syrupy, sweet, as if she was beckoning me into her arms instead of into my death.

“I am waiting on the other side.”

Thee gate pulsed, and I felt it. Not just Mouriana’s magic or her darkness.

But the overwhelming, unbearable presence of something far worse waiting just beyond it.

She was intentionally separating us. I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

She wanted me alone in the temple. And she wanted them trapped here, outnumbered, outmatched, fighting these grotesque demons she had just unleashed.

I turned my gaze to Devon first, then to Azriel and Thalion, the three of them already falling into formation behind me, watching, waiting.

This wasn’t going to end well. I was more worried about Azriel.

Once a witch burned out, his magic would wane, his defences would crumble, and he would be in serious trouble against creatures that wouldn’t let him recover.

But Devon and Thalion had strength, agility, speed—the instincts of their species, the ability to fight until their last breath. They could handle this.

Probably. Hopefully.

Azriel, of course, read me like an open book.

“You worry too much,” he said lightly, twirling his fingers as his summoned whips cracked against the air, glowing with enchanted energy.

Then, with the kind of infuriating confidence only he could pull off, he smirked.

“We’ve got this.”

I nodded, then looked over at Devon. The moment our eyes met, I felt it—the itch to shift, the burning desire to protect me battling against his instinct to fight.

Never mind the demons snarling at them, or the darkness closing in, his focus was on me. Like he was memorizing me, and making a silent promise.

“You’ve got this,” he growled, voice gruff and his muscles coiled like a predator on the brink of snapping free. Then, softer, but not any less commanding. “Stay alive until I come for you.”

Without breaking stride, he turned, his gaze sweeping the Archive, assessing the demons, strategising.

“Kick her back to where she came from,” he said, rolling his shoulders, his fingers flexing like he could already taste the fight coming for him.

Then, with a smirk of his own”

“You summoned her. Now it’s time to send her back.”