Chapter 18: Night of Blades
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Evan's hands froze halfway to Selene. "Wake Lucian? Have you lost your mind?"
The thing wearing Selene's face tilted its head, silver eyes glinting. "You misunderstand. The Vessel is breaking free. Only Lucian's will has held it this long."
Aria barked a laugh. "Oh, perfect. So we trade one monster for another?"
Selene—or what looked like Selene—stood in one fluid motion. The movement was wrong, too graceful, like a marionette pulled by unseen strings. "Lucian is bound by blood and purpose. The Vessel knows only hunger."
Rowan's knuckles whitened around his crossbow. "And how do we wake him? Last I checked, you were the one who daggered him into oblivion."
A flicker of something crossed Selene's face—pain? Regret? Then it was gone, smoothed back into that eerie calm. "The prison weakens. But the final key lies where it began."
Isolde sucked in a sharp breath. "The north wing."
Outside, the pulsing quickened.
The north wing was a carcass picked clean.
Moonlight streamed through gaping holes in the ceiling, illuminating the wreckage of what had once been the solstice ritual chamber. The pillars lay shattered, their carvings defaced. The floor was a mosaic of cracked tiles and creeping black vines—dormant now, but twitching faintly as if dreaming.
And at the center, half-buried in debris, stood the remains of the mirror.
Not shattered.
Shattering.
Even as Evan watched, another hairline fracture snaked across its surface. The glass rippled like water, showing brief glimpses of that twisted forest—and the shadowy figure trapped within.
Selene approached it without hesitation. "He's waiting."
Kai hung back, his arms wrapped around himself. "This is a mistake."
Aria checked her knives. "Yeah, well. We're fresh out of good choices."
Evan stepped forward, his scar burning with every heartbeat. "What do we do?"
Selene placed her palm against the cracking glass.
"Blood," she said simply. "It always comes back to blood."
Evan expected resistance. A ritual chant, maybe. Some last-minute warning.
But Selene just took his wrist and dragged the dagger across his palm.
His blood hit the mirror—
And the world split.
One moment, Evan stood in the ruins.
The next, he was elsewhere.
The twisted forest stretched in every direction, trees coiled like sleeping serpents, their bark black and glistening. The air smelled of wet earth and old copper, so thick it coated his tongue.
And ahead, lounging against a tree with casual menace, was Lucian Crowhurst.
He looked exactly as Evan remembered—sharp cheekbones, silver-streaked hair, that same mocking smile. But his eyes were different. Not voids anymore, but a clear, piercing gray.
Selene's eyes.
"Took you long enough," Lucian drawled. He pushed off the tree, stepping closer. "Tell me, little stormcaller—how fares my cage?"
Evan's voice stuck in his throat.
Lucian's smile widened. "Ah. That bad."
It was over faster than Evan expected.
No grand speeches. No elaborate negotiations. Just Lucian listening as Selene—the real Selene, her voice bleeding through the silver—explained the Vessel's awakening.
When she finished, Lucian sighed. "And here I thought you'd come to apologize."
Selene's hands clenched. "Will you help or not?"
Lucian examined his nails. "Oh, I'll help. But not for you." He turned to Evan. "For him."
Evan stiffened. "Me?"
"The Vessel wants you. Specifically." Lucian leaned in, his breath cold against Evan's cheek. "Because you're not just a stormcaller, are you? You're the first in centuries born under a blood moon. The first worthy sacrifice."
The words landed like a physical blow.
Selene made a choked noise. "You lie."
Lucian's grin was all teeth. "Do I?"
Outside the prison, the academy shook.