Chapter 42 Chapter 42
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Azania sat on the edge of her bed, the dim lanternlight flickering softly across the walls of her room. The air felt heavy, still, as if the world outside had paused just to watch her. She closed her eyes slowly and blindfolded herself, breathing in and out, trying to drown out the thoughts racing through her mind.
For days now, Vyrian had disappeared, not a word, not a trace. And ever since Lyra vanished, Azania’s instincts had been screaming at her. Vyrian has something to do with it. I know it.
She had tried calling out to him the way she used to, the secret spiritual link they once shared but this time, he ignored her. Deliberately. Coldly. That alone terrified her more than anything.
A spark of determination flashed through her eyes. Fine. If he won’t come to me… I’ll find him myself.
Azania placed her palms against the floor and began to chant under her breath, ancient words rolling across her tongue like dark silk. The air in the room shimmered. Sigils glowed faintly beneath her feet, humming with power.
She felt her essence loosen, like threads coming undone, and then—
Her spirit slipped free from her body. The world around her blurred, stretched, then reshaped. She stood at the edge of the Dark Hollow.
It was worse than the legends described. Black mist coiled like living serpents along the twisted stone ground, and towering shadows drifted silently through the air. The place pulsed with ancient magic, dark and hungry.
The faint sound of chanting echoed in the distance, layered with whispers voices that did not belong to the living. No demon could see her in this form, but she could see all of them. And they were everywhere.
Azania walked forward carefully, the eerie silence pressing against her chest. Strange runes glowed faintly on cracked pillars. Bone torches burned with cold, blue fire. A sickening energy crawled over her skin as she moved deeper into the Hollow.
She could feel Marphas nearby. His presence was sharp and cruel, impossible to mistake.
As she reached the inner chambers, a ripple of movement caught her attention. A hooded figure stepped out of the darkness, gliding silently toward Marphas’s side.
The air trembled around her. Azania froze. The figure slowly lifted her hood.
Azania’s eyes widened. It was a witch. Not just any witch an old one. A relic from a bloodline everyone believed had vanished centuries ago.
Her silver-white hair flowed over her shoulders, her eyes burning with ancient, forbidden knowledge.
This shouldn’t be possible. They’re extinct… they’re supposed to be extinct. Why is she here? What are they planning?
Azania’s heart pounded even though she had no physical body. The energy between Marphas and the witch crackled like storm lightning.
She leaned closer without thinking, The world lurched. A sharp pull yanked her backwards. The Hollow vanished. Her spirit slammed back into her body.
Azania gasped, sitting upright with a jolt, sweat running down her forehead. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her hands trembling from the violent snap-back.
The room spun for a moment before settling.
Someone was standing in front of her. “Are you okay?” Juniper’s voice was soft, hesitant.
Azania’s eyes narrowed immediately. Though she couldn't see, she recognized the person “Like you care,” she scoffed, pushing herself to her feet.
Juniper flinched a little, guilt clouding her expression as she quickly followed behind. “Azania… please. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have left like that. I regret it every day. I just—”
“You just ruined my meditation,” Azania snapped, wiping her forehead angrily. “Do you even realize what you interrupted?”
“I’m sorry,” Juniper whispered again, voice shaking. “Truly. I didn’t mean to—”
Azania turned away, her jaw tight. Her mind was still echoing with the image of that witch… and the look in Marphas’s eyes. Something big was coming. Something dangerous.
And Vyrian… He was right in the middle of it.
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MIDNIGHT
The Dark Hollow pulsed with eerie silence, the kind that carried weight the kind that felt alive. Everything had already been prepared for the ritual. Black candles surrounded the massive stone altar, their flames burning with ghostly blue light. Strange runes crawled along the ground like veins, pulsing in rhythm with a heavy, unseen heartbeat. Thick mist drifted across the floor, whispering softly as if it carried trapped voices.
And right at the center of it all… Lay the Heavenly Pearl. It rested upon a carved pedestal above the altar, glowing faintly, yet dull and cracked, as though struggling to survive. The hollow air trembled with ancient energy. The entire chamber smelled of iron, ash, and old magic.
Morgana stood in front of the altar tall, stern, her expression unreadable. Her dark robes flowed around her like shadows come to life, and the sigils on her sleeves shimmered faintly with dangerous power. Chains of bone and silver wrapped around her wrists, connecting her to the altar, channeling her spellwork into the ritual.
Vyrian was nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t stand there and watch. Every time he imagined Lyra lying helpless on that altar… something twisted violently inside him. So he stayed away pacing the corridors of the Hollow in torment yet unable to leave too far, because his fate was still tied to what would happen here.
Morgana’s voice rose slowly, chanting spell after spell, the words echoing against the dark stone walls. The air thickened, magic building like a storm ready to break.
“Bring her forward,” the witch commanded at last.
Two demons emerged from the shadows, dragging Lyra out. Her hands were bound by enchanted cuffs that burned against her skin, leaving faint scars. Her long hair clung to her damp cheeks, and tears streamed down her face, but she no longer had the strength to wipe them away.
She was holding her belly trembling, terrified. And her belly… It was bigger. Much bigger. Swollen and heavy, as though months had passed in just days. It looked like a seven-month pregnancy now, round and painfully tight, stretching her gown against her skin.
Lyra cried weakly, her voice hoarse and broken. “Please… please don’t hurt me… don’t hurt my baby…”
Her knees buckled, and one of the demons yanked her upright cruelly. Her breathing came in shallow gasps. She was so weak it looked like a single breath might be her last.
Morgana’s lips curled slowly. “Wonderful,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on Lyra’s swollen belly. Her voice trembled with dark fascination. “Perfect. The timing is aligning… the power is ripening.”
From the shadows, Marphas stepped forward, his grin sharp and merciless. “We will use your heart,” he said voice cold, unfeeling — “and spare your baby. She will be useful… I can feel it already.”
Lyra sobbed harder, clutching her stomach as though she could shield the child inside. “No… please… please don’t take my baby—”
Her words died into a broken cry as the demons forced her onto the altar. Some unseen force snapped around her, invisible, crushing pinning her there. She tried to move, to struggle, to scream, but her body refused to obey.
Her heart raced. Her child kicked desperately inside her womb. She had never felt so helpless… so afraid… so small.
Morgana raised her hands and continued chanting, the sound growing deeper, darker. The chamber vibrated, the pearl flickering weakly in response.
Back at the Academy Azania sat cross-legged on the floor of her locked room. This time, she made sure no one would interrupt her. Every window sealed. Every door barred. Protective sigils glowed along the walls, isolating her from the world.
Her jaw tightened. She could feel something was happening. Something urgent. Something wrong.
She closed her eyes… let her spirit slip free… and once again the world vanished in a rush of cold wind and humming magic.
When she opened her eyes, She was back in the Hollow.
And this time, she ran. Her spirit moved swiftly through corridors carved from enchanted stone, past shadows groaning in agony, past walls dripping with old spells and trapped souls.
Then she reached the ritual chamber… …and her eyes widened in horror.
Lyra lay helpless on the altar, pale, barely conscious her stomach swollen unnaturally large. Morgana stood beside her, chanting relentlessly, a dagger glowing in her grip. Marphas loomed nearby, eyes blazing with triumph.
Azania’s chest tightened. No. No, this can’t happen. Not like this.
Morgana lifted the dagger higher, its blade shimmering with cursed fire. The chanting reached its final peak. The ritual was ready.
Lyra’s lips trembled. Her eyes fluttered weakly. “Help… someone… please—”
Azania didn’t even realize when she moved. She didn’t think. She didn’t calculate. Something ancient something fierce and reckless surged through her, ripping past fear.
Before she could stop herself… She muttered the forbidden spell. The words tore through the air like thunder. The ground shook violently. The Hollow roared as shockwaves exploded outward. Flames sputtered runes shattered the pearl flickered brightly for the first time.
Morgana staggered, almost dropping the dagger. Lyra’s head snapped upward. A blinding blue-white light burst from her eyes, flooding the chamber.
Her body trembled violently power rippling through her veins like a storm awakening after centuries of sleep.
Before anyone understood what was happening Lyra moved. Fast. Unnaturally fast. She grabbed the dagger from Morgana’s frozen hand and spun toward Marphas in one single, ferocious motion.
Her body was no longer weak. Her voice was no longer trembling. Her aura burned like a blazing crown.
With one powerful thrust she drove the dagger straight through Marphas’s chest. The blade pierced his heart. His eyes widened shocked and horrified.
The Hollow gasped. Lyra’s grip tightened as she yanked the dagger free, pulling his heart out with it. Black Blood poured down the blade, warm and thick, spilling across her hands.
Without hesitation She pressed the heart against the Heavenly Pearl. Blood soaked across its cracked surface. The pearl glowed. Then… It ignited bursting into brilliant radiant light fully alive, fully restored healed completely as if reborn from the blood it drank.
Azania gasped from where she stood, frozen in disbelief. This wasn’t just Lyra anymore. It's Queen Elyndra, she actually use the forbidden spell to summon her.
Fear and awe crawled through Azania’s body. She turned to run And slammed right into Vyrian. He grabbed her wrist. He could see her because she had used his connection to enter.
His eyes blazed with fury. “Didn’t I warn you not to ruin things for me?” he hissed, his voice sharp as a blade.
Azania met his gaze breath trembling, but before he could tighten his grip… She vanished. Her spirit snapped away leaving Vyrian standing alone as the chamber erupted in chaos.
He ran inside. His father’s body was already dissolving crumbling into black ash fading into nothing. The dagger still dripped blood. The pearl glowed like a rising star.
And before the altar… Morgana knelt. She wasn’t kneeling before Lyra. She was kneeling before the one who now stood in her place.
Because Elyndra… Had finally awakened. Her presence filled the chamber like a storm of ancient royalty. Her posture was stronger.
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