Chapter 55

Chapter 55
Seraphine screamed, though no sound left her mouth. Her body arched unnaturally inside the circle Calista had drawn—a grotesque coil of ancient runes that glowed red-hot, burning into the stone. Her silver eyes were wide but unfocused, flickering with pain and light.

She was dying.

Emilia barely felt her own feet hit the chamber floor. Her heart slammed in her chest like a war drum. The air pulsed, thick with raw enchantment. Calista stood over the ritual, arms raised, drenched in shadow and firelight.

Cyrus was off to the side, leaning against a pillar, face pale and slack as though half-possessed. He didn’t move. Not even as Seraphine writhed.

“Stop it!” Emilia’s voice was ragged, breaking on the stone walls. “Stop this now!”

Calista didn’t flinch. Her voice was calm, cruel. “I warned you what betrayal costs.”

Emilia ran forward—but hit something invisible. A wall of magic surged between her and the ritual. It crackled against her skin, pushing her back with a force like wind laced with needles.

“No!” She slammed her palms against it. “I’m not letting her die!”

The sigil on her wrist, carved in the language of oaths long before she was born, began to glow. Softly at first—then brighter, pulsing with heat and intent.

She closed her eyes.

Her breath steadied. She drew inward—not to rage, not to fear—but to something older. Deeper. Her blood.

Blood answers blood.

The words came not from her mind, but from her marrow. Emilia opened her eyes. They shimmered, not gold, not red—both.

She pressed her hands to the barrier again.

This time, it buckled.

Hairline fractures crawled across the shield. The runes around Seraphine faltered, flickering like candles in a breeze.

Calista turned slowly. “So. You are waking up.”

Emilia’s skin blazed. The tattoo of the binding mark on her wrist stretched up her forearm, veins alight like rivers of flame. She grit her teeth and pushed harder.

One more second.

The magic screamed—and shattered.

Emilia fell forward, catching herself on all fours as the force snapped. She crawled to Seraphine, who lay barely conscious, her breath shallow.

“Seraphine,” Emilia whispered, lifting her head gently. “Look at me. Don’t you dare give up.”

Seraphine’s lashes fluttered. Her hand trembled as it moved toward Emilia’s.

“I couldn’t… stop her,” Seraphine whispered.

“You don’t have to,” Emilia said. “I’m here now.”

She gripped Seraphine’s hand and summoned everything.

Every memory.

Every oath.

Every wound.

The runes under Seraphine’s body flared—then began to drain. Their red light bled out into the cracks Emilia had opened, disappearing into the stone.

Calista moved, snarling.

“You think you’ve won something?” she spat. “You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

“I’m not here to win,” Emilia said through clenched teeth. “I’m here to save her.”

Seraphine’s pulse fluttered beneath her fingers. Too faint.

Not enough.

Emilia glanced at her wrist—and cut it.

Just a shallow slice.

But the blood spilled fast, dark and warm, pooling around Seraphine’s mark.

“No—” Seraphine tried to pull away, but Emilia held steady.

“Blood answers blood,” she whispered. “Take it. Take me.”

Her blood lit up as it touched Seraphine’s skin, glowing with silver-gold light that crawled like veins of fire into the dying woman’s chest.

Seraphine gasped—then convulsed.

Her body snapped upright with a blinding flare of light as if lightning struck from within.

The runes exploded outward.

The circle was gone.

Emilia collapsed backward, breathing hard, dizzy, skin glowing with residual heat.

And Seraphine…

She was glowing.

Not fully healed, not strong—but awake. Alive.

Their bond shimmered between them like a golden thread.

“You’re insane,” Seraphine rasped, but her voice was wet with tears. “You stupid, reckless idiot.”

Emilia let out a broken laugh. “You’re welcome.”

But Calista was already moving, drawing something from the folds of her cloak. Not a weapon—something older. Something that pulsed with black fire.

Emilia stood slowly, turning toward her.

“No,” she said. “You won’t touch her again.”

Calista looked amused. “And you’ll stop me, will you?”

Emilia raised her hand. The cut still bled, but this time the blood moved—floating, hovering between her fingers like living flame.

“I already did.”