164

164


The fire crackles low in the corner of the room, casting shadows against the stone walls. Outside, the wind howls as if the night itself knows something is wrong. Inside the room, it's stiflingly warm, yet the small boy lying on the bed trembles like he’s cold. His skin is slick with sweat, strands of damp hair sticking to his forehead.

Lumina sits by his side, one hand gripping a damp cloth, the other hovering just above his chest. Her fingers twitch. She’s trying not to panic. She doesn’t even blink when Bianca bursts into the room.

“Still no change?” Bianca’s voice drops, low, careful.

Lumina shakes her head, slow, her lips pressed tight. “No. He’s burning up more. Look at his neck... his pulse is too fast. And he keeps…” Her voice trails off as the boy lets out another whimper.

They both lean in.

“Mmmm....”

It sounds like baby babble. But there’s something about the way the syllables form—too structured, too deliberate. It doesn't sound like a one-year-old babbling in his sleep. It sounds like a groan.

Bianca’s brows knit together. “What did he say?”

Lumina doesn’t answer right away. She just stares at the boy’s lips, waiting. The child mutters again.

“mmmm..."

Her breath catches. “That’s not baby talk,” she says, barely above a whisper.

Bianca tries to listen with magic and hears it clearly.

Arwan.

They look at each other at the same time, the air suddenly still around them, as if the room itself is holding its breath.

“That’s not possible,” Bianca says immediately, shaking her head. “Lumina, no. He’s dead. You killed him. I saw his ashes with my own eyes.”

But Lumina isn’t so sure anymore. Her gaze drops back to the boy. Her son. His cheeks are flushed deep red now, eyes flickering under his lids like he's trapped inside a nightmare. His tiny fingers curl and uncurl like he’s trying to grasp something that isn’t there.

“This isn’t just fever,” Lumina mutters, more to herself than to Bianca. “This is... something else. Something’s in him.”

Bianca’s shoulders stiffen. “You think he’s possessed?”

“I don’t know.” Lumina’s voice falters, unusually unsure. “But I can’t see through it. Every time I try to reach in, it pushes me out. Like something’s shielding his mind.”

Bianca kneels at the foot of the bed, her hands resting on the mattress. “What kind of shield can block you? You're the Queen Mother of all witches. You’re not supposed to be... blocked.”

Lumina wipes the boy’s forehead again, the cloth soaked now. “Exactly,” she says slowly. “Which means this is something stronger than just spiritual fever.”

Bianca glances toward the flickering flames. “I think what we found in the old magic scroll is the only trace plus her son's name now muttered by the boy”

“I don't know what else to do Bianca”

Silence settles between them for a moment, filled only by the boy’s faint muttering and the distant whistle of wind. It feels wrong. It feels cold, even in the heat.

“He kept saying Arwan,” Bianca says finally, as if forcing herself to say the name again will make it make sense. “Why would he say Arwan? Why that name?”

Lumina doesn’t answer. She’s already reaching for the small bowl on the side table. Herbs float lazily in the water, leaves curling like tired fingers. She dips the cloth back in, squeezes it, and presses it gently to her son’s chest.

His body jerks.

“Lumina,” Bianca warns, standing. “That’s not normal.”

“I know.”

She pulls the cloth back. It’s steaming, even hotter than before. The water inside the bowl has gone dark, like ink poured in and swirled through it.

Bianca steps back. “Okay. That’s dark magic. That’s not coming from him.”

“I’m starting to think Melissa never stopped,” Lumina murmurs. Her eyes stay locked on the child’s face. “This—this is her signature. She’s done something worse.”

Bianca blinks. "Just a curse would be easy for me to handle, this is insanely strange.”

“What other option do we have.”

Bianca stares for a long second. Then she sinks back into the chair near the bed, her tone dropping. Bianca curses under her breath. “Why would she target a child?”

“Because she lost hers,” Lumina says grimly. “And I took him.”

Bianca exhales, rubbing her forehead. “So this is revenge?”

“I don’t know yet.” Lumina closes her eyes. “But if it is... I don’t think this is just about Arwan.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think it’s about blood.”

The child jerks again. This time, the lamp on the far side of the room flickers hard, rattling against the wooden shelf. A small crack runs through the glass with a sharp ping.

Both women freeze.

Bianca whispers, “Tell me you felt that.”

“I felt it,” Lumina answers. Her voice sounds far away now, distracted. “And did you see his hands?”

Bianca leans forward.

The boy’s tiny fingers are twitching, then suddenly stretching out. Reaching.

Like he's trying to summon something.

“No child does that,” Bianca mutters, her throat dry. “That’s a channel.”

Lumina is already standing. She moves to the corner, grabs her satchel, and pulls out a thin vial of red powder. Her hands move quickly, pouring a line across the wooden floor in a wide circle. She doesn’t chant. She doesn’t need to. The powder sizzles as it hits the ground, glowing faintly.

Bianca watches her. “You’re warding the room?”

“Too late for full protection,” Lumina says. “But I can bind whatever is trying to take root here.”

“Take root?”

Lumina swallows. “It’s not just touching him, Bianca. It’s trying to become him.”

Bianca stares at the child, heart pounding. “You think it’s trying to possess him permanently?”

“I don’t know.” Lumina hesitates. “But this is deeper than I thought. And the worst part?”

Bianca looks up. "It means we have to visit her"