The two shadows glided down the slope, swift and silent.
Maika's heart pounded, her eyes scanning the darkness as Carl followed closely behind. Cane had done his part—intercepting the Council's perimeter wards and mapping a narrow window for infiltration. One hour. That's all they had.
Inside her boot, Maika carried a sealed bloodstone—a gift from Queen Vantessa, pulsing faintly with ancient magic. One use. One burst of power. The Queen hadn't said much when she gave it to her… just looked at her with a haunted expression Maika hadn't forgotten.
Carl's weapons were simpler—but no less deadly. A pair of silver daggers, blessed by the old gods and sharp enough to slice through spells and bone alike. He never went into battle without them. Not after losing Maika once.
The citadel's black spires loomed above them, jagged and cold. But Cane had whispered of an ancient aqueduct beneath the rear wall—unguarded, forgotten.
"There," Maika whispered.
She knelt by a moss-covered grate, knuckles tapping against its hollow surface. The runes shimmered faintly beneath her touch.
Carl stepped forward. "Let me."
With one powerful tug, the grate tore open. Without hesitation, he slipped inside, and Maika followed, her breath catching as the narrow tunnel swallowed them. Moss and blood slicked the stone, and the scent of decay clung to the air. Above, voices echoed—distant, layered with incantations.
The enemy was near.
---
Inside the Fortress
The aqueduct emptied into a corridor lit by eerie blue fire sconces. Protective enchantments pulsed in the walls like a heartbeat.
Carl's nostrils flared. "He's close."
Maika's eyes shimmered violet. Her magic stirred. "I feel him. His heartbeat is faint… but it's him."
Carl's grip tightened on his daggers. "Where?"
She closed her eyes. "North wing. Lower levels. Underground."
They moved like smoke, swift and deadly. Carl took down a lone sentry with one silent strike. Maika whispered incantations passed down by Vantessa and Salem, disarming runes with graceful flicks of her fingers.
"Wait," Carl murmured, halting near a door. Muffled voices inside.
"…his aura spiked again. The black magic is waking."
"Then we must act before his mother arrives."
Maika's stomach twisted.
"She's coming—with the Lycan Alpha. Before dawn."
"You fools. If she awakens his powers—"
That was enough.
Carl slammed the door open.
Before the mages could even draw breath, Maika lifted her hand. Shadows burst from her fingers, coiling like serpents and wrapping around their throats.
"Where. Is. My. Son." Her voice cut like ice.
One mage gasped, "You're too late. He's—"
Carl struck him down with the hilt of his dagger. "Lie, and I'll carve truth from your bones."
The second mage choked, eyes wild. "Underground! Ritual chamber! Past the warded gate at the hall's end!"
Maika dropped them both with a cold flick of her wrist.
---
The Final Gate
It pulsed like a heartbeat—red magic and cursed sigils woven into its core. A death ward.
Maika stepped forward, pressing her palm to the ancient stone. Pain lanced through her hand.
"I can undo it," she whispered, voice strained. "But it's going to burn."
Carl stepped beside her, gaze steady. "I'll protect you."
She looked at him—truly looked. "I'm not the one who needs protecting."
Closing her eyes, Maika chanted words older than the fortress itself—syllables clawing up from her blood. The legacy of the Carellos surged within her, awakening.
Power ripped through the chamber.
The runes cracked.
The spell screamed.
The gate shattered.
Inside, a circular room bathed in floating lantern light.
At its center—strapped to a ritual altar—was Caveen.
---
"Mom?"
His voice was hoarse, disbelieving.
Maika's breath caught. "Caveen…"
She ran to him, tearing at the magical binds, her hands trembling. Her baby—her boy.
"I knew you'd come," he whispered.
Carl moved in, silent and stormy. His son's eyes found him.
"Dad…"
The three embraced—but the moment was shattered by a low rumble.
The walls trembled. Magic surged violently around them.
"Runes!" Maika cried. "They're collapsing—"
Carl didn't wait. He scooped Caveen into his arms, Maika shielding them both with wards as they sprinted through falling stone and flashing sigils.
They reached the aqueduct.
Collapsed.
Carl pointed. "There! A scrying gate!"
Maika grabbed the pendant Vantessa had given her. One chance.
She poured everything into the gate—blood, magic, desperation—and it flared open with a violent shriek.
They stepped through—
And vanished.
Behind them, the fortress screamed and crumbled into ruin.
---
Elsewhere...
A silence colder than death filled the Council chamber.
Archon Morviel stood tall, his pale eyes like ancient ice. Behind him, the obsidian walls pulsed with restrained fury.
"He is gone," Morviel said simply. "The boy has escaped."
Outrage exploded.
High Seer Ellantha slammed her hand onto the table. "How?! We were this close! We nearly unlocked the truth of his aura!"
Lord Halric of the Vampire Sect leaned forward, voice low and venomous. "That was no ordinary child. His aura bore the mark of the Carellos. The black magic is rising."
"Enough," growled Tharos, the Lycan War Minister. "He's just a child! You would dissect him before understanding him."
Morviel raised a hand. The room fell deathly still.
"I let them go."
Gasps. Disbelief. Fury.
"You what?" Ellantha hissed. "You let the child fall into the hands of a rogue Alpha and a blood-stained princess?!"
"I let him return to his family—for now."
Morviel moved to the viewing basin, casting an image with a flick of his hand. Maika and Carl raced across treetops, Caveen unconscious between them, safe… for now.
"He is the convergence of our lines," Morviel said, voice thick with prophecy. "Vampire. Lycan. Witch. But he is only the beginning."
A heavy hush descended.
"What are you saying?" Halric asked.
Morviel's eyes gleamed with dangerous reverence. "The seers spoke of two. A boy… and a girl. The boy is the key. But the girl—she will unlock the gate."
Ellantha's eyes widened. "You mean… the daughter?"
Morviel nodded slowly. "The stormchild. Stronger than any before. A being who could save this world… or destroy it."
Silence.
"She is not born yet," Morviel continued. "But she will be. And when she comes… the balance will break."
"Why let them go?" Tharos asked, voice low.
Morviel turned, cold and calculating. "Because peace breeds complacency. Let them feel safe. Let them fall in love again. Let the child be conceived."
"And then?" Halric asked.
Morviel smiled darkly.
"Then we take them both. And this time, no one will stop us."
Outside, thunder rolled—deep, ancient, and full of promise.
The storm was coming.
And they would be ready.