The doors boomed shut behind us.
The sound echoed too long.
That was the first sign something was wrong.
The main hall stretched wider than it should have, longer than memory allowed. Black stone columns lined the walls, carved with old sigils Marcus favored. Not wards exactly. Symbols of ownership. Of dominion. Every surface was polished to a dull shine, like the room had been scrubbed clean of suffering and still remembered it anyway.
My chest tightened.
The fire inside me dimmed, not from weakness, but from attention. It was listening.
"This place is awake," I murmured.
Seraphina slowed beside me, her gaze sweeping the ceiling, the alcoves, the raised platform at the far end. "Yes. Marcus layered this hall with sentry perception. Not magic that attacks. Magic that watches."
I swallowed. "Like an audience."
"Like a court," she corrected.
My jaw clenched.
A soft sound drifted through the hall.
Footsteps.
Not rushing. Not cautious.
Measured.
Figures emerged from the side corridors. Nightwalkers, six of them, armor darker than the rest, crests etched with Marcus's sigil burned into the metal rather than engraved. Veterans. The kind that didn't posture.
The one in front inclined his head slightly. "Fireborne."
The word hit wrong. Too familiar.
"You've been busy," I said, forcing my voice steady.
"We've been instructed," he replied calmly. "You are not to be killed."
Seraphina's hand tightened on her blade. "That will be difficult."
He smiled faintly. "We're not here for you, Queen."
They moved.
Fast.
Not charging blindly. Two split left, two right, the others straight at us. Coordinated. Tight formation.
Seraphina vanished in a blur of motion, intercepting the right flank before they could fan out. Steel rang against steel, sparks flaring as her blade met theirs. She fought like she always did, not with rage but inevitability, each strike placed where it would end momentum rather than simply injure.
I took the left.
The first Nightwalker came low, blade angled for my thigh. I barely twisted aside, felt the air slice where my leg had been. Fire surged instinctively, flaring along my forearm as I blocked the second strike.
The impact jolted my bones.
He was strong. Stronger than the ones outside.
I ducked a follow-up blow, rolled, came up inside his guard and drove my shoulder into his chest. Heat burst outward. He flew back, slammed into a column hard enough to crack stone.
I froze.
Not because he fell.
Because the fire didn't stop at the impact.
It reached.
Not outward.
Inward.
Something tugged at my chest, sharp and sudden, like my lungs had inhaled more than air. A rush flooded me. Heat, yes, but also something thicker. Heavier. Power that wasn't mine, sliding into place like it had been waiting.
My breath came fast.
The Nightwalker groaned, trying to rise. His movements were sluggish now, unfocused.
"What did you do?" he rasped.
I stared at my hands.
The flame there wasn't brighter.
It was denser.
The second Nightwalker lunged before I could process it. I reacted on instinct, caught his wrist, twisted, and let the fire spill again.
This time I felt it clearly.
A pull.
A drain.
Not blood. Not life.
Essence.
His eyes widened as the strength went out of him mid-strike. He collapsed to his knees, gasping, armor clattering uselessly as the fire withdrew back into me.
I staggered.
Seraphina's head snapped toward me. "Liam."
"I—" My pulse roared in my ears. "I didn't mean to—"
Another Nightwalker leapt from above, dropping from a beam with predatory precision. I barely had time to react. Seraphina crossed the distance in a heartbeat, blade flashing upward. The attacker hit the floor hard, unconscious before he landed.
She turned on me fully now.
"What did you feel?" she demanded.
I swallowed. "Everything."
The word felt inadequate.
"Heat. Strength. Like… like drinking sunlight through my skin." I shook my head. "That shouldn't be possible."
Her gaze flicked to the collapsed Nightwalkers, then back to me. For the first time since we entered the fort, something unsettled flickered across her face.
"Ash-Blood," she said quietly.
I frowned. "That sounds bad."
"It is," she replied. Then, after a beat, "For everyone else."
More movement echoed through the hall. Boots. Too many.
Seraphina repositioned instinctively, placing herself half a step ahead of me. Protective, but not possessive. Calculated.
"Can you control it?" she asked without looking at me.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But it didn't hurt them. Not like Marcus would have."
Her jaw tightened at his name.
"That doesn't make it merciful," she said. "It makes it efficient."
The next wave hit hard.
Five Nightwalkers this time, faster than the last, weapons humming faintly with ward reinforcement. They didn't spread out. They pressed forward together, overwhelming by sheer momentum.
Seraphina took two head-on, blades moving too fast to follow. I caught the third, blocking his strike and countering with a burst that knocked him off-balance.
The fourth slammed into me from the side.
We crashed into the floor. Stone cracked under the impact. He was on top of me in an instant, blade descending.
I caught his wrist inches from my throat.
Fire surged reflexively.
But this time, I didn't push.
I pulled.
The sensation was violent and intimate. Power rushed into me, hot and sharp, filling every hollow space I didn't know I had. His strength bled away visibly, muscles locking, breath stuttering.
His eyes locked onto mine, wide with dawning horror.
"Stop," he gasped. "Please—"
I released him immediately.
He slumped forward, unconscious, alive, but drained to a pale stillness.
I rolled away, heart pounding.
Seraphina finished the last attacker with a precise strike that shattered his weapon and sent him skidding across the hall.
Silence fell.
Not peaceful.
Waiting.
Seraphina approached me slowly, eyes scanning me for signs of instability. "Say it again," she said. "What did it feel like?"
I sat up, hands shaking. "Like I wasn't empty anymore."
The admission tasted strange.
"I didn't feel like I was taking something that didn't belong to me," I continued. "It felt like… correction."
Her expression didn't soften.
"That is exactly what Marcus would have told you," she said.
Anger flared hot and fast. "Then he lied. Because he enjoyed it."
"And you didn't?" she asked sharply.
The question hit deeper than I expected.
I searched myself honestly.
The rush had been intoxicating. Terrifying. Empowering.
"No," I said finally. "But I understand why he did."
That answer seemed to trouble her more.
Before she could respond, slow applause echoed from the far end of the hall.
Measured. Mocking.
A figure stepped into the light.
Not Marcus.
But close enough.
A tall vampire in dark ceremonial armor, face too calm, eyes too knowing.
"Remarkable," he said. "The Sun-Seed consumes Nightwalker essence. Marcus theorized it. Never confirmed."
Seraphina raised her blade. "Name yourself."
He bowed slightly. "I am Warden Talric. Keeper of this fort."
My chest tightened.
"And," Talric continued, gaze locked onto me, "former overseer of the human wing."
The world tilted.
My vision narrowed.
Aria's scream echoed in my ears like it was happening again.
Talric smiled faintly. "You cried less than most."
Fire roared.
Not outward.
Inward.
Hungry.
Seraphina moved instantly, stepping between us. "Liam. Look at me."
I could barely hear her.
Talric continued calmly, "Marcus will be very pleased when he learns what you've become."
Seraphina's voice cut sharp as a blade. "He won't learn anything."
Talric laughed softly. "Then kill me, Fireborne. Let's see what you take from me."
I rose slowly to my feet.
The fire didn't rage.
It waited.
And for the first time, I understood something with terrifying clarity.
I didn't just burn magic.
I could strip them down to what made them monsters.
And keep it.