Moments later,
In the Duskbane Manor,
Rina's POV
I was inside the Duskbane Estate. It wasn't a home; it was a fortress carved from ancient, poisonous pride.
Perched on obsidian rock, this Gothic monstrosity, all white stone and violent purple spires, didn't seem built - it felt manifested by a malicious will. The purple lances clawed upward like menacing spears, daring the sky to strike them down.
Inside, the Grand Hall was a cavern of shadow and cold, theatrical fire. Black marble, polished to an impossible sheen, spread beneath my bare feet. Every surface, every detail - from coiling viper door handles to the heavy, black crystal chandeliers - radiated aggressive, suffocating wealth. It was a gilded cage, designed for a witch who reveled in menace.
I was wrapped in Lumira's black silk robes, the fabric heavy and cool against my skin. Seraphina, my plump, eternally worried shadow, hovered near, clinging to my hand like a lifeline.
Across the hall, Matriarch Evelyn Duskbane sat rigid, encased in perpetual mourning. Her silence was a heavier weight than the chandeliers. Mr. Finch, the family retainer, stood near the doors, a parchment scroll clutched in his gloved hand like a weapon.
My mind raced as I was the catastrophic deviation. Lumira was supposed to be a forgotten footnote, a tragic casualty. My soul, Rina's soul, trapped in her corpse - this was a corruption they would kill me for.
The thick, nervous hush broke with the arrival of Healer Corvin. He was old, trusted, and deadly professional. His pristine white coat was luminous against the oppressive gloom. He carried no bag, only a cane tipped with a crystal that pulsed faintly with a pale, steady blue light.
He didn't greet me. He moved directly to me, kneeling without preamble. "Sit perfectly still, young mistress. We need to measure the residual signature," he murmured.
His hands, cool and steady, hovered a hair's breadth above my chest. A soft, icy blue glow transferred itself from his palms to me. Light threads sank beneath my skin, a violation, searching my very veins. My mind screamed against the intrusion, against being seen, being known.
Corvin's brow furrowed. He lowered his hands, the glow receding, replaced by a look of clinical horror.
"Her energy reserves are beyond depleted," he declared, his voice cutting through the hall to the Matriarch.
"The mana channels - the core pathways - have been systematically drained. I detect residues of a desperate, catastrophic internal collapse. Her body's magic circuits initiated deep metabolic hibernation; that is why she appeared dead."
"She is critically fragile." He paused, adjusting his grip on the cane. "The remaining threads of mana are thin as spider silk. Her channels are raw and severely damaged. She must not, under any circumstances, attempt to channel or draw on any magic for at least seventy-two hours. Any strain will cause a catastrophic channel collapse and kill her instantly."
'Kill me instantly?'
The diagnosis pressed down, a lead weight crushing my chest. Seraphina who had been seated beside me instantly patted my shoulder to reassure me. My hands, the hands I needed to wield power and change the story, were temporarily useless. I was like a glass figurine, a single tremor away from shattering.
"Do you comprehend this warning?" Corvin turned to me. "No magic... not a spark, not a thought. Do you fully understand?"
I could only nod, mute terror swallowing my voice.
"I prescribe absolute rest, perfect silence, and emotional security," he concluded.
"The magical core is hanging by a single, fraying thread. That is the best I can advise." He strode away, leaving his cold words echoing in the vast hall.
The tension broke not with movement, but with Mr. Finch's thin, shaky rasp. "Young mistress, an emissary from the Council arrived moments ago. They were relentless, demanding to see you immediately."
My stomach plummeted upon hearing this.
'The Council?'
They didn't send messengers for condolences; they sent them to twist the knife. They knew my resurrection was tainted. They obviously suspected corruption due to my rebirth, or worse - me.
Suddenly, the massive Grand Doors groaned and parted inward, yielding to an unseen, malignant forcw as an aggressive draft of frigid night air swept through the hall.
Tall, unnaturally straight, and draped entirely in robes of matte black wool, the Emissary was a palpable, physical force. A deep hood concealed their entire head, revealing only a void of restless shadow. Deep within this void, two points of cold, silver glimmer burned - pinpricks of concentrated, indifferent judgment.
"Lumira Duskbane." The voice was a discordant, layered chorus, soft, yet echoing in every stone of the immense hall.
"So… the Daughter of Duskbane has returned to the land of the living?"
I stiffened, the silver gaze pinning me, dissecting my soul's essence.
"Honored Emissary," Lady Evelyn stepped forward, her dignity a fragile shield, "My granddaughter has endured a terrible ordeal. Her body is critically frail. This is not the time..."
The emissary raised one pale hand, silencing the Matriarch. "Life and death are but thresholds, Lady Evelyn. And the Council does not wait upon either."
The figure drifted forward, stopping directly before me, and it's shadowed hood tilted.
"You should not be here," the emissary murmured, the chorus dropping to a disturbing, intimate harmony. "The energies surrounding your resurrection are deeply discordant, messy, and fundamentally wrong. Tell me, child of Duskbane… what are you?"
'I'm going to die!'
That was the only answer I had, so I forced out the only safe lie I knew.
"I… I don't know."
"She is my blood!" The Matriarch interrupted, placing herself between the danger and me. "Whatever questions you bring, they can wait until she has recovered!"
"They cannot wait." The emissary's words cut like glass.
From within the robes, the figure withdrew a scroll of black, ancient parchment - the Proof of Summon - which immediately began to glow with runes of purple fire.
"Lumira Duskbane, you are called to stand before the High Council. You must present yourself to the Ritual of Confirmation to prove that your return is of true life and not a parasitic possession, or worse, a corruption by the Void."
As the runes flared, a sudden, sharp, magical tug pulled violently deep inside my chest where my mana core should have been. I gasped, clutching desperately at my robe. Sparks of blinding purple and painful gold flashed across my vision. The internal collapse had begun.
"Stop! You're hurting her!" Seraphina screamed, pulling my arm.
"If she is what she claims, this minimal probing will not harm her." The emissary tilted their head. "It merely verifies her connection to her magical core. If not…"
The threat was left chillingly unfinished. That instant, Lady Evelyn's voice rang out then, like pure steel against the shadow.
"Enough! I invoke the Duskbane Right of Sanctuary! She will answer your summons, but I will not permit her to be destroyed on my floor! Not tonight!"
The emissary was stil, as the glow of the scroll dimmed, and the excruciating pull in my chest faded.
"Very well. Your appeal is noted. The Council accepts the delay. At the time of six bells tomorrow morning, she will present herself at the Grand Spire of Aethel for the Confirmation. If she fails the test, the Council will decide her fate immediately. If she attempts to flee, the Duskbane line is forfeited entirely."
The figure turned and glided back toward the doors. The massive doors opened and sealed shut with a cold definitive thud.
I sat hunched and violently trembling. The emptiness where my mana core should have been felt cold, vast, and terrifyingly immense. I was not the creature of power the Council demanded. I was a girl trapped in a noble's cursed corpse, now ordered to undergo an ancient, fatal magical lie detector test.
Tomorrow, at 6 AM, I had to prove I was real or be destroyed for the crime of returning from the grave.