The clearing turned silent—so silent even the wind avoided it.
Lady Vaelith stepped fully into the crimson light, her presence swallowing the remaining warmth from the air. Her gown trailed behind her like flowing blood, embroidered with sigils that pulsed as if alive. Her eyes—cold crimson—locked onto Thorne with a hunger that made Lyra's wolf bristle.
Ara's knuckles whitened around her spear. "Lyra," she murmured, "that woman… she's older than the temple records."
Lyra nodded without looking away. "I know."
But Thorne didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
His mother tilted her head, voice smooth as carved obsidian.
"Your silence tells me everything, my sweet boy."
Her smile widened. "You feel it, don't you? The call of your blood. The curse returning to its maker."
The shadows around Thorne stirred—eager, restless.
Lyra stepped closer to him, placing her hand on his back. His muscles were coiled so tightly they vibrated under her palm.
"Thorne," she whispered. "Stay with me. Don't let her pull you."
His jaw clenched, but he didn't push her away.
Lady Vaelith's gaze slid toward Lyra, slow and venomous.
"And this," she purred, "must be the girl you are so desperately clinging to in your mind. The one you think anchors you."
Lyra raised her chin. "I don't anchor him. I stand with him."
Vaelith laughed softly. "Bold. Adorable. Wrong."
---
The Weight of Blood
Thorne finally found his voice—ragged, almost feral.
"What do you want?"
Vaelith's smile softened into something far more terrifying.
"You, child."
Thorne's aura pulsed like a heartbeat. Lyra tightened her grip on him.
Ara stepped forward, drawing a line into the dirt with her spear. "If you want him, you go through me."
Vaelith glanced at her—and the air around Ara bent, cracking with pressure. The runes on her body flared in defense as she staggered back three steps.
Lyra moved instantly, catching her. "Ara—!"
Ara gritted her teeth. "She didn't even touch me."
Vaelith admired her nails. "Rude to interrupt a mother and her son."
Thorne took a step forward despite Lyra's hand. "You are not my mother."
Vaelith's expression didn't change—yet something in the clearing trembled.
"Oh, Thorne," she said gently, "I carved your power into existence. You are my greatest creation."
Lyra's jaw tightened. "He's not a creation. And he's not yours."
Vaelith eyed her coldly. "You speak bravely for a girl whose heart still trembles."
Lyra steadied her breath. "It trembles because he matters. That's not weakness. That's strength you will never understand."
Thorne's aura steadied—slightly—as if Lyra's words reached him through the storm.
Vaelith didn't like that.
Her eyes chilled. "Perhaps it would be easier if I simply removed your distractions."
The runes beneath her gown ignited.
---
The First Strike
Lyra reacted first—shoving Thorne back as Vaelith's attack exploded outward. A wave of force rippled across the clearing, uprooting earth and cracking stone.
Ara hurled herself aside, runes blazing as she erected a shield. It shattered instantly, sparks flying like dying fireflies.
Lyra braced for impact—
—but the blow never hit.
Thorne stood in front of her, one hand raised.
He had stopped the attack with his bare palm.
Dark-silver power coiled around his arm, devouring the crimson magic piece by piece.
Vaelith's eyes gleamed with proud delight.
"Yes. Just like that. Show me what you've become."
Thorne didn't respond.
He launched himself at her.
The air cracked from the force.
Lyra sprinted after him, heart pounding. Ara followed, spear glowing.
---
Thorne vs. Vaelith
Their collision was cataclysmic.
Shadow and blood-magic collided in a shockwave that sent cracks racing through the ground. Trees around them splintered.
Thorne struck again—faster, harder—driven by years of pain he'd forced himself to forget. Vaelith dodged each blow with unnatural grace, her movements like liquid flame.
"You've grown powerful," she mused. "But you still lack control."
She flicked her fingers—
—and Thorne slammed into a stone pillar.
Lyra shouted, "Thorne!"
He rose immediately, aura flaring with dark fury. "You tortured me!"
Vaelith stepped lightly across the runes. "Training. Not torture."
"You carved sigils into my bones—"
"Enhancement."
"You locked me in the ritual chamber for days—"
"Discipline."
Lyra's chest burned. "You turned him into a weapon!"
Vaelith's gaze snapped toward her.
"And he is magnificent, isn't he?"
Lyra moved to attack—but Vaelith's power lashed out like a whip, cracking against the ground at Lyra's feet.
"Do not interrupt me, child," Vaelith hissed.
Ara came from the side, spear aimed at Vaelith's throat. The tip grazed skin—
—and disintegrated.
Vaelith didn't even look at her.
"Your runes are primitive," she said. "Begone."
Crimson pressure crushed the air around Ara, shoving her to her knees.
Lyra darted between them, blocking the next strike with her dagger. Energy tore across her arm, but she held firm.
Vaelith's brows rose. "You resist more than expected."
Lyra smirked bitterly. "Try harder."
---
The Curse Stirs
Behind Vaelith, Thorne rose—shadow aura climbing over him like armor.
His hair lifted in the current of his power. His eyes blazed with silver and black, swirling like a storm. The curse had taken shape—not as something internal, but something visible. A living aura.
Lyra's breath caught.
He looked beautiful.
And terrifying.
Vaelith finally turned.
"There you are. My masterpiece."
Thorne didn't speak.
He unleashed everything.
Dark-silver energy roared from his hands like a storm surge. Vaelith raised her fingers—and her own magic rose to meet his.
The collision blinded the clearing in white light. The sound was deafening. Magic tore through stone, rupturing the ritual symbols beneath their feet.
Ara shielded her face. Lyra dug her dagger into the dirt to anchor herself.
When the light faded—
Thorne stood, panting, aura swirling wildly.
Vaelith stood across from him, gown torn, hair disheveled… but smiling.
"You are finally ready," she whispered.
Thorne flinched at the tone—a mixture of love and madness.
Then Vaelith lifted her hand.
The runes around the clearing ignited all at once.
Blood-red chains of energy erupted from the ground, swirling toward Thorne.
Lyra screamed, "Thorne, MOVE!"
He tried—
But the curse inside him froze.
His mother's sigils recognized their original master.
And obeyed.
The chains wrapped around his arms, his chest, his legs—pinning him in place. He struggled, aura thrashing, but the runes only tightened.
Lyra lunged toward him.
Vaelith extended her hand, flicking two fingers.
Lyra was hurled backward across the clearing, crashing into a tree. Pain shot through her ribs, but she pushed herself up instantly, vision dizzy.
"Thorne!" she shouted.
He met her eyes.
They were furious—
terrified—
and locked on her.
Vaelith approached her bound son, fingertips brushing his cheek as if soothing a frightened child.
"Come now," she murmured, "let me finish what I began."
Thorne snarled, "I will kill you before I ever return to your side."
Vaelith leaned close, whispering against his ear—
"Oh, my boy.
You already have."
The chains ignited with bright crimson light.
Thorne screamed.
Lyra's heart shattered at the sound.
She launched herself forward—
—but a wall of crimson energy rose between them, blocking her path.
Vaelith didn't even look at her.
Her attention was entirely on Thorne.
"You belong to me," she whispered.
Lyra slammed her fists against the barrier, tears streaking her face as Thorne's body convulsed beneath the chains.
"THORNE!"
Vaelith's smile deepened, serene and monstrous.
"Let the reclamation begin."