The manor was quiet at midnight—too quiet.
John pressed his back to the stone wall just outside Lord Eddric's private study, listening. The corridor was empty, but every second he waited stretched like glass under pressure. One wrong step, one creak of floorboard, and it would all shatter.
He adjusted the leather pouch at his side, still damp with the evening mist. Inside were the herbs he nearly died collecting—but they weren't enough. The book Jane studied spoke of one more ingredient: Obsidian Root, a black, tar-like mineral stored only in the Ardent family vault. Rare. Forbidden. Guarded.
And he was about to steal it.
Jane was running out of time. Even if she hadn't touched the poisoned tea, her vision had shown what would come. And John had seen the change in her too—her glowing eyes, the mark crawling up her arm, the raw magic pulsing beneath her skin.
She was evolving into something powerful.
But power alone wouldn't save her.
He exhaled slowly, recalling the map he'd memorized as a trainee guard: behind the study bookshelf, there was a latch hidden in the spine of a red volume—The History of Arvenian Law—that revealed the passage down to the vault.
With one last glance down the hallway, John slipped inside.
The study smelled of old ink and polished wood. Shadows from the fireplace danced along the walls, and the familiar rows of books seemed almost to watch him. He moved straight for the red-spined volume and pulled.
Click.
The shelf groaned and shifted.
Behind it, narrow stone steps spiraled downward into darkness.
He drew the blade at his waist—not to fight, but for light. A witchfire stone, stolen weeks ago from the manor armory, glowed faintly as he pressed its flat against the hilt.
Soft purple light bloomed.
The air down there was colder. Staler. John moved quickly, boots barely making a sound against the stone as he descended. At the base, a wrought iron gate stood sealed by three rotating runes. He cursed under his breath.
Of course there'd be a lock.
He remembered the old rumors from the guards' barracks—about the vault Lord Eddric kept beneath the manor. They said it was built long before this generation. That only blood of the Ardent line could open it.
Or someone who knew their secrets.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded note—something he'd copied from Lord Eddric's personal notes days ago, when he'd pretended to be searching for Jane's medical records. Three symbols: A flame. A chain. A crown.
He turned the stone rings one by one.
Click. Click. Click.
The gate groaned open.
Beyond it, shelves of strange items glimmered under a strange, unnatural light—bottles sealed with wax, books wrapped in chains, bones in jars, feathers that shimmered when breathed upon. John swallowed, stepping carefully through the vault like a man crossing a graveyard.
The book had said Obsidian Root glows faintly when near magic.
He pulled the witchfire stone again and scanned the room.
There—in the back. A tall glass container sealed with a silver lid, resting on a velvet cushion. Inside, black veins pulsed and twisted like smoke trapped in liquid. His chest tightened.
Found it.
He reached out.
A sound behind him.
John spun around, knife in hand, breath frozen.
Silence.
Then—
A whisper.
Barely audible. Almost imagined.
"You shouldn't be here…"
John's eyes darted across the vault. Nothing moved.
No one there.
But the air had changed—thicker now. He didn't wait. He grabbed the glass container, stuffed it into his satchel, and turned to leave.
But as he moved, something tugged at his mind. A presence.
It wasn't Jane.
It wasn't even... human.
He ran.
———
John didn't stop running until the cold night air burned in his lungs.
He didn't look back—not even when the shadows behind him twisted unnaturally, or when the sound of breath that wasn't his echoed faintly down the stairs he'd climbed.
Not even when the vault door slammed shut on its own.
By the time he reached the servant's wing again, his heart was pounding so hard he thought it might leap from his chest. The satchel thumped heavily against his hip with every step—he dared not look at the thing inside. Not yet. Not until he reached her.
Jane.
She opened the door before he even knocked.
Her violet eyes narrowed the second she saw him. "You're late."
"I know," John panted. "I got it."
He held out the satchel. She didn't take it at first—she stared at his face, at the sweat on his brow, at the pale cast beneath his skin.
"What happened to you?"
"There was… something," he said, voice low. "In the vault. It knew I was there."
Jane took the satchel, unfastened the clasp, and gently lifted the container from inside. The Obsidian Root glimmered in the lamplight like a slow-moving shadow.
She smiled—but it wasn't joy.
It was hunger.
"This is it," she whispered. "The final ingredient."
John watched her cross the room to the table by the window where her notes, vials, and open pages of the Sacred Book lay waiting. Her movements were fluid now—less like a girl and more like someone who had done this for years.
She wasn't trembling anymore.
Her hand traced the runes on the page like she'd written them herself.
"Jane…" John stepped closer. "Are you sure about this?"
Her eyes flicked up. "What do you mean?"
"That thing in the vault. It didn't feel like… magic. It felt alive. And wrong."
"I don't care."
Her voice was sharp, and colder than he expected.
He flinched.
She softened, just a little. "I'm sorry. But if I don't finish this antidote, I'll die. You know that. You saw the vision with me. My parents aren't going to wait."
"I know," he said quietly.
He stepped closer. "But I need you to promise something."
She raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Promise me you won't let the book take you."
Jane hesitated.
Then she looked back down at her hands. The mark glowing faintly beneath her skin had now climbed just past her elbow. The root-like lines pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.
"My eyes used to be gray," she said softly. "My hair used to be dull. People used to look past me. Like I was nothing."
"You were never nothing."
She didn't answer that.
Instead, she uncorked the glass vial and dipped the tip of a silver spoon into the black root. It hissed faintly on contact, the air shimmering around it. She mixed it into the brew already bubbling on the flame.
The room filled with a strange scent—sharp, sweet, and cold.
John watched her work in silence. Her hands were sure. Her lips moved as she mouthed an incantation from the book, and the potion thickened, turning from clear to violet.
He didn't know what worried him more.
The poison slowly killing her.
Or the person she might become if she survived.
"Tomorrow night," Jane said finally, as she poured the finished potion into a glass vial. "That's when they'll make their move."
John nodded slowly. "Then tonight… we fight back."
Outside, the wind howled, and somewhere in the dark, something ancient stirred—watching, waiting, feeding on the choices they made.