Inside the hut, time bent.
Candles flickered with blue fire. A giant mirror stood in the corner, its surface black and liquid. Shelves lined with jars of bone, ash, and strange glowing insects buzzed softly. Corva pulled a knife from her belt and motioned for Briar to sit.
"We must bind your soul before it escapes."
"Excuse me?"
"You clawed your way back. But the soul wanders. This will keep it tethered."
Briar hesitated.
"If you don't, your body will rot without its spark. You'll die again. And this time, it will stick."
Corva carved a glowing rune into Briar's shoulder. Pain surged through her. She screamed. Silver blood bubbled from the wound.
The rune pulsed like a second heartbeat, syncing with her own. Corva caught the blood in a vial and corked it.
"There. Now the magic remembers you."
"What... what am I?"
"You belong to the old blood," Corva said. "A line forgotten by time, betrayed by kings and feared by gods."
Briar blinked through the pain.
"What does that mean?"
"It means death will chase you. And life will never hold you."