The night split with thunder as the Watchers advanced upon Esther's door. Their pale eyes glowed through the rain, unblinking, pitiless. The crimson-robed leader stepped forward, staff in hand, his voice carrying like a funeral bell.
"Witch. You are bound to powers not your own. Yield the Serpent, and your death shall be swift."
Esther tightened her grip on her blade, the amulet at her throat burning cold. Behind her, Horace prowled low, a ripple of shadow, while Morrigan's wings spread wide, a mantle of storm.
The Serpent hissed within her blood, urgent and unrelenting.
"They outnumber you. They outmatch you. Bleed for me now, and none shall live to threaten you again."
Esther's breath shook, though her gaze did not falter. "If I surrender, I am nothing. If I resist, I may die. But my will is mine."
The Watchers lifted their staffs as one, sigils flaring white-hot. The air trembled with their binding chants, each word a chain thrown toward her soul. The crimson leader raised his hand—and the chains of light struck.
Esther's body convulsed, her knees buckling as searing pain coursed through her veins. The Serpent screamed in triumph.
"Yes! Yes! Let me free! Tear them! Devour them! Just say the word!"
Esther fell to the floorboards, blood dripping from her wounded palm. Her reflection in the broken glass flickered—her eyes slitted, her smile cruel, the Serpent already half-loosed.
For one terrible heartbeat, she nearly yielded.
But then Horace's cry cut through the storm—raw, desperate, alive. Morrigan shrieked, the sound cleaving the Watchers' chant in half. Their voices faltered. The chains flickered.
Esther's chest heaved, her hand slamming to the floor where she had carved the broken serpent. She pressed her blood into the mark, shouting with every ounce of her being:
"I am Esther Harrow! My blood is mine, my soul is mine! Serpent—obey me, or be nothing!"
The mark blazed red, brighter than lightning, brighter than fire. Shadows erupted, but this time they did not consume her—they answered. The Serpent screamed, not in triumph but in fury, as its power was wrenched into her control.
The Watchers staggered as the storm bent at her command. Lightning rained down, shattering staffs, igniting cloaks. Shadows surged forth in living coils, striking like fangs, flinging men into the dark.
The crimson leader alone remained, his staff blazing with defiance. "You cannot wield it without being devoured!" he cried.
Esther stepped forward, her eyes gleaming—not wholly human, yet not wholly consumed. Her voice rang with power, resolute and cold as the grave.
"Then let me be both witch and serpent."
She raised her hand. The storm struck him down.
Silence followed, broken only by the crackle of dying flames. The Watchers were ash. The storm began to fade.
Esther stood among the ruin, trembling but unbroken. Horace wound himself around her legs, purring low and steady. Morrigan landed upon her shoulder, her dark feathers brushing her cheek like benediction.
The Serpent hissed faintly within her, subdued but not silent.
"You think you've won. But I am in you still. I will wait. I will hunger."
Esther touched her amulet, her voice quiet but fierce. "Then wait. Hunger. I will not kneel. Not to you. Not to them. I am Harrow, and I am free."
The shadows stilled. The book lay closed.
For now....