The roots above pulsed and twisted as if breathing, their bark slick with glowing sap that dripped in slow, hissing trails onto the bones below. Veyne's scream shattered the silence, a primal sound no longer human. Her spine arched violently, limbs convulsing, her fingers splitting into claws with flesh that tore open like paper. What once was a rogue's agile grace had become something raw, corrupted—an evolution carved by agony.
Magnus stood frozen, his chest heaving, eyes wide with a blend of recognition and dread. This wasn't a transformation—it was a rebirth. The runes etching themselves across Veyne's skin weren't symbols anymore; they were alive, crawling like fire-veined vines, pulsing with a rhythm older than language. From where she stood cloaked in feathered black, Lysara chanted without sound, her hands lifted to the roots as if commanding them. The chamber darkened. The air thickened. Her ravens circled madly overhead, scattering bones with every beat of their wings.
Kiera and Jakob stumbled into the scene, weapons drawn, their steps faltering at the sight before them. "She's not herself!" Kiera shouted, trembling. "Look at her, Magnus—whatever she was, it's gone!"
Magnus didn't budge. His claws dug into Veyne's shoulders, trying to anchor her, hold her down, keep her from being pulled under by whatever dark force had taken root. "She's still in there," he growled, his voice torn between man and beast. "I can feel her."
But when Veyne lifted her head, her eyes were bottomless voids—no whites, no pupils, just black oceans staring back. A rune across her throat flared like a flare of silent fire. Her mouth opened in a scream that made no sound, and the chamber shook. The roots bent lower, curling inwards like talons. Magnus barely reacted before she struck. Her claws slashed across his chest, flesh splitting open beneath fur, blood spurting like a sliced artery. He stumbled back, roaring in pain, but she didn't pause—she was already on her feet, bones cracking as she rose like a marionette pulled by unseen strings.
Jakob shouted something, maybe a warning, maybe an order to strike, but Lysara's staff slammed down, green fire erupting from its core. It reached for Veyne like serpents, wrapping around her limbs, trying to tether her to the ground. The runes on her skin flickered, then responded. They pulsed in time with the flames, feeding from it.
"She is chosen," Lysara murmured, voice thick with awe. "The Citadel lives in her veins now."
Veyne lunged again, and this time Magnus didn't hold back. He transformed mid-leap, fur bursting across his skin, face contorting into a snarl of beast and fury. They collided in midair, crashing into the piles of bones in a tangled frenzy of claws, fangs, and flaring magic. Sparks flew with every impact. The bones beneath them glowed faintly—then brightened, humming with an energy that had slept for centuries.
Kiera tried to run to them, but the roots writhed and lashed down, blocking her path. "Stop!" Lysara screamed. "If you interfere, the Citadel will consume you!"
Jakob hurled his spear, but it never made it—one of the roots snatched it effortlessly, snapping it in half like a twig. Around them, the chamber twisted, the roots descending to form a dome over the combatants. They sealed the two inside, locking them in a cage of wood and bone.
Inside, Magnus grappled with her, blood streaking down his jaw. He pinned her momentarily, his claws pressing into the floor beside her head. Her eyes flickered—black, then brown. A heartbeat of clarity.
"Magnus…" she whispered, barely audible.
But it didn't last. The darkness returned, and the rune at her throat exploded with light. She struck him with a strength unnatural, sending him crashing across the chamber. He landed in a bed of bones, motionless for a moment. Then he rose—limping, bleeding—but alive. His teeth were bared.
"I'll tear the Citadel out of you myself," he growled.
And with a final, defiant roar, he hurled himself at her, claws now burning with golden light—something ancient, summoned not by spell but by will. They collided again, midair, the shockwave cracking the floor beneath them. The cage of roots screamed, twisting tighter.
Lysara collapsed, blood dripping from her nose, her body spent. Her ravens fell still. The green flames blinked out.
When the dust settled, Magnus knelt beside her. Veyne lay unconscious, her chest rising shallowly. The runes had dimmed to faint scars. Her hand, trembling, reached for his face.
"I'm still here," she whispered. "But it's not done with me."
Then she went still.
Kiera rushed forward as the roots reluctantly parted. "Is she—"
"She's alive," Magnus said, not turning. "For now."
But the way he looked at her, blood drying on his fur, eyes distant—he knew it wasn't over. Far from it.
And somewhere deeper in the darkness of the Citadel, something had awakened. Watching. Waiting.