Chapter 11: The Crimson Oath
Silence.
Not the absence of sound—but the swallowing of it. The vacuum left when thunder dies mid-peal.
Evan floated in that silence, untethered. He should be dead. He had died—he remembered the dagger's hilt pressed against his ribs, the lightning boiling his blood, Lucian's scream of fury shaking the world apart.
Yet here he was.
Here being... where?
The darkness around him shimmered like oil on water. Shapes moved just beyond perception—figures frozen mid-step, mouths open in silent shouts. He saw Isolde reaching for him, Rowan's crossbow raised, Aria's lips forming a curse. All suspended, unmoving.
All but one.
Selene Arkwright stood apart from the frozen chaos, her gray eyes luminous in the gloom. Her mouth moved, but the words came from everywhere at once:
"You weren't supposed to let go."
Evan tried to speak. Had no voice.
Selene stepped closer. The moment her fingers brushed his chest, the world lurched.
Reality snapped back with violent clarity.
Evan gasped as sensation returned—the acrid taste of burnt magic, the sting of splintered wood beneath his palms. He was kneeling in the ruins of the library, the dagger still embedded in his chest... except the blade had turned to light, its glow pulsing through his veins like liquid lightning.
Alive. Somehow, impossibly alive.
Around him, the others stirred—Rowan clutching his rusted crossbow, Isolde's spellbook smoldering in her grip. Aria was the first to speak:
"Holy shit."
Lucian was gone. In his place stood a swirling vortex of shadows, contained within a cage of silver light. The cage breathed, its bars flexing with each pulse of the dagger's glow.
Selene collapsed beside Evan, her hands trembling as they hovered over the blade. "It worked," she whispered. "You... you anchored him."
Evan's voice came out raw. "I don't understand."
"The dagger was never meant to kill you." Selene's fingers brushed the hilt. "It was meant to bind you—your magic, your life—to Lucian's prison." Her gray eyes met his, brimming with something like guilt. "You're the new keystone."
The revelation settled like a stone in Evan's gut.
He wasn't free.
He'd never be free.
Every breath sent a ripple through the silver cage, the light flaring brighter with his pulse. Lucian's shadowy form pressed against the bars, his voice slithering through the cracks:
"Welcome home, stormcaller."
Rowan hauled Evan to his feet. "We need to move. The whole academy felt that."
Indeed, distant shouts echoed through the halls. Running footsteps. The clang of alarm bells.
Selene pressed something into Evan's palm—a shard of broken mirror. "Look," she commanded.
The reflection showed his eyes glowing blue-white, tiny lightning bolts flickering in his pupils.
"What's happening to me?"
"The binding," Selene said softly. "It's changing you."
Aria cursed, kicking a pile of rubble. "So what now? We just wait for Caine to—"
The library doors exploded inward.
Headmaster Caine stood framed in the wreckage, his pale eyes wild, his ceremonial robes singed. Behind him crowded a dozen faculty members, their hands alight with various magics.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then Caine's gaze locked onto the silver cage—and the dagger in Evan's chest. His lips peeled back in a snarl.
"Seize them."
Chaos erupted.
Spells flew. Shelves toppled. Evan tried to summon his storm, but the magic twisted unnaturally inside him—pulled toward the cage, toward Lucian.
Selene grabbed his arm. "Run!"
They fled through the ruined archives, the faculty's shouts close behind. Isolde led them down a hidden stairwell, into the bowels of the academy. The air grew thick with the scent of damp earth and old blood.
Rowan barred the door behind them. "Now what?"
Selene turned to Evan, her face grim. "Now we remake the ritual."