Chapter 19: Bonds Forged in Fear
The air in the twisted forest thickened until each breath felt like swallowing syrup. The gnarled trees surrounding them trembled, their blackened branches creaking as if straining against some invisible force. Evan's boots sank slightly into the damp earth with each step, the ground itself seeming to recoil from his presence.
Lucian's smirk faltered for the first time since Evan had entered this nightmare reflection of reality. The silver streaks in his dark hair caught the dim, sourceless light as he turned his head sharply toward the shuddering canopy.
"It's closer than I thought," Lucian murmured, his voice losing its characteristic mocking edge. His gray eyes—so like Selene's yet utterly different—flickered with something Evan couldn't name. Fear? Anticipation?
Evan's pulse pounded in his ears, each heartbeat sending fresh waves of pain through the cut on his palm where Selene had drawn blood against the mirror. The wound still gleamed wetly in the eerie half-light of this place. "What did you mean," he demanded through gritted teeth, "about me being a 'worthy sacrifice'?"
Lucian waved a dismissive hand, his attention fixed on some distant point Evan couldn't perceive. The chains around his wrists—ethereal things of glowing silver that hadn't been there moments before—clinked softly with the movement. "Later, little stormcaller. We have more pressing concerns at present." He turned toward the shimmering impression of Selene that lingered between them, her form barely more substantial than mist. "You know my terms."
Her silver eyes darkened like storm clouds obscuring the moon. "No."
The refusal hung in the air between them, charged with decades of unspoken history. Lucian sighed dramatically, the sound carrying an odd echo, before stepping closer to Evan. When he spoke again, his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper that raised the hairs on Evan's neck.
"She won't tell you, so I will." His cold breath brushed Evan's cheek as he leaned in. "The Vessel doesn't just hunger for magic—it craves specific bloodlines. Yours in particular." One long finger tapped the center of Evan's chest, right over the scar from Selene's dagger. "Born under the blood moon, the first true stormcaller in three generations. The last descendant of the Arkwright line through your mother's side, though I doubt they told you that." His lips curved in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You're not just a key, little sacrifice. You're the feast it's been waiting for."
The words settled like ice in Evan's gut, freezing the breath in his lungs. His mother's face flashed in his memory—her rare, sad smiles, the way she'd always warned him to hide his magic during storms.
Selene made a choked noise that might have been protest or pain. "You lie."
Lucian's grin returned, sharp enough to draw blood. "Do I?" He held up his chained wrists, the silver links vibrating. "Why do you think the binding weakens now, after holding so long? It's been waiting. Patient as the roots beneath your precious academy."
The ground trembled violently then, a deep, visceral shudder that sent Evan to his knees. Somewhere beyond the prison's boundaries, the academy itself seemed to scream, the sound filtering through the trees like wind through dead leaves.