Rose didn't remember running all the way back to the upper levels of Brimstone, only the ringing in her ears and the glow of the ring still burning cold on her finger. The vault had stirred something. And now, it wasn't just magic that felt heavier—it was her.
Nimbus crashed into her shoulder like a nervous pigeon. "We definitely weren't supposed to touch the creepy ghost jewelry, were we?"
Rose exhaled hard. "Probably not. But it likes me."
"That's what haunted rings want you to think," Nimbus hissed.
Basil caught up behind them, cloak fluttering. He glanced at her hand. "How does it feel?"
"Like drinking thunder. I think it's binding itself to my magic."
He nodded, but his brows were furrowed. "We should show Belladoma. She'll know what it is—or at least pretend to."
They reached the upper tower where Belladoma was already waiting. She stood in front of a chalkboard covered in frantic magical equations and conspiracy circles that might have been literal.
When Rose held out her hand, Belladoma's expression darkened.
"That," she said, "is the Ring of Threnody."
"Threnody?" Basil echoed.
Belladoma paced. "A mourning artifact, forged to stabilize the boundaries between worlds. It belongs to the Archive of Silence—an organization of death-walkers and veil-seers. No one's worn that ring in centuries."
"Cool," said Rose. "Why does it feel like it's glued to my soul?"
"Because it is. You've accepted its purpose, and it's accepted you. But it's dangerous, Rose. The ring amplifies what you carry. If you fall out of balance…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Nimbus trembled behind Rose's hair. "Balance. Right. Nothing terrifying about that."
Belladoma looked to Basil. "And you—your bond with her is the tether. If she slips, you're the one who pulls her back."
There was a pause. Basil straightened. "Then I won't let go."
Rose's breath caught. Their eyes met, and the weight of what they were carrying settled between them—heavy, impossible, but shared.
Belladoma's tone softened. "There's more. We intercepted a message from Mortain's followers."
She held up a scroll sealed with blood wax.
"They call themselves the Crimson Thread," she explained. "Devoted to unraveling the veil entirely. They've begun rituals in the ruins beyond Hollowglass Fen."
Rose narrowed her eyes. "Let me guess. Forbidden, cursed, and crawling with things that bite?"
"Exactly," Belladoma said.
Basil stepped forward. "We'll go."
Rose gave him a look. "You always volunteer us so fast."
He smirked. "You'd say yes anyway."
Belladoma handed them the scroll. "Pack cold iron, water sigils, and try not to die."
Nimbus flapped wildly. "No promises!"
As they left the tower, Rose slipped the ring into her palm. It pulsed faintly, responding to her thoughts like a whisper just beneath skin.
Somewhere deep beneath Brimstone, an unseen thread tightened.
And far away, in a place untouched by time, Mortain's masked followers circled a burning symbol in the ground—Rose's name etched in smoke.