Chapter 20 – The Vinca Night**
That same night, January 5–6, 2027**
I'm half-asleep when the bloodstone yanks me out of my body like a hook through the sternum.
One second I'm in bed, Remy's hoodie still warm around me.
The next I'm standing barefoot in the mist-space, but it's different tonight.
No orchard.
No cedar tree.
No Elowene waiting with gentle eyes.
Only endless black water under a starless sky, and Dacia.
She's not the calm, crowned queen I'm used to.
Tonight she is terrifying: eight feet tall, armor of living blood, hair moving like liquid obsidian, eyes twin dying galaxies.
The 10 pieces I've collected orbit her like planets afraid to fall.
**Dacia (voice that vibrates in my bones):**
*It is time, child.
No more games.
There are more pretty treasures hidden in caves and mirrors.* but not to make the crown complete! Only to make it Stronger than it ever was in My time.
She waves a hand.
The mist peels back and reveals… nothing.
An empty void where the compass rose should be.
**Dacia:**
*The remaining thirty-seven physical pieces were destroyed.
Long ago.
By my own hand, when I saw what the Circle would do with them.*
She touches my forehead.
A single drop of her blood (older than mountains) slides into the bloodstone.
Suddenly I know.
Every symbol.
Every lost syllable of the Vinca script, 8 Thousand -year-old clay tablets that predate Sumer, predate everything.
The first written language of blood and star-fire.
**Dacia (soft now, almost tender):**
*The true treasures were never objects, Celeste.
They were always knowledge.
Locked inside me.
Inside you, once you learn to read them.*
She presses her palm to my chest.
I feel the weight of centuries settle behind my ribs.
**Dacia:**
*Each night you will come here.
You will learn the Old Tongue.
You will copy the tablets into your own blood until the symbols burn when you blink.
Then, and only then, I will teach you the invocations that make gods flinch.*
I try to speak and taste copper and starlight.
**Celeste (hoarse):**
"How long?"
**Dacia (ancient, sad, proud):**
*Years, little queen.
Perhaps a decade.
There is no rush.
The Hollow Choir, the Severed Circle, the entire world; they all move on a child's schedule.
We do not.*
She cups my face with hands that have ended civilizations.
**Dacia:**
*Tell no one.
Not Remy.
Not Seras.
Not even Elowene's ghost.
This is between you and the woman who wore the crown when the Danube was new.*
The mist closes in.
**Dacia (final words before I'm pushed back into my body):**
*When you wake, there will be a mark on your left palm.
A single Vinca sign.
That is your first lesson.
Copy it in blood before sunrise.
Then sleep.
We begin tomorrow night.*
I gasp awake in my bed at 4:47 a.m.
The room is dark.
My palm is burning.
I turn on the lamp.
There it is: a tiny, perfect symbol etched into my skin like a fresh tattoo, glowing soft crimson.
It looks like a crooked river delta crossed with a wolf's head.
My phone is still in my hand from texting Remy goodnight.
I stare at the symbol for a long time.
Then I do exactly what she said:
I bite my thumb, press blood to paper, and copy the sign until my hand shakes.
When I finally crawl back under the covers, the house is silent.
37 pieces remain
Thousands of lessons of blood and star-fire: just beginning.
I close my fist around the new mark.
Years.
I have years.
And for the first time since I put on the crown, I'm not afraid of how long the road is.
I'm afraid of how powerful I'll be when I reach the end.
Goodnight, world.
The real training starts tomorrow. Tuesday Morning, January 5, 2027**
6:42 a.m.
The alarm on my phone starts playing that one indie song Remy put on my playlist last month.
I slap it quiet and sit up.
Left palm: completely smooth again.
The Vinča symbol is gone, dissolved by the same healing that closed the bite on my thumb.
Dacia wasn't kidding.
If I want the marks to stick, I have to re-draw them every single time until the knowledge burns deeper than skin.
I'll do it tonight.
Again and again and again.
For now: school.
I pull on the dark-green Lakeside Rams hoodie (the one with the gold ram that's already cracking because I wear it too much), baggy black cargo pants with the chain wallet Remy gave me for my birthday, and my light-pink Vans that are finally getting decently scuffed.
Twin tails: up in thirty seconds.
Ruby eyes check: glowing, but not too scary.
Fangs: peeking just enough to make freshmen nervous.
I sling my backpack over one shoulder, grab the titanium board (Scarlet Fangs sticker still perfect), and head downstairs.
The kitchen smells like cinnamon and coffee.
Mom's flipping papanasi; Dad's reading the paper and pretending he's not checking deployment dates.
**Mom (without turning):**
"Feet off the table, storm girl."
**Dad (grinning over his coffee):**
"Morning, superstar. Ready for another thrilling Tuesday of sophomore year?"
**Celeste (stealing a papanasi straight from the pan):**
"Can't believe it's January already.
Feels like we just got back from Romania."
Mom finally looks at me, eyes soft.
**Mom:**
"You've grown another inch since September.
Slow down, copila. Some of us are stuck at five-six forever."
**Dad (folding the paper):**
"Any… extracurricular monster hunting planned this week?"
I almost choke on powdered sugar.
**Celeste:**
"Only the usual.
Severed Circle, Hollow Choir, ghost gangsters, ancient blood homework… normal teenage stuff."
Mom sets a plate in front of me like a peace offering.
**Mom:**
"Eat.
You're fighting the end of the world on a teenager's sleep schedule.
Protein matters."
Dad reaches over and ruffles my twin tails.
**Dad:**
"Proud of you, kid.
Just… maybe try to graduate before you ascend to godhood?"
I laugh so hard I snort.
For five whole minutes it's just pancakes, dumb jokes, and parents who know their daughter is secretly learning 8 Thousand-year-old blood magic but still make her eat breakfast.
Sophomore year is flying.
January sunlight is pouring through the window.
I've got a coyote waiting outside to steal half my coffee and a fire girl who's probably already at the dam doing warm-ups.
Thirty-seven lessons of star-fire and blood ahead of me.
A whole valley to protect.
And right now, a second papanasi with my name on it.
I finish eating, hug both my parents (Dad smells like jet fuel and Mom smells like vanilla and hospital soap), and head for the door.
**Celeste (over my shoulder):**
"Love you guys.
See you after school… probably."
Mom's voice follows me out:
**Mom:**
"Be home by curfew, storm queen!"
I step onto my board, kick off down the driveway, and grin into the cold January air.
Ten pieces down.
Hundreds of nights of blood symbols ahead.
But first, trig.
Life's weird and perfect and terrifying.
And I wouldn't trade it for anything.