Aurora’s P.O.V
The air was thick with the scent of iron, the weight of the moment pressing down on me like an unseen force. I watched, my body frozen in place, as Harmona reached for a lever on the wall, her fingers wrapping around it with the kind of reverence one would give a sacred relic. My breath hitched when she pulled it down, and the ceiling groaned in response, parting to let in the ominous glow of the sun. But it wasn't the warm, golden light of hope—it was fractured, darkened by the shadow of the Solar Eclipse. The world outside had fallen into an eerie twilight, casting elongated shadows that danced across the stone floor like ghosts mourning their inevitable fate.
And perhaps, that was what we were—ghosts before we had even died.
I barely had time to absorb the horror of it all before Harmona moved again, this time retrieving a metal dagger. Its blade gleamed despite the dim light, and the engravings carved into it seemed to pulse with a life of their own. I recognized the symbol on its hilt—the same one that had been burned into my father’s chest.
A sickness churned in my stomach as realization dawned: they weren’t just playing with dark magic. They were planning something far worse. They were going to absorb our powers, strip us down to nothing until we were empty husks, no better than discarded corpses.
The women in the room—who I now realized were witches from a nearby coven—were already sobbing against the cold, unyielding walls, their bodies trembling with fear. Harmona approached them first, silent and methodical. One by one, she pressed the dagger against their skin, drawing blood with a practiced hand. The dark crimson collected in a colander, swirling together in a sickening mix of sacrifice and despair.
Lucas, his voice eerily steady, began chanting in a language I couldn’t understand, his words a haunting melody that sent a shiver down my spine. The air around us felt charged, electric, as if the very walls could feel the impending doom they housed.
Then, Harmona turned her attention to us. To me.
I wanted to move, to run, to fight back, but my limbs betrayed me. It was as if my very soul had been shackled, held down by the weight of the ropes that felt like lead. The dagger glided across my wrist before I could even brace for the pain. A sharp sting, then warmth, then the sickening feeling of my own blood leaving my body, draining freely into the growing pool of stolen life.
Lucas continued his incantation, his voice rising, twisting into something otherworldly. My vision blurred for a moment, my knees threatening to give out as the dizziness set in. I forced myself to stay conscious, to keep my eyes on Harmona, searching for something—anything—that could give me an edge, a way out. But all I saw was her face, expressionless, cold. There was no remorse in her eyes, no hesitation in her movements.
I swallowed back my fear, my throat dry as dust. "You don't have to do this," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the chanting. "This isn't power. This is destruction."
Harmona paused for just a fraction of a second, but then her lips curled into something resembling a smile. "Power is never given freely, Aurora. It is taken. And you—" she pressed the blade against another girl’s wrist, slicing without hesitation, "—you were never meant to keep yours."
The room spun, darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision. I could feel it, the life being siphoned from me, from all of us. And yet, despite the overwhelming exhaustion, a spark of something deep and ancient ignited in my chest.
The sting in my wrist burned, sharp and relentless, but my mind refused to focus on the pain. I clenched my teeth, my breath coming in uneven gasps as I tried to ground myself, but the cries around me made it impossible. The room was thick with agony, voices breaking, bodies writhing, the very air heavy with suffering. I forced my eyes open, refusing to let the pain consume me.
Lucas's voice rose in a low, guttural chant, each word curling in the air like tendrils of dark energy, wrapping themselves around the room. Then Harmona joined him, her voice softer but no less potent. She lifted the colander high, and the thick crimson liquid sloshed within it, reflecting the dim light with an ominous sheen. The sight of my own blood swirling in that vessel sent a fresh wave of dread rolling through me, but the real horror was the sun—partially eclipsed, casting long, eerie shadows that flickered along the walls like ghosts waiting to pounce.
A sudden pull tore through me, like invisible fingers digging into my skin, sinking deeper and deeper until I felt something vital being siphoned away. My breath hitched. No, no, no. I fought to hold onto whatever it was being taken from me, but it was slipping too fast, a relentless tide pulling me under. My knees trembled. The room tilted and spun, and then—
Green light exploded around us, unnatural, shimmering like the edges of a nightmare. My pulse thundered in my ears as I saw it—droplets of blood, my blood, our blood, suspended in the air, hanging motionless for the briefest moment before they began to rise. My stomach lurched. They weren’t falling to the ground. They were floating upward, like summoned spirits obeying a call I couldn't hear.
Lucas and Harmona's chants intensified, a crescendo of dark intent. The droplets reached the ceiling, and instead of splattering against it, they moved—swirling, aligning in a precise, circular formation, as if drawn by an unseen hand. A pit opened in my stomach. This was wrong. This was beyond anything I had ever witnessed, anything I had ever feared.
I tried to move, to fight, but my body was weak, my limbs sluggish. My heartbeat slammed against my ribs, panic clawing at my throat. What were they doing? What was I losing? My voice came out in a strangled whisper, barely audible against the growing storm of power vibrating through the room.
“Harmona… stop.”
She didn’t look at me. Didn’t falter. Didn’t even acknowledge my presence.
Lucas’ eyes gleamed in the eerie glow, a twisted smile playing on his lips. “It’s too late, Aurora.”
The circle of blood above us pulsed, and the world trembled.
The air in the room was thick, suffocating, but it was the burning on my ear that truly sent a sharp, searing pain through me—the mark carved into my skin felt like it was being set ablaze all over again. My vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in, and for the first time, true hopelessness settled in my chest. Was this how it ended? Was this how I lost?
I wanted to scream, to claw at my skin, to tear that cursed mark from my body, but I couldn't move. My strength was slipping away like sand through my fingers. I could hear the slow, measured breaths of the one standing before me, the one who had done this to me. They knew. They knew I was breaking, that I was right at the edge.
And then, just as the void threatened to swallow me whole, a voice—soft, familiar, warm—whispered in my mind.
"Fight back, Aurora."
My breath hitched. My heart stuttered.
I knew that voice.
"You are stronger than this. You are mine. And you will not fall."
Tears pricked at my eyes. My mother. It was my mother’s voice, clear as day, weaving through my mind like a lifeline pulling me from the abyss.
My fingers twitched, and I gasped as warmth spread from my chest, down my arms, curling through my fingertips like liquid fire. And then, a glow—soft at first, then growing, brighter and brighter—until the entire room was bathed in golden light.
I sucked in a shaky breath, my gaze shifting to the pendant around my neck. It pulsed against my skin, heat radiating from it, thrumming in time with my heartbeat. The suffocating weight pressing down on me began to lift, the darkness retreating, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I felt power surge through me.
My mother…she was with me. And she wanted me to fight back.