Eryon’s breaths grew shallower, each one a desperate rasp that echoed in the tense silence. His body, once radiating strength, now lay frail and pale on the cold stone floor. Lyra’s hands trembled as she clutched his, her silver eyes brimming with tears.
“Stay with me, Eryon. Please!” she begged, her voice cracking as she leaned closer. His fingers were ice-cold, the faint flicker of life within him slipping away.
Seraphine knelt beside him, her hands glowing with a silvery light as she pressed them against his chest. The energy sparked and hissed, but it wasn’t enough. “We’re losing him,” she said, her tone uncharacteristically tense. She glanced at Misery. “If you’re going to act, do it now.”
Misery froze for a moment, her crimson eyes locked on Eryon’s pale face. Her hand gripped the dagger tightly, her knuckles white. “Then we can’t wait any longer,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute.
Draven’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Don’t you dare!” he roared, moving to stop her. But Seraphine waved a hand, summoning a barrier of light that stopped him in his tracks.
“Touch her, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” Seraphine said coolly, her gaze fixed on Misery.
Draven growled, slamming his fist against the barrier, but he couldn’t break through. Isla’s sobs filled the room as she turned her back on the scene, her prayers growing louder, desperate.
Misery knelt beside Eryon, the tip of the dagger hovering over her palm. “Forgive me,” she whispered, slicing a shallow cut across her skin. Blood pooled in her hand, glowing faintly as it mingled with the enchanted liquid she had prepared.
Lyra’s voice broke through the rising hum of magic. “No! There has to be another way!” she cried, reaching out to stop Misery. But Adrian held her back, his crimson eyes filled with a grim understanding.
“This is the only way to save him,” Adrian murmured, his grip firm but gentle. “Let her do it.”
Misery placed her bloodied hand over Eryon’s heart, her lips moving in a chant of ancient words. The room darkened as the sigils on the floor began to glow, their light pulsating in time with Eryon’s weakening heartbeat.
Eryon’s body convulsed, a low groan escaping his lips as the magic took hold. Lyra screamed his name, her voice echoing in the chamber, but he didn’t respond.
***
The room’s temperature plummeted as Misery stepped into the center of the glowing sigils, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of fear. The ancient incantation spilled from her lips, words of a forgotten language weaving through the air like a chilling melody. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the chamber, the flickering light from the runes casting eerie patterns on the stone walls.
Lyra stood at the edge of the circle, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Adrian’s presence beside her was grounding, but the oppressive weight of the ritual was almost unbearable. She watched as the magic began to swirl around Eryon’s lifeless body, the faint glow of the sigils intensifying with each word Misery spoke.
“What’s happening to him?” Lyra whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the ritual. Her silver eyes were wide, tears threatening to spill.
Adrian’s jaw tightened, his gaze locked on Eryon. “She’s pulling him back,” he said, his voice low and tense. “But it’s not without a cost.”
The air crackled with energy, sharp and electric, making every hair on Lyra’s body stand on end. Eryon’s body twitched, the first sign of movement since the ritual began. Lyra gasped, her hands gripping Adrian’s arm. “He moved! Does that mean—?”
“It means the ritual is working,” Adrian interrupted, his crimson eyes shadowed with doubt. “But it’s not over.”
Misery’s voice rose, her words echoing in a crescendo as the sigils flared brighter. The temperature dropped further, frost creeping across the stones beneath them. The dark energy coiled around Eryon like a living thing, seeping into his skin and making him convulse violently.
Lyra turned her face into Adrian’s chest, unable to watch as her brother’s body jerked uncontrollably. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I can’t lose him.”
Adrian held her tightly, his voice firm despite the turmoil in his eyes. “He’s strong, Lyra. If anyone can make it through this, it’s Eryon.”
The light in the room dimmed suddenly, plunging them into near-darkness save for the faint, pulsating glow of the runes. Misery’s chant slowed, her voice trembling as the magic reached its peak. The room was silent except for Eryon’s labored breaths, each one weaker than the last.
And then, with a deafening crack, the sigils’ light exploded outward, engulfing Eryon in an impenetrable darkness. The ritual had begun its final stage.