Blood Bond

Sunlight, already bright and warm, streamed through the tall arched windows of Elara's chamber, spilling across silken sheets and plush velvet cushions. It was the kind of light that usually coaxed her gently from sleep, but today it felt intrusive. She burrowed deeper under the down-filled duvet, letting out a small sigh of annoyance as the rustle of skirts nearby signaled the inevitable start to her day.

"Your Highness? Princess Elara?" A soft voice – Anya, the younger of her two primary attendants. "Your morning beverage and treats, princess."

Elara cracked open an eyelid. Anya, a young maid with wide, nervous eyes and neatly braided brown hair, stood beside the enormous four-poster bed, holding a delicate crystal goblet filled with something pink and sparkling. Behind her, Meris, older and more starched, held a silver tray laden with tiny, perfect pastries and sliced exotic fruits. Meris's graying dark hair was pulled back severely into a tight bun, framing a face with sharp, bird-like features and watchful, dark green eyes that seemed to absorb the room's details without revealing anything themselves.

Elara pushed herself up against the mountain of pillows, letting the silken covers pool around her waist, her wide emerald-green eyes still clouded with sleep.

"Just put it there," she murmured, gesturing vaguely towards the bedside table overflowing with trinkets and half-read poetry books. She accepted the juice from Anya with a nod.

"You seem so calm, Princess!" Anya remarked brightly, laying out a gown of pale cream fabric embroidered with silver thread. "Most children are a bundle of nerves before their Soul Seeding."

Elara merely took a sip of juice, drifting towards the tall window as Meris began to unfasten the ribbons holding back the heavy curtains fully. Down below, in the castle's main courtyard, the frantic, last-minute drills were reaching a fever pitch. Columns of teens her age, boys and girls, swinging wooden swords at each other while others were off to the side, fingers gesturing in the air while an old wizened man – the court wizard, Alarc – observed with a hand upon his chin. She noted a few new faces sprinkled amongst the usual ones.

"Hm… I suppose those dignitaries are here. A little last minute is it not?" she mused as one slender finger ran over the smooth surface of the goblet.

"Master Steffan and Alarc are both renowned in their respective fields throughout the realms. Anyone would kill to get even minutes of their time." Anya moved up behind Elara and brushed her long metallic-red hair which flared in the sunlight. "Besides, every little bit helps, they are trying to squeeze all the training they can before Soul Seed Day."

Elara could see the sweat beading on the foreheads of those below, sinews of muscles twisting and stretching, and the intensity of their eyes staring ahead – there was a fierceness to them that burned. Anya's brush caught in her hair and she sensed implied reproach. But what did they expect? Her sister, Astrid was already winning tournaments by age eleven, and Theron had already written treatises. All she had was these dainty, uncalloused fingers, and children's fairy tales in her bookshelves, oh, and a few picture books too. Her jaw clenched. As if!

A dismissive frown touched her lips as she remained by the window, her gaze still fixed on the courtyard below. Meris stepped up beside her, holding out the silver tray with a steaming towel and freshly sliced fruits. Noticing where the princess's attention lay, Meris spoke, her tone professionally pleasant.

"Oh? Some of the foreigners have decent form this year, Your Highness. Isn't that the Prince of Rodinar? His sword strokes have the making of a knight, or even a blade weaver. And isn't that Lady Blaire, looks like she's earning an archer rune for sure."

Elara bit back a snarky retort about judging potential based on five minutes of flailing. Her eyes, almost against her will, fell to Meris's chest, where a jade-green crystal, the size of a nut, sat nestled just above the neckline of her uniform. In it floated a rune, a symbol of a boot with a dagger curled in front of it.

Elara was never given a rune lexicon, even though she knew they existed. She had, however, pieced much together over the years, gleaning meanings from descriptions in her fairy tales, illustrations in picture books, and listening closely to the endless chatter about runes from servants, guards, and visiting nobles.

So she was quite surprised when she figured out that Meris had a shadow stalker rune, an advanced rune that'd take effort to evolve one's seeded rune into. Anya's rune was no joke either. It was the symbol of hands cupping an eye, that of a diviner, another advanced rune. Neither of them would discuss their runes with her even when she pestered them, probably thinking she wouldn't understand, or that it was just not worth mentioning. She was sure they had her marked as being seeded with something useless today.

Elara tossed the goblet down on the tray with clang. The juice was losing its taste, and she had no appetite for the fruits. She waved Meris away. "Alright, fine. Let's get this miserable day out of the way."

Elara swept past her attendants and out of the relative quiet of her chambers into the wide, sunlit corridor beyond. Polished marble floors gleamed underfoot, reflecting the light from tall arched windows hung with heavy, deep blue Aethelgard banners. Gilded sconces lined the walls between intricate tapestries depicting ancient battles and pastoral scenes. The air here hummed with an unusual tension, different from the focused energy she'd seen in the courtyard below. Guards stood rigidly alert at intersections, and servants scurried past with worried expressions, their footsteps hastening on the smooth stone.

As Elara proceeded, flanked by Anya and the ever-watchful Meris, heads turned. A cluster of young trainees, girls barely older than herself clad in the simple grey shifts of servants-in-waiting, stopped their polishing of a display cabinet, their eyes wide as they took in the Princess's fiery chrome hair and flowing gown. There were a few awestruck stares, but also an undercurrent of whispers.

"Isn't that the second princess, she's not preparing at all?"

"I heard she might be rune-less."

"They say she hasn't touched any tomes..."

Further along, however, the reactions were different. Two older footmen, adjusting a tapestry, exchanged subtle, knowing glances as she passed.

"She'll just end up marrying some duke anyways, no need..." Another pair of maids carrying linens murmured, "... pity she cares so little... remember when the first princess was only five..."

Elara kept her gaze fixed forward, refusing to acknowledge the familiar barbs. Meris's sharp glance cut the whispers short, but the sentiment lingered in the air.

Suddenly, a young boy in a rough kitchen tunic darted out from a side passage, nearly colliding with her. He stumbled, a small basket of herbs tumbling from his grasp and scattering across the gleaming floor.

"Watch yourself, kitchen rat!" Elara snapped, her voice sharp and imperious.

The boy froze, his face draining of color, eyes wide with terror as he stared up at her. He started to stammer an apology, scrambling futilely at the spilled herbs.

Elara surveyed him for a moment, her expression haughty. Then, noticing the approaching footsteps of a stern-faced housekeeper down the corridor, she gave a slight, dismissive flick of her wrist. "Never mind," she said, her tone softening marginally, though still edged with command. "Just... get out of my sight. And clean this mess." She swept past him without a backward glance.

Behind her, Anya smothered a giggle into her hand, a knowing look in her eyes. Meris merely adjusted the drape of her own uniform, her expression unreadable.

As they approached the ornate archway leading to the Grand Staircase, Lorne, the silver-haired Castle Steward whose face Elara had known her whole life, stepped forward, bowing deeply with his usual impassive efficiency. Elara paused with a hint of impatience. A question was in her eyes.

"Your Highness," he stated, his voice perfectly level, betraying no particular sentiment. "Their Majesties, and the High Prince and Princess will not be available for breakfast this morning."

"Why?" Elara asked, her voice recoiled as if struck by the news.

Lorne's usually impassive face seemed to soften a bit, a hint of discomfort in his eyes as he met her gaze. "I believe they were called away by something urgent with the Council, Your Highness," he replied, his tone still formal but perhaps a fraction less distant. He hesitated, then added, "Though I am sure they will be able to attend your seeding ceremony."

The mention of the ceremony itself, the one event they couldn't miss, did little to soothe the sting of being left behind. An afterthought. Elara drew herself up, the brief flicker of vulnerability vanishing behind her usual mask of indifference. "As if I cared for breakfast," she replied coolly. "Inform the kitchens I require nothing." Without waiting for his response, she turned towards the staircase, leaving Lorne to bow and melt back into the castle's workings.

Kael, her Protector, was waiting for her by the grand staircase. Sixteen, with light brown hair cut neatly above his collar, he already carried himself with the focused stillness of a seasoned guard. His alert brown eyes scanned the hall constantly, his expression set, emphasizing a serious jawline. The faint blue glimmer of his own Soul Seed crystal was just visible at the collar of his immaculate silver-and-blue uniform. Kael was one of Theron's few close friends and someone who, Elara knew, pined hopelessly for Astrid. Normally, she might make a cutting remark about her sister just to see him flinch – picking at that particular scab was always tempting – but today felt different. She refrained.

"Goodness, Kael, such frantic energy," Elara remarked, pausing on the top step, her tone lightly mocking as she surveyed the bustling hall below. "Surely not everyone is to be seeded today?"

"It is Soul Seed Day, Your Highness," Kael replied, his voice perfectly level, betraying nothing despite the slight tightening around his eyes. "A significant occasion, marking years of effort for many families, particularly those gathering at the temple." He met her gaze. "You are scheduled at the Wardstone chamber precisely at midday."

Elara descended the stairs slowly, trailing a hand along the polished banister. "Oh, that," she said with a light, dismissive air. "Mother and Father assured me the Soul Seeding is nothing I needed to prepare for. Just a formality." She gave him a sideways glance as she reached the bottom step. "They expect something simple. Singer, perhaps? Herbalist?" She paused, a knowing, challenging smirk playing on her lips. "Or perhaps the gods give runes for 'looking pretty' these days? Is there an Enchantress rune, Kael? I'm sure that'd be very useful for someone like me."

Kael's jaw visibly tightened. He definitely doesn't think I could receive a rune like that, let alone have the intelligence to use it, Elara thought, hiding a flicker of grim satisfaction behind a neutral expression. His face remained an impassive mask as he chose not to rise to the bait.

As Elara fell into step beside Kael, Meris and Anya following discreetly, they turned down a short gallery overlooking one of the smaller, enclosed training courtyards. Below, Master Steffan, sword at his side, and the wizened Court Wizard Alarc were observing a group of sweating, determined-looking youths practicing basic spell-casting gestures and sword forms. Elara recognized some of the faces from her window earlier.

Steffan looked up as they passed, offering a respectful nod. "Your Highness. A momentous day." Alarc merely inclined his head, his attention already returning to the trainees.

A few of the youths below, openly gawked at Elara before offering a hasty, awkward bow. Most of the others were locked onto Kael with undisguised admiration. Hushed whispers drifted up, tinged with awe.

"A knight rune? How hard did he work to evolve that..."

"He's one who won the Solstice Tournament. I saw him take on the Lion!"

Elara felt a familiar prickle of annoyance at being so thoroughly overshadowed. By her own Protector! She kept her expression smooth, refusing to show it. Kael, beside her, gave no outward sign he'd heard, his gaze fixed forward, though the set of his shoulders seemed marginally stiffer. He cleared his throat, changing the subject pointedly as they continued walking.

"The carriage for the temple ascent is being prepared, Your Highness," he stated, his voice still clipped and formal. "You will be sharing with Prince Cassian of Rodinar and Prince Jarlen of Deepwoods, as per the arrangements."

Elara felt a flicker of annoyance – sharing her carriage on her Soul Seed Day? – but merely gave a tiny, indifferent shrug.

Kael offered his arm stiffly. "If you are ready, Your Highness?"

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—

Elara placed her fingertips lightly on Kael's forearm, allowing him to escort her from the bustling castle hall towards the designated departure point. Outside, a sleek carriage awaited, its lacquered black surface gleaming. It rested not on wheels, but hovered inches above the ground on silent stabilisers, harnessed to two long, serpentine creatures whose scales shimmered with arcs of pulsating blue. A low, almost sub-audible hum emanated from the vehicle.

Inside, the carriage was as luxurious as her own rooms, all velvet cushions and polished wood. Two young men were already seated opposite each other. Prince Cassian, broad-shouldered with cropped sandy hair and an air of military confidence, gave her a brief, appraising nod from beneath eyes of startling amber. Prince Jarlen, slender and fine-featured, with the unmistakable pointed ears of the elven races peeking through long, dark hair, offered a smile that didn't quite reach his cool, purple eyes. Elara gave a minimal inclination of her head, settling onto the seat Kael indicated before he took up a watchful position near the door. Meris arranged herself discreetly on a smaller seat nearby. Formalities were dispensed with quickly.

The carriage pulled away smoothly, gliding up the winding mountain road towards the temple. Through the wide crystal window, Elara watched the world outside. Crude carts pulled by gaunt horses struggled on the rougher edges of the path, alongside lines of weary pilgrims on foot. Higher up, a glint of silver caught her eye – a majestic airship descending towards a high peak near the temple.

"Ah, the High Council adjourns, it seems," Jarlen murmured, following her gaze. "Your esteemed parents return just in time for the festivities, Princess." His tone was light, but held a subtle edge.

"Aethelgard always prefers a dramatic entrance," Cassian remarked dryly, not looking away from buffing an imaginary speck off his riding boot.

Elara merely glanced at the airship. Normal. She turned her attention back inside, a flicker of interest stirring as Jarlen shifted his gaze back to her.

"One hears so little from Aethelgard Keep these days, Your Highness," the elf continued, his voice smooth as silk. "Some in the Concord are beginning to wonder if their devotion is still... noted."

Cassian snorted softly. "Devotion?" He directed a sharp look at Jarlen. "As in coins? Is that all you Deepwood peddlers believe in? Don't you people get enough trading gold for blood?"

Jarlen's smile didn't waver, though his eyes hardened. "Blood, Cassian? And those legions Rodinar gathers on its borders, what are they for? Picnics?"

"Standard defenses," Cassian waved him off airily. "Nothing the other Concord members haven't done more of, quietly." He then turned his attention fully to Elara, a calculating look replacing his smirk. "Speaking of maneuvers, Princess, do you play Castellans?"

Elara, who had been watching their exchange, met Cassian's gaze coolly. "I've only watched Theron play. It seems simple enough – just moving pieces around a board." A tiny, deliberate smile touched her lips. "Though I did notice there isn't a Princess piece. They're merely carved into the decorative border, I believe. Quite ornamental."

Cassian leaned forward, matching her smile. "Perhaps not, Princess. There isn't a smuggler piece either, yet they move quite effectively beneath the board. My father says these are times of change."

The tension in the carriage ratcheted up. Before Elara could reply, Kael cleared his throat. "Your Graces," he addressed the princes firmly, "The Princess requires calm before the Soul Seeding."

Jarlen gave a slight, condescending sniff and turned pointedly to study the mountain scenery. Cassian offered Kael a lazy, unrepentant smirk before leaning back against the cushions.

Just as Elara felt a prickle of annoyance at the interruption, Meris leaned forward from her seat, her voice sharp and low. "Pay their games no mind, Your Highness. It is unbecoming nonsense."

Elara bit back whatever retort she might have given Meris, turning her gaze deliberately back to the window, away from the confines of the carriage. Her eyes scanned the lines of pilgrims trudging beside the road below. She saw families huddled together, thin and weary. Her gaze caught and held on a gaunt boy, his shoulders slumped with fatigue, a crying baby sister strapped crudely across his back in a sling made of patchwork cloth. He looked up as the gleaming carriage swept past, his eyes wide and hollow before his gaze dropped back to the dusty road ahead. As she watched, a strange tightness clenched around Elara's own chest, sharp and uncomfortable. She couldn't place its source.

—

The carriage slowed, gliding to a silent halt before the imposing gates of the mountain temple. Attendants rushed forward as the doors opened, Kael stepping out first before formally assisting Elara. The air here was thinner, cooler, filled with the murmur of hundreds of voices and the scent of mountain pines mixed with incense. Nobles from across the Concord milled about in their finest attire, guards stood sentinel, and temple acolytes moved with quiet purpose through the throng gathered in the grand outer courtyard.

Just inside the main entrance hall, amidst polished stone and towering pillars, her family awaited. Queen Titania approached first. Tall and elegant in deep blue velvet robes that matched the Aethelgard banners hanging high above, her silver hair was intricately braided, framing a face that held both regal composure and maternal warmth, though a subtle tension around her hazel eyes tempered her smile. "Elara, darling. You look lovely."

King Oberon, by contrast, filled the hall with his presence, a great bear of a man with a booming laugh and a trimmed brown beard streaked with grey. He wore richer, less formal robes of embroidered gold and green, and his eyes were a sparkling blue as he swept Elara into a hug that lifted her off her feet. "There's my treasure! Ready for the big day?"

Elara flushed, embarrassed but feeling a familiar warmth at his exuberance. "Father, put me down!" she half-laughed, half-protested.

After she managed to extricate herself, she straightened her gown and glanced towards her siblings. Astrid stood tall and regal beside their mother, resplendent in gleaming ceremonial silver armor. Her soul crystal was prominent at her collar – a fiery orange-red tinged the clear stone, surrounding a complex rune of a sword entwined with flowing lines – a mage-knight rune. A deeper, dark red halo shimmered around the crystal itself, the mark, Elara knew, of the 'Chosen' of the royal line – which she assumed meant something powerful, like a champion.

Theron, beside Astrid, looked stunningly formal in deep blue scholar's robes embroidered with silver etching. His dark brown hair, the same shade as Father's, was tied back neatly, revealing his mother's elegant facial features and observant dark eyes. Above his sternum sat a yellow hue crystal, and within it lay the symbol of an eye above an open book – a sage rune. He offered Elara a quiet nod, his eyes holding a flicker of encouragement.

Seeing her siblings looking so impressive filled Elara with a sudden, fierce surge of pride. Her moment of appreciation was broken as an old grizzled man with a scar over one eye bustled forward, pushing his way up next to Oberon.

"Your Majesty," he said impatiently, clearly following up on an earlier conversation, "We must up the ranks of the Royal Guards. There's been too much movement in the..."

The king held up a large hand, cutting him off, though his tone remained genial. "Armand, Armand," he sighed good-naturedly. "Not today. It is Elara's Soul Seed Day, a day for hope, not border squabbles. Besides," he added, his voice taking on a firmer edge, "military buildup is not Aethelgard's way. We are the center of all the realms, and we lead through the power of the Wardstone, and the beacons that are our academies. This saber rattling is beneath us."

Theron stepped forward. "Father, with respect, the Duke's concerns..."

"Are noted, Theron," the King interrupted gently but firmly. "And besides, we have Astrid. They can't touch her."

"For now," Theron murmured quietly. "But what of after?"

Elara's ear twitched at Theron's near inaudible comment. After? What did he mean after?

The King made no attempt to respond. Astrid suddenly swept her away in her arms. "Come Ela, tell me how your Seeding Day has been. I heard you got to ride with the princes, how did that go? Either of them dazzled by your beauty?" she said with a pat on her head.

"I'm twelve now, Astrid! And no, neither of them are charming at all. But… if we're talking about charming." Elara shifted a mischievous gaze toward Kael. "Kael here seems terribly bored babysitting me. Perhaps we can trade. Vanda?" She glanced towards the stern-faced woman in matching silver armor standing behind Astrid and winked. "Care to be my protector for the day?"

Astrid merely raised an elegant eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her expression. "Go talk with your friends, Elara," she said, gently redirecting her.

Elara drifted over to where a small group of young noblewomen – her friends – were gathered near a marble pillar, already deep in hushed, anxious gossip despite their perfectly composed exteriors.

"...can you imagine if Edouard Thorne actually gets a farmer rune?" one girl whispered, eyes wide with horrified fascination. "After all that private combat training his father paid for?"

Another girl shuddered delicately, smoothing her silk gown. "Or worse... what if Lady Isolde ends up with something utterly common, like cook? Her mother would probably faint right here in the temple courtyard."

"Better hope these Glimmering Caves charms work, then," the first girl added nervously, glancing down at a sparkling amulet around her own neck.

Elara slid into the group easily, catching the drift. "I'm personally hoping for the Royal Napper rune," she offered dryly into the tense silence. "Or perhaps Advanced Embroiderer? Extremely useful skills."

Several girls giggled uncertainly, glancing at each other, unsure how to take the princess's comment. But Lady Blaire, poised in moonglow blue, gave a frown. "Your highness, that's not amusing," she said coolly. "Not everyone has the luxury of resting on their station. Some of us actually hope our efforts are recognized today."

Before Elara could deliver the cool retort already forming on her tongue, a robed Temple Warden stepped forward, his voice resonating. "Honored and most esteemed guests," he addressed the gathering crowd. "The Wardstone Chamber is prepared. The Soul Seeding will now commence."

—

Elara followed the Temple Warden along with Prince Cassian, Prince Jarlen, Lady Blaire, and the other high-ranking heirs, leaving their attendants and families behind in the antechamber. From a high gallery overlooking the chamber, she could feel her parents' anxious gaze. She looked up to see Theron's serious profile, and Astrid's encouraging nod. Kael gave her a stiff, barely perceptible dip of his head as she passed through the heavy, carved doors into the Wardstone chamber itself.

The air inside was cool and still, echoing faintly with an almost inaudible hum. The vast chamber was circular, carved from the heart of the mountain, the stone walls ancient and smooth, reaching up towards a distant, arched ceiling. Dim light filtered from unseen sources, illuminating swirling murals high above that depicted a chaotic, nightmarish battle between armored figures and shadowy, demonic beasts. In the center of the room stood the Wardstone itself – a colossal, clear crystal, taller than two men, pulsing with a soft, internal light like a slow, powerful heartbeat. From one side, a sharp, crystalline point, like a fang grown from the stone, curved outwards.

The Head Priest, ancient in his ceremonial robes, stood near the Wardstone. He raised his hands, his voice resonating in the heavy silence, speaking of the familiar history – the gods, Antara's sacrifice, the Wardstone formed from his heart, the Soul Seeds as divine gifts bestowed upon the worthy. Elara barely listened, her attention fixed on the pulsating crystal and its menacing point. The tightness in her chest returned, coiling like a cold serpent.

The Warden called the first name. "Prince Cassian of Rodinar."

Cassian stepped forward confidently. He opened his tunic, leaned forward, and pressed the skin just below his collarbone against the crystalline point. A sharp intake of breath, barely audible, was his only reaction. Where the point touched, no wound appeared, but almost immediately, a crystal, tinged a deep, smoky black, seemed to swell and grow outwards from his skin, solidifying rapidly. Within it, the rune of crossed swords settled.

An acolyte near the Wardstone announced clearly, "Blade Weaver Rune, Dark Affinity!" Cassian gave a curt, assured nod, as if expecting nothing less, before stepping back.

As he moved away, Elara gasped softly. A single, dark droplet of viscous liquid welled up on the very tip of the Wardstone's point, then dripped, stretching downwards. It didn't splatter, but formed a glistening, gooey-red thread that snaked across the floor towards Cassian, looking horribly like a raw, exposed vein.

"Prince Jarlen of the Deepwoods," the Warden called.

Jarlen approached gracefully. The process repeated – the press against the point, the crystal emerging. His was a bright, clear blue, the wavy lines of a Mage rune forming within. "Mage Rune, Water Affinity!" the acolyte declared. Another glistening red vein stretched out from the dripping point, this one seeming to shimmer as it crossed the floor towards the elf prince.

Elara's breath hitched. She watched, horrified, as Lady Blaire stepped forward after a few more seeds. Her crystal emerged tinged yellow-gold, the clear shape of a bow and arrow forming inside. "Archer Rune, Air Affinity!" Again, another vein dripped out and stretched from the wardstone after Blaire. The air and ground of the chamber was now criss crossed with a tangled web of these disgusting lines.

"Look!" Elara grabbed the arm of the girl beside her, unable to stay silent. "The point... it's bleeding! Don't you see those... those veins?"

The girl snatched her arm away, eyes wide with confusion, not horror. "Bleeding? Your Highness, there's no blood in the seeding." Another girl snickered nervously nearby. "Have nerves finally got to you?"

Lady Blaire shot Elara a look of pure disdain before turning away.

The head priest narrowed his eyes at Elara, a mixture of disapproval and disappointment on his face. He ushered the others to move along.

More youths went. With each seeding, another viscous drop formed and stretched from the Wardstone point, another vein-like trail joining the horrifying network that now crisscrossed the floor and the air around the central crystal, pulsing faintly like something dreadfully alive. Elara felt increasingly nauseous, trapped.

"Princess Elara of Aethelgard," the Warden called finally. She was the last.

Panic surged through her, cold and sharp. "No!" she cried, stumbling backwards, pointing frantically at the Wardstone. "It's bleeding out! It's... it's filthy! Can't you see it?!"

Two acolytes moved towards her, their faces calm, unmoved by her outburst. "It is time, Your Highness." They took her arms gently but inexorably. She struggled, trying to twist away, tears of terror blurring her vision. From the gallery above, she heard Astrid's voice, sharp with command but tight with worry: "Ela, be calm!"

Kael's strained voice followed, "Courage, Your Highness!"

Their words were distant noise. She was propelled forward, towards the pulsating crystal, towards the sharp, waiting point dripping with glistening red. She fought against their grip, but they were implacable. A pair of hands grabbed at her collar, attempting to unfasten it, but she kept pulling away until buttons popped, exposing her skin to the cool air and the waiting point. They forced her against that tip. The crystalline point pressed cold against her skin, then pierced. A sharp sting, a gasp torn from her throat.

But what emerged wasn't crystalline light or faceted stone. It looked like a perfect, expanding droplet of blood, swelling rapidly outwards from the point of contact. It solidified into something smooth, darkly crimson, utterly without facets. It was no crystal. No rune was visible within its murky depths.

The moment it fully formed, a vision slammed into her with brutal force. The Wardstone became a monstrous, pulsing, fleshy heart. The red trails writhed in the air and across the floor. She looked wildly around – the priests, the nobles, Cassian, Jarlen, Blaire – their flesh was gone, leaving only grotesque, human-shaped tangles of pulsing veins and arteries, all connected back to the great, beating heart in the center of the room. There were red trails reaching out from the heart, for her.

A raw scream tore from her throat. She thrashed blindly, shoving at the nightmarish tendrils, reaching back desperately for escape, for something solid, anything real—

Her hand found another. Warm. Solid. Startlingly real. Fingers squeezed hers, and she squeezed back, holding on with all her strength. Then darkness rushed in, silencing her scream, swallowing everything.