Curse Broken (Cursed Descent (MistHallow Academy) #3)

32. Matilda

32

MATILDA

The return from Hell is more nauseating than the journey there. When we finally materialise in my bedroom at MistHallow, I double over, fighting the urge to vomit. The sudden absence of Hell’s oppressive atmosphere makes my skin prickle with goosebumps.

“I think I left my stomach somewhere between realms,” I groan, straightening up slowly.

Draven steadies me with a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Let’s hope I don’t have to,” I mutter, though after what Annabelle and Xavi said about the impending threat, I have a feeling Hell transit might become a regular occurrence in my future. “Shame I couldn’t meet your dads.”

“Next time,” he murmurs. “This wasn’t a family gathering situation.”

Chaos’ sudden arrival as he leaps at me from the bed, cuts short that conversation .

“Do the stones still have a connection to the foundation stone?” Draven asks, all business now that we’re back.

Vex sets the bag containing the classification stones on the desk and opens it carefully. The stones glow with steady light.

“The connection is holding,” he confirms. “But we need to get them to the underground chambers quickly so we can check this off our list.”

“Why are we still standing here, then?” I ask, marching to the door. “By foot, this time.” Opening it, I stride out, Chaos chittering on my shoulder, and make my way to the library.

When we enter, it is packed with students, to my surprise, but I guess things had to get back to normal at some point. I wonder if that means Blackthorn is happy with the progress so far.

“So we put the stones in the chambers, and that’s it?” Luc asks.

Vex snorts. “When has anything ever been that simple for us?”

“Fair point,” he says with a sigh.

The stone circle in the floor that marks the entrance to the underground chambers is covered with an old rug, which Draven whips off as we crowd inside. Glancing around to make sure no one is looking, Vex throws up a shield, just in case.

“I’ve been thinking,” Vex says as we gather around the button.

“What else is new?” Luc drawls .

“Shut up, arsehole. This is important. The classification stones need to be arranged in a specific pattern to maximise their connection to the foundation stone. It’s not just about putting them down there.”

“Of course not,” I mutter. “That would be too easy.”

I press the trigger mechanism, and the floor drops away beneath us. The familiar sensation of falling makes my stomach lurch, but after travelling to Hell and back, this feels almost soothing by comparison.

We land more gracefully this time as if the chambers know we are here to help, not harm. They are different somehow—more alive, more responsive to our presence. The walls hum with anticipation.

“They know what we’re doing,” I say softly, running my hand along the rough stone. “The chambers are aware.”

“They’re part of MistHallow’s oldest magick,” Vex explains. “They sense what we’re about to attempt.”

The tunnels guide us this time, opening clear pathways instead of the usual maze. They’re eager for what’s coming, leading us directly to our destination without any of the usual tricks and traps.

We emerge into the central ritual chamber, which, last time we saw it, had collapsed in on itself. Now, it is as pristine as if it was just built.

“MistHallow has been busy,” Draven observes, examining the new fortifications.

“It knew we’d need this place,” I say, staring at the dreaded altar. I gulp back the memory of killing Ellie on it and all the other horrors and focus on the task at hand as Chaos jumps down and sits, watching us with interest.

The altar is ringed with runes that flare as I approach. The chamber forms a perfect dome, with the apex directly above the circle.

“This is it,” Vex says. “This is where the stones need to go.”

He sets the bag down carefully and removes the classification stones one by one. Each glows with its unique colour and energy signature.

“They need to be arranged according to their natural affinities,” Vex explains. “Earth opposite air, fire opposite water, and the rest aligned based on their harmonic resonances.”

Silently, we work methodically, as Vex guides us, placing each stone in its designated position around the circle. As each stone settles into place, its glow intensifies, and a vibration fills the chamber. The sound grows louder with each addition, becoming a complex chord that buzzes through my bones.

“It’s responding to their presence,” I say, feeling the Praxian force reaching out to the stones.

Finally, only the Druid stone remains. This one feels different from the others, more closely linked to me personally. When I place it in the last position, completing the circle, a shock wave of power ripples outward, making us all stagger back.

“Wow,” Luc murmurs, staring at the now-complete circle.

The stones hover slightly above the floor, spinning slowly in place. Threads of light stretch between them, forming a complex web of interconnections. But something’s missing—I can feel it. The link to the foundation stone in Hell is present but tenuous, like a radio signal fading in and out.

“We need to stabilise the connection. It’s there, but it’s not strong enough yet.”

Vex nods grimly. “This is where it gets complicated. We need to perform a binding ritual to anchor these stones to the foundation stone across realms.”

“What kind of ritual?” Draven asks.

“Blood, power, and intent,” Vex explains. “The three components of any serious magickal binding. We each contribute our blood as the physical anchor, our power as the energetic channel, and our united intent as the directing force.”

I swallow hard, remembering other blood rituals we’ve performed. “Sounds dangerous.”

“It is,” Vex admits. “Especially crossing realms like this. But we don’t have a choice if we want this system to hold.”

We arrange ourselves around the altar, each taking a position that corresponds to our dominant magick.

“Once we begin, we can’t stop until it’s complete,” Vex warns. “No matter what happens.”

I nod, determination pushing aside my fear.

Vex produces an athame, its blade gleaming in the magickal light from the stones. “Blood first, then power, then intent. Speak from your heart when the time comes. ”

He slices his palm first, letting seven drops of blood fall onto the altar. The stones absorb the blood instantly, their glow deepening. The ritual dagger passes to Luc, who repeats the process, and then to Draven and finally to me.

I take a deep breath and draw the blade across my palm. The sting is sharp but brief. I hold my hand near the Druid stone, watching as seven drops of my blood fall next to its shifting surface. The stone flares with rainbow light as it absorbs my offering.

“Now power,” Vex instructs.

We each reach out with our magick, channelling it into our respective stones. I feel the Praxian force flow through me, more controlled now than ever before. It knows what I’m trying to do and cooperates willingly, streaming into the Druid stone in a controlled torrent.

The stones’ glow intensifies dramatically, almost blindingly bright. The threads of light between them thicken and solidify. Above us, the chamber ceiling fades away, revealing a swirling vortex of magickal energy—a visual representation of the connections forming between realms.

“The foundation stone is responding.” I get a glimpse of the Hell cube with the foundation stone suspended inside. The image wavers like a mirage, but it’s definitely there.

“Intent,” Vex reminds us. “Speak your intent.”

He goes first, his voice steady despite the magickal pressure. “I, Vex Blackwell, bind these stones to their foundation. May they maintain the balance of magick throughout all realms, preserving the natural order we have established.”

Luc follows, his usually jovial tone replaced by solemn gravity. “I, Luc, Prince of Hell, bind these stones to their foundation. May they stand as a bridge between realms, allowing magick to flow as it should without corruption or decay.”

Draven’s voice is deep and resonant as he adds his intent. “I, Draven, Prince of Hell, bind these stones to their foundation. May they protect the boundaries between life and death, between order and chaos, maintaining the equilibrium that all existence depends upon.”

Then it’s my turn. I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of this moment. This isn’t just about fixing what was broken—it’s about creating something new, something that will shape the magickal world for generations to come.

“I, Matilda Blackwell,” I say, the new name feeling right on my tongue, “bind these stones to their foundation. May they preserve the diversity of magick in all its forms, allowing each classification to thrive independently while remaining part of a greater whole. As the carrier of the Praxian force, I dedicate this system to a new magickal order, maintaining the respect of modern-day magick as it wishes to be.”

The moment the last word leaves my lips, the chamber fills with blinding light. The vortex above us widens. The classification stones rise higher, spinning faster. The threads between them quiver with power, creating a complex, ever-shifting web. At the centre, the image of the foundation stone glows with deep purple light, sending out waves of energy that the classification stones absorb and redirect.

“It’s working,” I breathe, feeling the connections solidifying.

The entire network flares with rainbow light. A shockwave of pure magickal energy explodes outward from the circle, slamming into us with unexpected force. I’m thrown backwards, skidding across the chamber floor before Draven manages to catch me.

“What the hell was that?” Luc gasps, pushing himself up from where he landed.

Vex is already on his feet, examining the circle with concern. “Feedback. The connection is stronger than we anticipated.”

I struggle to my feet, my ears ringing from the magickal backlash. The stones have settled back into their positions, but something seems different. The web of connections shimmers erratically, like a heartbeat that occasionally skips a beat. “Did we cock up?”

Vex frowns. “Not entirely sure. The cross-realm connection is generating more power than the network can smoothly handle. It’s like trying to run too much electricity through too small wires.”

“What does that mean for the magickal world?” Draven asks.

“It means we’ve succeeded in preventing complete unravelling,” Vex explains, “but there will be fluctuations. Ebbs and flows in magickal power that will affect different classifications at different times.”

“Better than total collapse,” Luc points out.

“Much better,” I agree, studying the network. “And maybe we can refine it over time, make adjustments as we learn more.”

The chamber shudders suddenly, the walls trembling. For a moment, I think it’s another feedback surge, but then I realise it’s coming from outside.

“Someone’s coming,” Draven warns, his death magick swirling around his hands.

We turn toward the entrance as footsteps echo down the tunnel. A moment later, Blackthorn appears.

“I felt it all the way from my office,” he says by way of greeting.

“We’ve established the connection,” Vex tells him. “The classification stones are linked to the foundation stone in Hell. The network is functioning, but there are some stability issues.”

Blackthorn approaches the circle, studying it with a practised eye. “Impressive work. I can feel the different magickal classifications already beginning to even out throughout MistHallow. However, the network is not perfectly stable. There are fluctuations, particularly around the necromantic and fire connections.” He glances at Draven and Luc. “Your respective magicks are Hell-born and particularly resistant to this kind of structured channelling.”

“Can we fix it?” I ask .

Blackthorn considers this, circling the stones slowly. “Perhaps not fix but improve. The system you’ve created is revolutionary—rewriting how magick flows throughout the realms. Some instability is to be expected.” He stops, turning to face us directly. “What you’ve accomplished here is remarkable. The curse is broken, yet magick continues to function. The individual classifications are preserved while remaining connected to their source. It’s incredibly advanced. The magickal world owes you a debt it can never repay. But your work is not done.”

Another tremor shakes the chamber, milder this time but still noticeable. The classification stones flicker briefly before resuming their steady glow.

“The system is still settling. It should stabilise further over the next few days as magick throughout the realms adjusts to the new pathways.”

“Is that it?” I ask.

“Pretty much.”

“And in the meantime?” Luc asks.

“In the meantime,” Blackthorn says, “you rest. Recover your strength. You’ve done more than enough for now.” His gaze settles on me. “Especially you, Miss Matilda. The amount of power you’ve channelled today would have killed most practitioners.”

“It’s Mrs actually,” I correct with a small smile. “Mrs Blackwell. Hey, does this mean I can call you Uncle Luke now?”

Blackthorn’s eyebrows rise, and a rare smile crosses his face as he looks between Vex and me. “I can categorically say, no, you can’t, Miss Matilda. At least not until you give me those straight As and graduate with honours.”

I giggle, and he pats my shoulder in what I assume is his version of a hug.

“Well, Mrs Blackwell, my advice stands. Rest. The chambers will protect the stones, and MistHallow’s wards will alert us to any significant disturbances in the network.”

“Is that all we can do for now? Wait?” Draven asks.

“All will be well once they find their rhythm.”

“Great,” I mutter. “So we’re flying blind.”

“Not blind,” Blackthorn corrects. “Simply improvising. The fundamental theory is sound. The execution was impressive. Now we wait to see how reality adjusts to your innovations.”

“And hope nothing tries to eat us in the meantime,” Luc adds cheerfully.

I roll my eyes at him, but there’s a kernel of truth in his flippancy. We’ve altered the very fabric of magick itself. There will be consequences—some we can anticipate, others we can’t.

“For now,” Blackthorn says firmly, “you four are to rest. Consider it another item on that checklist of yours.”

With that, he gives us a formal nod and turns to leave. At the entrance to the chamber, he pauses and looks back at us. “What you’ve done today will be remembered for generations. Perhaps not by name—history has a way of forgetting its most important architects—but within the essence of a magical being. You should be proud.”

He leaves with a majestic billow of his robes, leaving us to follow at our own pace.

“Did Blackthorn just compliment us?” Luc asks in mock shock.

“Wonders never cease,” Draven murmurs.

I lean against Vex, suddenly feeling the weight of the day’s events crashing down on me. “I need a shower and about forty hours of sleep.”

“Just sleep,” Vex corrects, wrapping an arm around my waist. “You used enough power today to light up a small country. Your body needs proper rest more than anything.”

As we make our way out of the chambers and back to my room, I can’t shake that foreboding feeling that we are not at the end of a much longer story. The classification stones are in place, the foundation stone is secure in Hell, and the magickal world has been saved from immediate collapse.

But the tremors continue, subtle reminders that what we’ve built is not yet perfect. And the feeling of being watched will not go away.

As Vex undresses me and helps me into bed, my eyes are already closing before my head hits the pillow; I wonder what dreams will come tonight. Or if it will be a nightmare.