22. Tate
22
TATE
The fated mark burns on my chest, a constant reminder of what’s happening to Ivy. It’s different now, though. Not the sharp, desperate pain from when she was first taken, but something deeper, more fundamental. Like my atoms are being rearranged to match whatever she’s becoming.
I press my hand against it, panting slightly, feeling the steady pulse that tells me she’s still there, still connected to me, even as she transforms into something beyond what any of us can comprehend. The mark feels warmer than usual, almost alive under my palm.
“A fated bond?” Blackthorn says, watching me with keen interest. “You can feel her changing, can’t you?”
“Yes,” I admit, dropping my hand. “It’s like watching a star go supernova in slow motion. I can feel her expanding, becoming something more.” My voice sounds strange, distant and hollow.
Bram’s wild magick fizzes in response to my words, making the air thick with potential. “The power recognises it,” he says softly. “Whatever she’s becoming, it’s connected to this.” He holds up his hands, where silver threads of magick dance between his fingers. “It’s not Morrigan’s, it’s not even mine. It’s hers.”
“All magick is hers,” I comment, not in the least bit jealous, but in total awe of her. Not that long ago, she was a shifter assassin and now she is a god. She is nothing short of incredible.
I catch Torin watching me, concern etched on his features. He knows me well enough to see past my calm exterior, to recognise the fear lurking beneath. The fear of what this means for us. For our future. Will she still be our Ivy when she emerges? Will our fated bond survive her transformation into something beyond Death itself?
“We need to focus on what we can actually do,” I say, forcing myself to think practically despite the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “You mentioned rituals to stabilise the transformation?”
Torin’s growl reminds me of his earlier objection to rituals, but this time, I meet his gaze steadily. “I know you don’t like it, but if it means the difference between the world surviving this transition or not, then we are doing it.”
“The rituals aren’t particularly painful,” Blackthorn interjects, pulling an ancient-looking tome from his stack. “These are more like anchoring points. Ways to ensure reality can adapt to the changes coming.”
Bram moves closer to examine the book, his magick sparking with interest. “These are old. Really old, steeped in Fae magick.”
“Yes,” Morrigan confirms, and something in her tone makes me look at her sharply. “From when the first gods were born.”
“The Fae?” I ask in surprise. Although I suppose that makes sense in a way. The Fae are an extremely powerful race.
The fated mark burns again, and this time, I catch fragments of something through it. Not quite thoughts, not quite feelings, but impressions of what Ivy is experiencing. Power beyond imagination. Understanding beyond mortal comprehension. The very fabric of existence is reshaping itself around her.
“The preparations must be precise,” Blackthorn continues, either oblivious to or choosing to ignore the tension in the room. “We need to establish anchor points at specific locations - places where the barriers between life and death are naturally thin. As all this occurred at Thornfield, the surrounding forest will be one of those points. The sacred spring here at MistHallow. Vex, you can handle that. But the rest of you must return immediately to Thornfield.”
Vex nods, having remained mostly silent this entire time.
“How long do we have?” I ask, though I already know the answer won’t be precise.
“Until Life’s desperate actions trigger the collapse,” Blackthorn says grimly. “Could be days, could be hours. The void exists outside normal time, so Ivy’s transformation isn’t bound by our temporal limitations. But Life’s deterioration very much is.”
“Then we need to move now. Morrigan?” I turn to the goddess, expecting her to disappear or give some cryptic response.
Instead, she smiles, and it’s not entirely comforting. “I’ll do what I’ve always done and ensure fate unfolds as it should. But know what’s coming will change everything. The old pantheons, the traditional separations between life and death, even the way magick itself works in the world. Are you prepared for that?”
I think about Ivy, about how she’s never backed down from what needs to be done, no matter the cost. I think about our fated bond, about how it’s already changing, evolving with her. I think about the future. It’s uncertain, unprecedented, but full of possibility.
“No,” I answer honestly. “But I don’t think anyone can be truly prepared for this. We just have to be ready to pivot. To adapt.” I press my hand over the burn again, feeling its steady heat. “Like she is. Thank you, Professor. You have been a great help.”
He nods and I give Vex the finger, which he returns with that smug laugh of his before I transport us back to Thornfield in a whirl of magick, my spell depositing us at the edge of the ancient forest. The moment our feet touch the ground, I know something’s different. The air itself feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.
“Holy shit,” Torin comments, staring at the tree line.
The forest has changed. The ancient trees shimmer with an inner light, their leaves sparkle with colours that shouldn’t exist in nature. Patches of new growth burst forth in odd places. Flowers bloom and die in seconds, only to be reborn again.
“The barriers,” Bram says, his magick audibly singing in response to our surroundings, which takes him by surprise. “They’re already breaking down here.” Silver threads of power leap from his skin, reaching toward the trees like they’re being called home.
I press my hand against the fated mark, which burns hotter than ever. The forest recognises us - or rather, it recognises our connection to what Ivy is becoming. Every tree, every blade of grass, every particle of air seems to vibrate with anticipation.
“We need to find an anchor point,” I say, trying to focus through the overwhelming sensations.
“There,” Bram says, pointing to the clearing ahead where Morrigan was tied to.
“Yes.” There is a distortion in the air, like reality is rippling. “Whatever it is about this place, it’s a hot spot for magick and the ancient kind.”
As we approach, the effects intensify. Life and death dance around us in dizzying cycles. A fallen log sprouts mushrooms that grow and decay in the span of heartbeats. Birds fly through the trees, their lifespans playing out in fast-forward until they fall, only to rise again as chicks from their own ashes.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur. Here, in this place where the boundaries blur, the true pattern emerges - not opposing forces, but parts of the same whole.
“And creepy and, oh, let’s not forget dangerous,” Torin adds grimly, watching as a patch of ground cycles through seasons in seconds. “This is the start of it. If this spreads...”
“It won’t,” Bram says with surprising certainty. His magick has formed a barrier around him now, responding to the energy of the place. “That’s what the anchor point is for. To contain it. To give it structure.”
The clearing itself appears to be the epicentre. At its heart, reality seems thinnest, most malleable.
“How do we even begin?” Torin asks, looking overwhelmed for the first time since I’ve known him.
Bram steps to the left, his silver-threaded magick now whipping around him like a storm. “The ritual requires three points of power,” he says, his voice taking on an odd resonance. “Life, death, and the space between. That’s us. Vampire, fated mate, and...” he gestures to himself, his magick sparking. “Whatever I am now.”
We form a triangle around the epicentre, and immediately, I feel it - a pull so intense it nearly brings me to my knees. The fated mark blazes like hellfire against my chest, and through it, I sense something vast and ancient, stirring in response to what we’re doing.
“Bram?” Torin calls out, tension clear in his voice. “The trees...”
The ancient forest has gone eerily still. No more rapid cycling of life and death. Just silence. Waiting.
“Start the ritual,” I grit out, fighting against the increasing pressure of power.
Bram’s magick explodes outward, forming a complex web of silver light between us. His eyes have gone completely black, and when he speaks, it’s in a language I’ve never heard before - older than Celtic, older than the Fae themselves.
The same fucking language from the last fucking ritual.
“Grrr,” I growl, already feeling myself go dizzy.
Torin growls as well to my right, also recognising and not liking where this is going.
The ground beneath us shakes. Roots burst from the earth, wrapping around our legs, but they’re not normal roots. They’re crystalline, translucent, showing both growth and decay simultaneously.
“Something’s wrong,” Torin shouts over the rising wind. “This isn’t like what Blackthorn described! He said they weren’t particularly painful!”
“He clearly lied!” I snarl, fighting with the roots, which are wrapping themselves tighter around my legs.
This is darker, more primal. The ritual isn’t just stabilising the anchor point - it’s feeding it. Making it stronger. Through my fated bond, I feel Ivy’s presence more strongly than ever, but there’s something else, too. Something hungry.
“We need to stop!” I try to move, but the crystal roots hold me fast.
“Can’t,” Bram gasps, his magick now completely out of control. “It won’t let me. It wants... it needs...” His voice breaks off in a grunt of pain as the silver threads turn black.
The clearing has become a maelstrom of wild power. Reality tears and mends itself around us in violent surges. I see glimpses of other places, other times - the void itself maybe, reaching through the weakened barriers.
“Bram!” Torin roars as our friend falls to his knees, still caught in the grip of whatever power he’s channelling. “Fight it!”
But I realise what’s happening. “It’s not fighting him,” I shout. “It’s changing him. Like it changed Ivy. Like it’s changing everything!”
The crystal roots crawl higher, turning our bodies into anchors for something far beyond our understanding. Through the fated mark, I feel Ivy’s consciousness brush against mine - no longer just my Ivy, but something infinite, eternal, and for the first time, I truly understand what she’s becoming.