51. Rylan
51
RYLAN
T he book breathes.
The moment my blood touched its surface, something woke up.
Something ancient.
Something hungry.
The whispers twist through my skull, curling around my thoughts, pressing into the edges of my mind like smoke seeking cracks.
I hear them all at once.
A thousand voices. A thousand warnings. A thousand promises.
But none of them matter.
Seraphina is still lying lifeless on the stone.
And I will not let her go.
I step back into the main cavern, the book heavy in my arms.
The moment I cross the threshold, the air tightens—the cave itself reacting to what I carry.
The treasure glows, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
Gold and jewels spill from the open vault, but none of it matters.
This place was never about wealth.
It was always about power.
And power has a price.
Seraphina is still where I left her.
She got so pale.
Her blood has soaked into the altar, into the stone, into this cursed place.
The runes carved into the walls glow brighter now, feeding off the sacrifice made.
But she’s not gone.
Not yet.
The whispers told me so.
"You are running out of time."
"The gate is closing."
"Bring her back."
I fall to my knees beside her, placing the book in front of me, my breath ragged.
I press my palm to her chest.
There is no heartbeat.
Not yet.
But there will be.
The spell is already inside me.
The moment I touched the book, I understood.
I saw my father’s hands on these same pages.
I felt his desperation, his need, his failure.
But I will not fail.
I crack the book open, fingers shaking.
The pages shift beneath my touch.
The ink glows silver and black, shifting, curling, moving as if alive.
The words aren’t written in just one language.
They are written in many.
Some I know.
Some I was never meant to understand.
And yet, as I read, the meaning burns into me.
"To break the veil, one must give."
"Not blood. Not bone."
"Something greater."
I grit my teeth.
I already knew that.
My father knew it too.
But he wasn’t willing to pay the price.
I am.
I inhale sharply, my chest tightening.
"Speak the name of the lost."
"Call them from the void."
My voice comes out hoarse. Rough. Breaking.
"Seraphina."
The cave shudders.
The treasure shines.
The runes flicker like dying stars.
And the book demands more.
Pain lances through me.
Not physical. Deeper.
Like something inside me is unraveling, being picked apart strand by strand.
"A life was taken. A life must be given."
I freeze.
It doesn’t mean blood.
It means something worse.
It means me.
Not my body.
Not my life.
My soul.
The book waits for my answer.
The whispers coil around me.
"Do you accept?"
"Do you give?"
I stare down at her.
At the woman who stole my secrets.
At the woman who made me want something more.
At the woman who is mine.
I have spent my life trading information, selling lies, dealing in power.
But I have never given anything.
Not until now.
"Yes."
I let it take me.
The world splits open.
My body locks, shakes, burns?—
Something inside me is being carved away.
The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever known.
I want to scream.
But my voice is gone.
I feel my memories unraveling, something slipping from my grasp.
In that moment?—
Seraphina breathes.
Her body jerks.
Her mouth parts on a silent gasp, her fingers twitching against the stone.
The blue light that once pulsed from her skin flares again—brighter, stronger.
Her body arches as if being pulled between worlds.
And then?—
She opens her eyes.