TWENTY-FOUR #2
Veralind rolled her eyes at him. “Mind that tongue of yours, Silas, I was never a fan of that language.” She sighed again as the blood roared in his ears. “We came across the Sanctum during our research. The moment you mentioned your pair bond, I knew what would need to happen.”
Silas stared at her like he didn’t recognise her at all.
“Am I to understand…you told them about us?” he asked, voice turning deadly. “That you went to these people and told them how to find us?”
Veralind paused, sharp eyes dulling slightly. “It was my responsibility to do so,” she finally relented, and his heart sank. “But you, my son, will not be harmed. Only one must pay the price.”
Silas felt his anger like another entity in the room with them, something large and grandiose, taking up all breathable air.
“Mother,” he gritted from between his teeth, “you are the stupidest, most selfish woman I have ever known.”
Something flared in her eyes, and she parted her lips to speak, but he cut her off before she could.
“Besides from the fact that I’m furious you would try to offer Amelia up as some bizarre sacrifice like she means nothing, I’m going to remind you that I am the one bound to a chair, with runed cuffs that are draining me .
Then I’m going to let you know that Amelia was with me when I was taken from Ivory City.
They were quite clear in their intentions. ”
Veralind’s posture turned rigid.
“They only wanted me,” Silas said, almost relishing the way her face paled, eyes widening.
“If there’s a sacrifice to be made, mother , they intend it to be me, your son.
They lied to you, manipulated you.” He smiled cruelly at her.
“I can only assume that the taste of your own medicine is rather bitter. Hope you choke on it.”
“That—that is not…” Veralind stuttered, suddenly looking lost as she peered towards the doorway where the leader had exited. “I…I must—” She gasped in an unsteady breath before she spared him not a single glance before stalking out the door.
Silas watched the empty doorway for a moment, chest heaving, his body slumping forwards with a sudden surge of fatigue.
Despite the aching tiredness, he tugged on the runed chains around wrists, trying and failing to shift his legs.
He grunted as he used every last vestige of his energy to pull against the bindings before he felt his consciousness begin to blacken, his eyes falling shut.
His head dropped, darkness consuming him.
An ache in his chest jerked him awake, eyes blinking slowly open. Something had awakened him.
Panic, he felt it in his blood. Fear that was not his own.
Rage, it simmered there within him, an echo of someone else.
He gasped and came fully awake, head shooting up.
Silas’s wrists burned where the cuffs bit into his skin, not from friction, but from the runes etched into them. It seemed as though the more he fought them, the more they drained him.
His breaths were shallow, tight with exhaustion.
Footsteps echoed.
The leader entered with the calm of a man strolling through a garden. This time, his face was visible, mask gone to reveal his identity.
Recognition hit him like a punch to the chest.
It was Demetrius, the man from the conference who had shown just a little too much interest in them.
“You,” Silas breathed.
“You’ve stopped struggling,” Demetrius said lightly, like they were acquaintances, not prisoner and captor.
Silas met his gaze. “Doesn’t mean I’ve stopped fighting.”
Demetrius offered a thin smile. “Good. You wouldn’t be the one I want if you had.” He stepped closer, eyes sharp as blades. “Do you know who I am, Silas?”
He gritted his teeth. “You were in the Spire,” Silas said. “You called yourself Demetrius, a scientist. I knew that was bullshit. You’re a zealot who thinks he can use me in some crazy ritual.”
Demetrius smiled, like he had a secret.
“A partial truth,” he said, “but not the heart of it.” He knelt beside the chair, and for a moment, his voice dropped into something quieter. “I go by many names, but you can call me Demetrius, of the Gemino tribe. The last living descendant of those who forged the Midnight Blades.”
Silas stilled.
Demetrius reached into his robes, pulling out both blades, now set into handsome leather sheaths.
He licked his lips, face pulling taut as he looked down at them.
“These have been kept hidden for so long.” A shadow passed over his face, something dark and foreboding.
His eyes lifted to Silas. “I must thank you, and your father, for finding them for me.”
He tensed against his restraints. “What do you want with them, with me?”
Demetrius placed the daggers away with the careful treatment of someone handling delicate china. “Such a rare thing, to be chosen. Both you and Amelia. I don’t think you understand what you truly happened across.”
“We never asked to be chosen,” he said, voice rough.
“None of you did. And none of you learned enough to fix anything, to right the magic,” Demetrius said with a glint in his eyes. “I wondered, briefly, if you and Amelia would do it. Both brilliant, both so stubborn…but here we are.”
Silas studied his expression until he understood it. “Why do you look pleased by that? That we never figured it out?”
“Ah,” he said with a half-grin. “Talking about it won’t help you. The ritual awaits. You and I will become more acquainted soon enough.” Demetrius stood with a low chuckle.
“Wait. What is this ritual? What…what are you going to do?”
He stopped by the door, looking back with a look of contemplation.
“Please,” Silas tried again. “I’m curious. Scientist to… fake scientist.”
He sighed quietly. “The ritual will make everything right, if done correctly. It requires a sacrifice, an offering, between two people who have been touched by magic—”
“Give me three guesses,” Silas said sarcastically. “I’ll get there eventually.”
Demetrius looked blandly at him. “The ritual was designed by the Gemino tribe, long forgotten by history books, usually requires two people. Luckily, I don’t need two.” He stepped back inside, eyes roaming over Silas. “I only need you.”
“Do stop, you’ll make me blush.”
Demetrius smiled, shaking his head. “Your attitude is admirable, but I’ve watched you enough to know it’s a facade.”
“Not creepy at all.”
“You won’t be joking soon,” he told Silas, and there it was again.
A spike of fear, the kind that was bottomless, unmooring.
Demetrius moved closer and tapped briefly at the cuffs keeping Silas in place.
“I can hardly believe you’re joking now, frankly.
These were developed by a powerful mage, just for this purpose.
You’re strong, that’s…good.” He looked at him, eyes shining with an admiration Silas couldn’t comprehend.
“You have a mage?”
He nodded. “Gathering the mages has been my best idea of late.”
Silas stared at him incredulously. “You…you’re the reason that mages have been disappearing.”
He lifted a shoulder casually. “They have been repurposed, and it’s been a wonderful development for the Sanctum.”
“You’re crazy,” Silas spat, pulling against his restraints. He groaned, his body sagging with an onslaught of exhaustion. “Ugh…what is this?”
Demetrius moved to Silas and tapped on the pendant around his neck.
“Handy thing, this,” he said quietly, meeting Silas’ eyes with a small smile.
“A Gemino artefact, very powerful…a siphon, just as Amelia is. Which means I don’t need her at all.
All I need is…you.” Demetrius straightened and moved a step away again.
Silas swallowed, uncertain how to respond.
“Once the siphon has your magical essence, your soul will be taken by the Midnight Realm.” He leaned against the wall, arms folding over his chest. “A sacrifice if you will. Once complete, I’ll have what I want.”
Silas’s jaw tightened. “And what is it that you want?”
Those dark eyes looked directly at him, piercing. He took a little too long to answer. “Balance, of course. To right what is wrong in Aethrial.”
“You speak of the discordant magic, the Rift?”
Demetrius tilted his head. “Of course.”
Something slithered through him, a coil of dishonesty. Silas didn’t believe him.
“I know you feel it,” Demetrius murmured, stepping closer again. “The full moon nears once more, and that will be your end anyway. Moon to moon is all you get. I’ll help you both before you unravel entirely from it. The Midnight Realm is calling, Silas…you can’t ignore it.”
He said nothing. The silence, thick with defiance, stretched between them.
Demetrius sighed. “You have no control, I’m sorry to say.”
Silas’ stomach twisted.
Not because of what he said.
No.
Because he had felt it. Felt her .
The tether in his chest stirred awake, and Silas didn’t know how, but he sensed she was close. She was coming.
Silas bit at his tongue, the pain grounding him as he tasted the metallic tang of his own blood. He released an angry breath. “Have you considered there might be another way? We’ve been working to control the magic, we could fix it on our own—”
“There’s no controlling it,” Demetrius said, moving for the door again. “It will control you, until you are both gone. It’s better this way.”
He gritted his teeth. “You don’t know that.”
Demetrius cast him a long look. “I do.”
The ground began to shake beneath their feet, and he felt her again.
Sharper, more defined. Amelia was angry…
furious. Something crackled in the air, something potent and powerful.
And he knew, somehow, that she had accessed her magic.
She was wielding it somewhere nearby with the ferocity of a hurricane that would raze a city to the ground.
Silas let out a slow, shaky breath, then smiled. A dangerous, harsh smile.
“You have no idea what you’ve done.”
Demetrius’ brow furrowed. “Silas…”
But he didn’t answer. Because somewhere beyond the room they were in, someone was barrelling for them with the force of an oncoming storm.