Chapter 16
MORGAN
The sun was already dipping low by the time we made it back inside the warehouse, casting long shadows through the grimy windows that stretched across the concrete floor like fingers reaching for something just out of grasp.
My skin still tingled from the warmth outside, a rare gift in this endless stretch of rainy days, and I could feel the faint grit of dirt under my nails from tracing those runes in the earth.
It had been strange, that little spark I'd felt humming up through my fingers, like a current I hadn't known was there, waiting to be tapped.
Not world-shaking or anything, but enough to make me feel a bit less like a helpless captive and more like someone who might actually have a say in whatever mess this was turning into.
Xavian had seemed almost pleased too, in his gruff way, nodding when the air shimmered over the lines I'd drawn, though he'd masked it quickly with one of those tight-lipped expressions that said he was already calculating the next step.
We didn't talk much on the walk back, but the silence felt different, less like a wall and more like a shared breath after exertion.
I caught myself glancing at him sidelong, noting how the fading light softened the hard lines of his face, making him look less like the predator who'd dragged me here and more like a man carrying too much weight.
It annoyed me, that flicker of something almost like understanding, but I couldn't deny the shift.
Out there in the lot, with the sun on our backs and the earth giving under my touch, things had felt cooperative for once, like we were piecing together a puzzle instead of circling each other with suspicion.
He'd even laughed, a low rumble when I'd joked about blowing up the rune if I got it wrong, and for a split second, it had been easy to forget the wards on the door or the blade always at his side.
Inside, the air hit me with its familiar staleness, a mix of rust and old paper that clung to everything, but even that didn't sour my mood entirely.
I shrugged off the jacket he'd given me, tossing it onto the cot, and stretched my arms overhead, feeling the pull in muscles that had gone stiff from weeks of confinement.
"Not bad for a first lesson," I said, keeping my tone light, almost teasing, as I turned to face him.
"If that's what passes for magic in your world, I might not suck at it after all.
What's next? Levitating the lantern? Turning water into wine? "
He closed the door behind us, the wards giving off that subtle hum as they sealed us in again, but he didn't snap at the sarcasm like he might have before.
Instead, he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, his coat still damp from the earlier breeze.
There was a thoughtful crease between his brows, like he was weighing something, and his eyes flicked to the blade sheathed at his belt before settling back on me.
"You did better than I expected," he admitted, his voice rough but without the usual edge.
"That shimmer wasn't nothing. It means the connection's there, stronger than echoes.
We could push it further, see how deep it goes. "
I raised an eyebrow, leaning against the makeshift table where the lantern sat, its wick flickering low in the dimming light.
The room felt smaller after the openness outside, but the lingering buzz from the runes kept me from sinking back into frustration.
"Push it how? More dirt drawings? Or are we escalating to something that might actually get me out of this cage? "
He pushed off the wall, moving closer, and I noticed how his hand rested casually near the hilt of the blade, not gripping it but close enough that it drew my eye.
Virelya, he'd called it, that cursed thing that had started all this.
Up close, in the lantern's glow, it looked almost ordinary, a metal sword with a hilt wrapped in worn leather, but I knew better now.
It was the source of his blackouts, his hunger, the reason he'd been feeding on essence like some kind of vampire from a nightmare.
And yet, near me, it quieted, like I was its antidote or something.
He'd been cagey about letting me near it since that first night in the alley, when it had screamed in his head and rejected me.
But after today, with the runes responding to my touch, maybe he was rethinking that.
"Not escalating to anything reckless," he said, though there was a note in his voice that suggested otherwise. "But the runes are basic. Virelya... it's tied to Velrith in ways that go deeper. If you can sense echoes through the Shardline, maybe you can sense something through it too."
I straightened, a mix of curiosity and wariness sparking in my chest. The lighter mood from outside still hung around, making me bolder than I might have been otherwise.
"Sense it? Like, touch it? Last time you tried to stab me with it, things went sideways for you.
What makes you think this won't end in another blackout or worse? "
He hesitated, his gaze steady on mine, and I could see the calculation there, the way he was testing the waters just like he'd tested me with the runes.
"Because things have changed. You've woken a spark.
And the blade's been... stable near you.
No whispers, no pull for blood. We know how the blade reacts near you, and if used to attack you.
I want to see what would happen if you wielded it.
If you just hold the hilt, focus like you did outside, it might reveal more.
About you, about why it reacts this way. "
It sounded risky, but after feeling that hum in the dirt, part of me wanted to know.
The dreams, the strange pulls toward old places, they'd always been background noise in my life, easy to ignore.
But now, with everything he'd told me, they felt like threads leading somewhere real.
And if touching the blade could untangle even one of them without blowing up in my face, maybe it was worth it.
Besides, the way he was looking at me, almost expectant, made it feel like another step in this uneasy partnership we'd stumbled into.
"Fine," I said, pushing down the flutter of nerves.
"But if it starts screaming in my head or whatever, you're the one dealing with the fallout. "
He nodded, unsheathing the blade slowly, the metal whispering against the leather as he held it out, hilt first, balanced on his palms like an offering.
The room seemed to hold its breath, the lantern's light dancing along the edge, casting faint reflections on the walls.
I stepped closer, the air between us thickening with that same charged tension from earlier, when his fingers had brushed my hair.
But this was different, more focused. I reached out, my hand steady despite the pulse of adrenaline, and wrapped my fingers around the hilt.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The leather was cool under my skin, worn smooth from years of use, and I felt a faint vibration, like the echo from the runes but steadier, almost inviting.
Xavian's eyes were locked on mine, watchful, and I opened my mouth to say something snarky, to keep the lightness going, when it hit.
It wasn't a spark. It was a storm.
Fire erupted inside me, not on my skin but deep in my veins, racing through my body like liquid flame poured straight into my core.
I gasped, my grip tightening on the hilt involuntarily, and the world tilted, the warehouse blurring at the edges as pain bloomed everywhere at once.
It felt like I was burning from the inside out, every nerve igniting in a cascade that made my knees buckle.
I heard Xavian shout my name, his voice distant and muffled, like it was coming from the other side of a thick wall, but I couldn't respond, couldn't even process it fully because the surge was overwhelming everything.
Fragments slammed into me then, not thoughts but shards of memory that weren't mine, slicing through my mind too fast to grasp.
Blood, thick and coppery on my tongue, spilling across stone floors that echoed with screams. Fire roaring in a vast hall, flames licking at sigils carved into walls that pulsed with unnatural light.
Voices chanting in a language I didn't know but somehow understood in flashes, words of binding and grief that twisted in my gut like knives.
A woman's face, blurred and furious, her eyes glowing with betrayal as she raised a hand wreathed in shadow.
Hunger, not just a pang but a yawning void that clawed at the edges of existence, demanding more, always more.
Something trapped, thrashing against invisible chains, its rage a thunder in my chest that made my heart stutter.
I tried to pull away, to drop the blade, but my hand wouldn't obey, locked around the hilt as if fused to it.
The memories kept coming, broken and relentless: stone cracking under immense pressure, rituals in dim chambers where air tasted of iron and despair, a grief so profound it felt like drowning in an ocean of loss.
Sensations overlapped, my body no longer just my own but a vessel for these echoes, each one hitting with physical force.
My skin burned, my bones ached as if they were being reshaped, and through it all, whispers rose, not in my ears but inside my skull, a chorus of voices that weren't human.