Chapter 21 #3
As the constellations formed, they began to twist and merge into a single pattern.
Elara’s heart sank. It was unmistakable—hauntingly similar to the mark Dario bore.
Tears burned as she fought to hold them back.
She’d known he’d lied, known he’d betrayed her, and still it hurt—some last, foolish hope clinging to the idea that there might have been an explanation.
“Hunter,” Avis said, “this dagger has been blessed by the light of the blood moon. Obey your lord and use it to bind yourself to the Hallowed.”
Nausea roiled through her, despair flooding close behind—and beneath it, a slow, gathering rage.
Her gaze snapped to the Hunter as he reached for the blade.
He had to stretch, arm straining, because Avis didn’t cross the boundary—couldn’t.
Elara saw the hesitation at the circle’s edge, as though something unseen barred her way.
The Hunter took the dagger—and to her surprise, didn’t hesitate.
He cut through his tunic, baring his chest, then carved a circle into his flesh with a steady hand, the blade slick with his blood.
Elara couldn’t look away as he reached for the boundary, mixing blood and ash along the blade’s edge.
He didn’t flinch, though his jaw tightened as he pressed the ash-laden steel back into the wound, sealing the circle.
The moment felt unreal, dreamlike. The ritual wasn’t something done by instinct—so how did he know exactly what to do?
Then it struck her.
The book.
Osin had pressed it into his hands earlier—the one he’d accepted with visible reluctance. He must have studied it, memorized every detail.
He was prepared for this.
She wasn’t.
The Hunter slid the dagger into his belt, clearly unwilling to leave a weapon within her grasp again, then pressed his fingers into the wound, pulling them free slick with blood. When he held his hand out to her, her breath caught, anger blunting into paralyzing fear.
She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to be bound to him, to anyone, but especially not him. The very thought of it sent a cold, creeping dread curling through her.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” his voice cut through her panic, firm enough to draw her gaze to his. When their eyes met, she froze. There—flickering in their depths—was something she hadn’t seen in years. Something she’d glimpsed only once before, back when they were children.
"Minva solk harn."
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated, his tone gentle, as if soothing a frightened animal. The absurdity nearly made her laugh. He was hurting her—every second of this was tearing her apart.
His words unsettled her more than cruelty would have. Still, she didn’t scream when he reached for her. Didn’t claw at him as he used the blood on his finger to draw a matching circle over her heart.
His dark eyes held hers, unwavering, as though nothing—not the ritual, not the Druids’ rising chant—could pull his focus from her. The air hummed, the sound vibrating up through the stone beneath her knees.
Elara watched, dazed, as the circle carved into his chest began to glow—soft at first, then brighter—until it flared against his skin. Light rippled, shadows leaping across his features as a constellation etched itself into his flesh, each line burning briefly before sinking deep, permanent.
Her gaze dropped to her own mark, expecting it to fade the same way. Instead, the light surged—hotter, blinding—searing into her skin. Shock tore through her as two more seals bloomed into being.
She froze, instinct screaming at her to move, to do something—but all she could do was stare. Her gaze flew to Avis, searching for an answer. When their eyes met, a cold emptiness caved in her chest.
Avis’s face was drawn tight, her shoulder blazing as the mark glowed like molten iron.
Elara’s gaze snapped to Osin, hunting for any sign he might be glowing too.
Because… because there was a third seal on her.
The realization punched the air from her lungs, breaths coming ragged. Fury roared up, hot and savage. She wanted to scream, to tear the castle down with her bare hands.
Fuck this.
With a harsh inhale, she slammed her eyes shut, blocking out the world. She retreated into that quiet corner, the one she’d always used to escape, to hide from the pain. But not this time. This time, she wasn’t looking for peace—she was hunting.
Elara slipped through her mind like a shadow, every thought sharpening to a single, relentless focus.
The roar of thoughts fell to nothing, even the erratic pounding of her own gods-damned heart dulled as she focused.
At first, there was only stillness, an empty void stretching out.
But then—there. Faint, barely more than a whisper, a pulse. One that was not her own.
Her eyes snapped open, a jolt shooting through her, but she stayed locked in, her mental grip on the pulse tightening with every bit of will she had left. She squeezed, digging in, determined to hold on, to crush it, pull it out by the root.
A gasp cut through the air beside her, and Elara caught a glimpse of the Hunter collapsing, felt a rush of blood pour from her nose.
But she didn’t let it distract her. She shut her eyes, pushing deeper into her mind.
The sight only fueled her, her grip on his pulse tightening, squeezing with everything she had.
She didn’t know if she wanted to kill him—didn’t even know what she was trying to do—but the rage pulsing through her veins was blinding, all-consuming.
She forced her eyes open, finding the Hunter crouched low, one hand braced against the floor, the other clutching his chest—just like in the Hartling Forest. Elara’s fury honed to a lethal edge.
She shut out the world—the frantic hum of the room, Osin’s voice rising outside the boundary, barking orders to the Druids.
It didn’t matter. They couldn’t touch her.
The barrier held firm, trapping her and the Hunter inside.
She latched onto his pulse harder, digging in, and suddenly his head snapped up, his eyes locking onto hers. The ring of amber around his pupils blazed.
A warning.
Something inside him waking up—something powerful.
Her breath hitched just before it happened—a blinding flash, violent and unstoppable, burst from both of them, tearing through the space like a wildfire.
The boundary shattered as light flooded every inch of the throne room, chasing the shadows away with a brilliance so intense it felt like the sun had exploded.
The power tore through Elara, surging through every vein, setting her alight from the inside, unstoppable, untamable. Her skin burned with it, her muscles trembling.
The shockwave that followed hit like a battering ram, rattling the walls and sending cracks racing through the stone, knocking back anyone caught in its path.
Osin staggered, his face twisted in shock, hands thrown up in a desperate, useless attempt to shield himself from the light, the High Council’s shouts echoing in the chaos.
And then, just as suddenly, the light vanished, leaving her hollow. Silence crashed down, crushing. Her hands shook, aftershocks rippling through her as she braced her palms against the cold stone, fighting for breath.
Something inside felt… off.
Wrong.
Nausea twisted her stomach, but the emptiness—the void the power had left behind—was worse.
“Did it work?” Osin's voice cut through the quiet, laced with a frantic edge. “Is she bound?”
Elara lifted her gaze, vision swimming as the room came into focus. The council lay scattered—some slumped in their chairs, others thrown clear, one even cowering behind the table. But Osin still stood. Barely. His face was ashen, disbelief hollowing his expression.
Avis struggled upright, hands trembling as she tried to speak—but the Hunter answered first.
“It worked,” he said, tone flat as he rose, his movements almost too controlled.
But Elara could feel him—every frantic beat of his heart, every shallow, uneven breath he tried to steady, even the bead of sweat slowly tracing its path down his temple. She squeezed the pulse again, testing it, and saw it—the faintest twitch in his eyes.
Subtle, but enough to betray him.
A spark of satisfaction surged through Elara, quiet and clean, like a blade slipping between ribs.
He was lying.