Chapter Ten: The Trial of Blood
The torches dimmed until only one remained. Its light stretched long shadows across the catacomb floor, turning every carved skull and stone into something watching, waiting.
Elara stood inside a circle marked in crimson salt. Lucien waited just beyond it, unable to cross without breaking the ritual. His expression was carved from anguish.
The Council moved as one—silent, ancient, their robes whispering against the stone.
"When the flame dies," the eldest said, "her heart will answer. If it beats still, she is one of us. If not…"
The sentence hung unfinished, heavier than the walls themselves.
The test begins
Lucien's voice was low but steady.
"You don't have to do this."
"Yes," she whispered. "I do."
Her hand brushed the small silver cut across her palm, still faintly glowing with the mark of their bond. The air around her shimmered.
A bell tolled deep in the tunnels. The torches went out.
Only the circle remained—glowing red, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
Pain lanced through her chest, sharp and sudden. She gasped but didn't cry out.
Through the haze, she heard Lucien's voice: calling her name, begging her to stop.
She thought of her life before Blackthorn—books, rain, her mother's laughter—and how all of it felt faded now, like memories from another lifetime.
Then she thought of him: the way his voice softened when he said her name, the way he fought the darkness within himself for her sake.
Her pulse steadied.
The glow beneath her feet brightened—no longer red, but gold.
The decision
When the light faded, Elara was standing in the circle, unharmed. Her breath came fast but strong.
The Council stirred.
"Her heart endures," one whispered.
"Impossible," murmured another.
Lucien stepped forward, breaking the salt line. "It's done," he said fiercely. "You can't deny her now."
The eldest councilor inclined their head. "Then the girl belongs neither to light nor to shadow. The bond has created something new."
"And what does that mean?" Elara asked.
"It means the veil between our worlds has thinned. Wherever you go, the balance will tremble."
Darius's face was unreadable, but his voice dripped venom.
"You've doomed us all."
Father and son
Lucien turned to him. "No, Father. You doomed us the day you decided love was a weakness."
For a long moment, Darius said nothing. Then he stepped back into the dark. "You'll learn soon enough that love always takes more than it gives."
The Council dissolved into mist, their verdict unspoken but final.
Lucien reached for Elara. For once, his hand didn't hesitate.
"You survived," he whispered.
"We survived," she corrected softly.
Beyond the catacombs, dawn crept over the horizon, pale and uncertain. The first sunlight in days touched the ruins of Blackthorn Hall—and neither burned.
For the first time, light and shadow stood side by side.
"So," Elara said, trying to smile through the ache in her chest, "what happens now?"
Lucien looked toward the fading stars.
"Now," he said quietly, "we find out what forever really costs."