Cassandra POV
Cassandra screamed.
The sound ripped through the hut like something wild and wounded, sharp enough to send every bird in the rafters into a frenzy. Wings beat against the ceiling beams as ravens and crows burst upward in startled panic, feathers scattering through the smoke-thick air.
She stumbled backward, clutching at her face.
Warm liquid poured between her fingers.
Black.
Black as ink.
Black as night.
The black liquid streamed down her cheeks, dripping from her chin onto the wooden floorboards below. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps as pain burned behind her eyes, hot, violent, unbearable.
"No…" she hissed, voice breaking. "No!"
Her knees nearly gave out beneath her.
She braced herself against the table, knocking over jars of dried herbs and glass vials that shattered at her feet, but she barely noticed. Her entire body shook.
He was dead.
She could feel it.
The bond was gone.
That dark thread of magic that had bound her creation to her will, the constant, cold presence at the edge of her senses, had snapped.
The Black Devil was dead.
Her great knight.
Her masterpiece.
Destroyed.
"How?" she whispered.
The word came out strangled.
Then louder—
"How?"
She ripped her hands away from her face and stared wildly at the room around her, as if the walls themselves might answer.
"How?!" she screamed.
Her voice cracked.
The birds shrieked above her.
It made no sense.
The Black Devil was no ordinary servant. He was not some clumsy beast raised from grave dirt and cheap blood rites. He was forged by ancient power, dark power, power gifted to her by something far greater than mortal understanding.
The Great Dark One had blessed her.
It had chosen her.
She remembered the first whispers in the night, the promises in the dark, the knowledge placed into her mind like fire.
The ritual.
The sacrifice.
The making of the knight.
The Great Dark One had given her the power to create him, to shape death into obedience, to forge vengeance into flesh and iron.
And in time, the Black Devil would serve not only her…
…but Him.
That had been the promise.
That had been the purpose.
And now—
Gone.
Destroyed by someone.
But who?
Her breathing steadied slightly, though rage still shook through her body.
"It was her," Cassandra whispered.
Her sister.
Who else could interfere in such a way?
Who else would dare?
But even as the thought came, doubt followed.
Her sister was clever, yes.
Annoyingly persistent.
But powerful enough to destroy the Black Devil?
No.
Cassandra snarled.
"She isn't strong enough."
She wiped the dark blood from her lips with the back of her hand.
"She's weak," she muttered bitterly. "Weak and puny."
The words brought little comfort.
Because if not her sister…
Then who?
Cassandra forced herself upright.
The pain behind her eyes had dulled into a furious ache. Her breathing slowed.
She needed answers.
Now.
Her gaze turned upward toward the rafters, where the birds had settled once more, uneasy but obedient.
Among them sat one of her ravens, larger than the others, black feathers shining in the candlelight, its eyes fixed on her with unnatural intelligence.
Cassandra lifted one trembling hand and pointed.
"You," she said coldly.
The raven tilted its head.
"Go."
Her voice hardened.
"See what happened."
The raven spread its wings at once.
It launched from the beam and swept through the hut, passing over the overturned jars and scattered herbs before darting out into the night through the open doorway.
Cassandra watched it disappear into the darkness beyond the trees.
Her face remained streaked with the black liquid.
Her hands trembled.
But beneath the pain, beneath the rage, something colder began to settle inside her.
Whoever had done this—
Whoever had killed the Black Devil—
Would answer for it.
And when the raven returned…
She would know.
Cassandra stood motionless in the center of the ruined hut, staring into the dark woods beyond the doorway, waiting.
Lyonel POV
Lyonel sat heavily beneath the shelter of an old oak, his back pressed against the rough bark, trying to steady his breathing.
Adder's Fang rested across his lap.
The Valyrian steel blade looked almost black in the moonlight, the strange dark blood of the Black Devil still clinging to its edge in thin streaks. Lyonel stared at it, barely believing what had happened.
He was alive.
The Black Devil was dead.
The monstrous devil that had haunted the Kingswood, that had crushed armed men as though they were children, now lay motionless in the clearing.
Cloud stood atop the corpse.
The great white Thunderbird tore at the fallen creature with savage focus, ripping at the ruined black armour, feasting on whatever lay beneath.
Lyonel grimaced.
It should have disgusted him more than it did.
But after everything he had seen, the witch's hut, the visions, the magic, the blood, his mind felt numb.
"Do what you must," he muttered under his breath, letting the bird continue.
His arms ached. His ribs hurt. His entire body felt as though it had been beaten with hammers.
Then a voice broke through the silence.
Not through the air.
Through his mind.
Lyonel, you must run. Quickly. My sister is sending her raven for you.
He stiffened immediately.
The old witch.
Her voice sounded urgent, sharper than before.
"Sister?" he whispered aloud.
The witch had a sister?
And what did she mean, sending her raven?
Before he could ask anything more, her voice returned, harder this time:
Move or die, Lyonel.
That was enough.
He surged to his feet, wincing as his ribs protested. He turned to Cloud, who was still standing over the corpse.
"You, Cloud!" Lyonel shouted. "Come on! Lead me back to your master's hut!"
The Thunderbird looked up, blood staining its pale beak.
Then it spread its wings and launched into the air.
Lyonel followed.
They moved fast through the trees, Cloud darting ahead through the moonlit branches while Lyonel stumbled after, boots pounding over roots and leaves.
The forest seemed alive around them.
Every branch looked like a reaching hand.
Every shadow felt like something waiting.
Lyonel's pulse hammered in his ears.
Then—
A dark shape exploded out of the night.
A black bird slammed into Cloud mid-flight.
The impact sent both creatures spiralling sideways into the trunk of a tree.
Feathers burst into the air.
"Shit!" Lyonel shouted.
Cloud shrieked angrily as both birds tore away from the trunk and climbed back into the air.
The raven attacked again, striking fast and vicious, its wings cutting through the dark like knives.
But Cloud was larger.
Stronger.
The Thunderbird wheeled in the air with astonishing speed, banking sharply to avoid the raven's talons before surging upward. The black bird followed, diving toward Cloud's back—
But Cloud twisted mid-flight.
Its wing smashed into the raven, sending it tumbling.
The raven recovered, shrieking, darting forward again in a flurry of claws and beak.
Cloud met it head-on.
The two birds collided in the air, feathers flying as they clawed and struck, circling violently above the trees.
The raven was fast, unnaturally fast, but it was no match for Cloud's strength.
Cloud slammed into it once, then again, driving the black bird backward.
Then the Thunderbird let out a mighty cry and struck with its talons.
The raven shrieked.
Its body spun through the air and crashed hard into the forest floor.
Lyonel stared upward, amazed.
"The mighty Thunderbird indeed," he muttered.
Then—
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Lyonel froze.
The slow clapping echoed through the trees.
He turned.
From the darkness between the trunks, a woman emerged.
She moved calmly, almost gracefully, as if stepping into a garden rather than a haunted forest.
Her hair was dark as the night around her.
Her skin pale.
And her eyes—
Those eyes.
Bright, haunting blue.
Unnatural.
Lyonel felt ice crawl up his spine.
It was her.
The witch.
The one from the vision.
The one who created the Black Devil.
She smiled faintly as she stepped closer.
"Cloud," she said softly, "it has been many years since I last saw you."
The mighty Thunderbird, who had faced the Black Devil without fear, dropped lower in the air, giving a fearful cry.
Lyonel's stomach turned.
Cloud is afraid of her.
Then the woman's gaze shifted to him.
More specifically—
To Adder's Fang.
Her smile thinned.
"Dragon steel," she said, eyes narrowing. "And stained with the blood of my creation."
Lyonel tightened his grip on the sword but said nothing.
What could he say?
She took another step toward him.
He tried to move.
He couldn't.
His legs refused to obey.
Panic surged through him.
It felt as if invisible chains held him in place.
The woman kept walking, slow and certain.
Lyonel's mouth went dry.
I killed the Black Devil… only to die here.
The first drop of rain hit the leaves.
Then another.
And another.
Rain began to fall from the sky in sudden sheets.
Thunder rumbled above.
Cloud screamed.
CAWWWWWW!
Lightning flashed.
The Thunderbird shrieked again.
CAWWWWWW!
The air crackled with energy.
Lyonel's heart pounded.
"By the Seven…" he whispered. "What the fuck is happening?"
Then the sky split open.
A bolt of lightning crashed down.
It struck the blue-eyed woman.
The blast hurled her backward into the mud.
Lyonel gasped.
A hand seized his shoulder.
He whirled.
The old witch stood behind him.
But she looked different.
Far older.
Her face was drawn and deeply wrinkled, her skin stretched tight over bone. She looked as though years had fallen upon her all at once.
She looked as if she were dying.
"Leave," she said sharply.
Lyonel stared at her.
"Your horse is at my hut. Take Cloud with you."
Her voice faltered for only a moment.
"He will need a new owner."
Lyonel's eyes widened.
"A new owner?" he said. "What will happen to you?"
She looked at him with tired eyes.
"I will die today."
Rain streamed down her face as thunder rolled overhead.
Then she leaned closer and spoke words that made no sense to him:
"You may think it is the Seven who have blessed you… But it is not. It is my lord, the Storm Lord, who saved your house, your creator, and now you."
Lyonel blinked.
"Storm Lord?"
He had never heard the name.
Before he could ask more, the old witch shoved him hard aside.
A blast of force struck where he had stood.
The blue-eyed witch had risen.
The two sisters collided in a burst of wind and rain.
Lyonel stumbled backward, staring in horror.
The old witch screamed:
"Run!"
Cloud swooped low, chirping frantically at him.
Lyonel hesitated only a second—
Then ran.
He followed Cloud through the storm, branches whipping at him, mud splashing underfoot.
The thunder roared above like war drums.
He did not look back.
Not once.
At last, the hut came into view.
And there—
Standing beside it—
Thunder.
Lyonel stopped dead.
The horse turned at the sound of his approach.
For one heartbeat, they simply stared at each other.
Then Thunder gave a loud, familiar neigh and galloped toward him.
Lyonel laughed, a raw, broken sound of relief.
"Thunder!"
The horse nearly knocked him over, shoving its head against his chest, snorting wildly.
Lyonel wrapped his arms around Thunder's neck, burying his face against the horse's wet mane.
"I thought you'd left me," he whispered.
Thunder nudged him again, almost offended.
Lyonel laughed weakly, tears mixing with rain.
"Yeah," he said, stroking the horse's neck. "I missed you, too."
For the first time since entering the Kingswood, Lyonel felt something like peace.
Cloud landed beside them with a soft rustle of feathers.
Lyonel looked between the great white bird and his loyal horse.
Two companions.
Two miracles.
He placed one hand on Thunder's neck.
Then looked back toward the storm behind him.
Whatever was happening between the witches…
He could do nothing about it.
So he mounted Thunder.
Cloud took to the air.
And together, they rode into the night.