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Chapter 2. Crimson Echoes

  Bryony heaved against the ancient oak door, its hinges shrieking as rust showered her sleeve. The gap widened just enough for her to squeeze through.

  The musty air struck her, centuries of stillness trapped within the stone. Her breath misted in front of her face. "Hell's rot, that's foul!" she coughed the words echoing off vaulted ceilings. The tang of blood magic filled the air. And not recent magic, old and tainted tasting rancid on her tongue.

  Ash's footsteps clicked across the nave as he followed, scanning the shadows with visible unease. "I don't like this," he murmured. Above, grimy windows filtered moonlight into sickly beams across the pews, while decaying frescoes leered from the walls, their saints' faces twisted into grotesque sneers.

  Bryony blinked, the power in her sight enhancing the details around her. The air revealed dust motes suspended in perfect stillness, frozen as if trapped in amber. Her fingertips passed through them, but they refused to stir.

  A shiver ran through her. This wasn't mere winter cold—it was an ancient chill that burrowed into her bones, awakening old memories. The stillness pressed against her chest as if the building held its breath. Her enhanced vision pierced the darkness, but the shadows seemed to stare back.

  She gripped her runeblade tighter. "Something's not right," she murmured, her steady voice belying her tense shoulders. "The air feels wrong." A flicker caught her eye—an anomaly in the ancient stone floor. She grabbed Ash's sleeve. "Stop!"

  Her magical sight revealed what normal eyes couldn't see—gossamer lines etched through the frost-covered flagstones, too precise to be natural wear. She angled her head, watching random scratches transform into intricate runic script under the light.

  "What's the read?" Ash whispered, crouching beside her.

  Bryony knelt on the frozen stone, her breath misting in the air. As her hand hovered over the marks, the runes pulsed with sickly violet light, turning her stomach. She recognised the pattern, and a chill deeper than the cold air ran through her.

  "Don't. Move. A. Muscle." Her words cut through the darkness. "These are binding wards, still active. Old magic, but deadly." She met Ash's gaze. "Cross that line, and you'll be bound to these stones forever."

  The ancient nave stretched before them, its floor a maze of glowing runes. Bryony traced patterns in the air, mapping a safe path through the deadly markings. She spotted her first foothold—a narrow patch of clear stone—and carefully moved towards it.

  "Mind the third rune on your left," she whispered. "It's unstable." Ash followed, matching her steps precisely.

  "Gods, this takes me back to Vienna," he murmured, sidestepping a ward. "Remember that ballroom? Though I'd rather dance with cursed runes than face the Countess's..." He raised an eyebrow. "...enthusiastic advances."

  The corner of Bryony's mouth twitched, but her concentration never wavered. Each step required absolute precision, the ancient magic waiting to punish any misstep. Her arm shot out to halt Ash as she spotted a silvery chain stretched across the archway. Runes rippled along its surface, radiating old, lethal power that made her skin crawl.

  "Don't," she whispered, feeling the magic pulse against her palm. "This one's different. It's newer."

  "Chain trap," Bryony breathed, crouching to study the runes rippling like liquid silver. "One wrong move alerts every dark practitioner within a league." She turned to Ash, palm raised near his chest. "Watch," she murmured, her free hand tracing a precise path through the air. "Here to here, then up and over. One fluid motion."

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  She watched Ash mirror her movements with grace, his form following her exact arc. She exhaled only when they'd cleared the gossamer barrier, tension ebbing from her shoulders.

  "Ash." Her sharp warning cut through the air as he drifted toward the wall carvings. That dangerous spark had returned to his eyes - the one that invariably preceded trouble. His hand reached for the ancient Nordic reliefs, where stone warriors battled mythical beasts. "Don't even think about-"

  A boot scraped stone, cutting her words short. Bryony's blood chilled as Ash's weight settled on the flagstone. Magic stirred in the shadows, the chamber holding its breath.

  Power rippled from her, vibrating through her bones. Her fingers traced familiar sigils as a cool, mint-like sensation bloomed on her tongue. Her counter-spell crackled through the air, meeting the ancient ward's resistance momentarily before it dissolved into ethereal smoke.

  She turned, muscles taut. "Do try to contain your curiosity until we're out of here."

  "Point taken." Though his gaze lingered on the carvings, he moved back to her without hesitation.

  Stone grated beneath Bryony's boots as she entered the archway. Arctic air sliced into her lungs, the enchanted wool of her coat offering little protection. Frostbit at her skin as crystalline patterns spread across the chamber walls like frozen webs.

  In the centre stood a weathered pedestal bearing their prize, an obsidian box barely more prominent than playing cards. Crimson energy pulsed from the artefact, washing the chamber in blood-red light. Through her magical sight, Bryony watched shadows recoil from its malevolent glow, twisting away from its reach.

  Ash stepped up beside her, his pupils contracting to feral slits in the crimson glow. Gone was the playful shapeshifter who delighted in pranks.

  Their breath misted between them, accompanied only by the artefact's sinister hum. The centuries-old magic pressed down like tar in Bryony's lungs, each breath a struggle against drowning.

  ****

  Static crackled through Bryony's hair as she gripped the runeblade tighter. Crimson light pulsed across her enhanced sight from the obsidian box, sending pins and needles across her skin. The air pressed against her teeth until they ached with a familiar resonance she dared not dwell on.

  "Well, that complicates things!" Her whisper barely carried over the box's hum. She traced a reveal sigil in the air and drifted towards the box, watching as the magic bent around the relic like heat waves. "Someone's been less than truthful with us. This signature..." She steadied her trembling hands. "It's far too intricate for a simple containment vessel."

  Ash's smirk had long vanished, replaced by the sharp focus she knew from their deadliest missions. He eased backward, leather whispering against stone. "Not loving that look on your face, Boss." His fingers twitched, ready to shift. "What kind of trouble have we stumbled into?"

  Tainted power surged through the chamber. Frost crystallised in Bryony's lungs as ancient instincts screamed danger. "The ancient kind," she breathed. "The sort that should have stayed buried."

  "How about we skip this one, Boss?" Ash said, his eyes flicking uneasily around the church.

  "We can't leave this here. It doesn't belong. Something like this in the wrong hands would be disastrous." Her boot scraped stone as she stepped forward, muscles coiled. Some warnings were meant to be heeded, others, faced head-on.

  She advanced carefully, sending pebbles skittering across the floor. Ancient runes awakened beneath the dust, their spirals tingling up her arms as crimson light pulsed from the obsidian box.

  "Stay there," she whispered at the creak of leather behind her. The etched patterns spoke of pain, like her crescent scar still burning in the rain—a reminder of her last encounter with a warded vault.

  Ash's boots tapped an impatient rhythm against the stone. His reflection wavered in the obsidian box as he watched it pulse. A hollow click shattered the silence. Bryony froze as frost exploded across the chamber, crystalline webs racing from Ash's feet. The air turned razor-sharp, each breath painful as a bone-deep resonance set her teeth on edge.

  Her skin crawled with familiar pins and needles, her fingers twitching involuntarily. She'd seen these wards destroy—the lucky ones had only lost limbs. The runeblade hummed through her bones as she whirled toward Ash.

  His toes hung mid-tap, blood draining from his face. The tendons in his neck strained as he swallowed.

  "Ash, don't move." Her words crystallised in the frozen air. She gripped the runeblade until her fingers ached, desperately searching her memory for containment spells strong enough to matter.

  A nervous grin played at Ash's mouth, darting eyes betraying his fear. "That figures!"

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