*

  In shadowed halls where silence dwells,?A soul is bound by unseen spells.?Despairing hands trace fate’s decree,?A tethered hope, a fading plea. The candles flicker, shadows creep,?Through sleepless nights, no dreams to keep.?Each whispered chant, a fragile thread,?To stir the silent, wake the dead. Blood-stained rites and ancient lore,?Unlock the dark and open doors.?Yet in the void, where power lies,?A voice emerges, cold as ice. With malice sharp, it rends the air,?A haunting cry, a soul’s despair.?And in the dark, despair takes form.?The calm before the coming storm.

  *

  It’s been two weeks since Master Zareth’s threat. Two weeks since I watched his cold, angry eyes pierce into me with such disdain, a reminder of my failure. The subject, our precious subject, still remains unresponsive. And it’s all my fault. I should have found the solution by now. I should have fixed it.

  The halls of the compound are unnaturally quiet today, or perhaps it’s just me. Every step I take echoes in my mind like a hammer hitting steel. I haven’t slept properly in days, nights filled with dreams of endless rituals, of incantations that twist and warp into something more sinister, more desperate. For days, I’ve been scrambling for a solution. But the harder I search, the more I feel the walls closing in around me.

  I stalk the corridors, my pace quickening with each step, muttering under my breath, hardly aware of my surroundings. My fingers curl into tight fists, the nails biting into my palms, a small but constant pain that I’ve come to welcome. It’s the only thing keeping me grounded. I need something to remind me that I’m still here, that I’m still in control.

  I’m angry. I’m angry at myself. At the cultists who have failed me. At that bastard Zareth. At the subject for not cooperating, for not responding. I should be able to fix this. But with every passing day, I feel more like I’m losing control.

  Ahead of the corridor I find the first cultist I can. She’s working on some obscure ritual in the corner of the main chamber, her head down, unaware of my presence.

  “Why isn’t this done yet?” I snap, my voice sharp and accusing.

  The cultist jumps, her hands shaking as she immediately drops the scroll she was holding, fumbling to pick it up. “Lady Ysara, I—I’m so sorry, I was just…”

  “Do not waste my time with excuses,” I growl, stepping closer, towering over her. “I gave you specific orders. Why have you not completed them?”

  “I—I-I’m sorry, Lady Ysara,” she stammers, bowing her head in fear. “I will do it now.”

  I narrow my eyes, barely able to keep my rage under control. My fingers itch to strike out, but I hold myself back. I don’t have the patience to deal with this now. There’s no time for mistakes. Not anymore. We’re running out of options, out of time.

  I turn away from the cowering cultist, my frustration boiling over, and march deeper into the compound. I don’t stop to see if she’s following me or not. They know their pce.

  As I walk, I pass by a few other cultists working, some cautiously eyeing me as I approach. I can feel their fear, their hesitation. I’m not just angry anymore, I’m desperate. And when I’m desperate, there’s no telling what I might do. The weight of Zareth’s ultimatum is pressing on me, suffocating me. If I don’t find a way to awaken the subject soon, there will be consequences. He will no longer tolerate failure.

  I’ve tried everything. Blood rituals. Incantations. Binding magic. I’ve even tried speaking directly to the soul of the subject. Nothing has worked. Nothing has stirred her, not since that scream. That horrible, gut-wrenching scream that tore through the compound five years ago.

  The walls were barely holding after that, and the magic we used to contain her has been unpredictable ever since. I’ve been walking on the edge of a knife since. I can’t afford to let her die. She’s the key to everything, the culmination of everything we’ve worked toward.

  But she’s dying. I can feel it in my bones. The changes have stopped. Her body has ceased transforming, and without the proper catalyst, the magic will wither. If I can’t find a way to trigger a response soon, she’ll be lost forever. The thought is unbearable.

  I enter my private chamber, smming the door behind me. The air is thick with the scent of incense, the lingering traces of failed rituals. My desk is cluttered with scrolls, notes, and arcane symbols, but none of it means anything now. None of it matters if I can’t fix this.

  I sit at the desk, my fingers trembling as I sift through the papers. There has to be something. Some forgotten ritual. Some forbidden spell that could break through this wall. My mind is reeling, but the more I think, the more I realize how little I know. I can feel it. There’s something missing. Something important.

  I can’t wait any longer. I need something drastic. A solution so dark, so dangerous, it could break through this deadlock. I’ve been hesitating, too cautious, too careful. But if Zareth is to believe in me, to see me as a true heir to this pce, then I must take that next step.

  It’s time for a ritual far darker than anything I’ve ever performed. A ritual so vile, it’s barely whispered about in the most forbidden texts. The kind of magic that could reach into the very fabric of a soul and force it to move, to awaken. It’s ancient, cruel magic, but it’s all I have left.

  I stand up abruptly, pushing the chair back so hard it ctters to the floor. My heart pounds in my chest as I make my way to the corner of the room, where the forbidden tome rests. I’ve avoided it until now. But I have no choice anymore. Time is running out.

  With trembling hands, I open the book, the smell of old parchment filling my nostrils. The ritual outlined within its pages is grotesque, requiring the blood of the subject. But not just any blood. A certain amount of desperation must be infused into the magic. A ritual of anguish. And I am more than willing to offer that.

  I turn the pages slowly, my fingers caressing the words as if they hold the key to salvation. The ritual demands the release of a soul’s tether. It’s risky, dangerous, and it could kill the subject if I’m not careful. But what choice do I have?

  I trace the words with my finger, murmuring them under my breath. The magic already responds, thrumming beneath my skin. But there’s still a hesitation, a warning in the back of my mind. Something tells me I shouldn’t go through with this. But that voice is drowned out by the relentless pounding of my own desperation.

  I push aside my doubts. I will do what needs to be done.

  I set the book down and begin to prepare the ritual space with some of the members, gathering the required ingredients, arcane salts, candles, and a chalice to hold the blood. I pause, my heart sinking in my chest as I gnce at the blood soaked cloths I’ve used to collect the subject’s blood before. This time, I’ll be using more.

  After what felt like days the materials needed was gathered and we stood in the ritual room staring at subjects 17 on the altar. The ritual is almost complete. Almost.

  I kneel before the altar, preparing myself. Every part of me is screaming, torn between fear and resolve. The air in the room thickens, crackling with power, as if the very walls are holding their breath.

  I draw the first symbol in the air with my hand, feeling the magic flow through my fingertips. It glows a faint, sickly green, and the space around me seems to darken. The candles flicker and burn with an unnatural intensity, casting long shadows on the walls.

  I close my eyes, focusing. This is the only way. There is no other choice. If I do not awaken her now, then everything we’ve worked for, everything I’ve sacrificed, will be for nothing.

  The ritual will either succeed or destroy everything in its path.

  I inhale sharply, trying to calm my racing heart, and continue, my voice barely above a whisper as I begin to chant the words from the book.

  The magic swells, building with every sylble. But the energy in the room is too much to control, and for a moment, I feel my hands tremble uncontrolbly. The air vibrates with power, an eerie mist spreading… filling every inch of the chamber.

  And then, just as I reach the climax of the ritual, the final, crucial words about to leave my lips…

  A voice breaks the stillness.

  A voice filled with malice.

  A voice that sent shivers down my spine…

  Queen