The titan statue's eyes flared, molten fire spilling across its blackened bone like liquid death. I froze, feeling the weight of its gaze pressing against my chest, and a shiver ran down my spine. The red light from the pit below pulsed in resonance, as if it recognized me, as if it had been waiting for my touch.
Damon tightened his grip around my wrist. "Stay close. Whatever that is—it's not playing." His voice was low, dangerous, and steady, grounding me even as panic tried to claw its way up my throat.
I swallowed, feeling the brand burn hotter, molten silver flames dancing across my skin. "It knows me," I whispered, voice trembling. The sigils weren't just symbols anymore—they were alive, writhing like serpents, syncing with the rhythm of my heartbeat.
The statue moved, slow and deliberate, each step rattling the floor beneath us. Its massive clawed hand raised, reaching toward the pit, and the air thickened, heavy with ash and heat. Damon growled low, shifting slightly, ready to leap.
"Dahlia," he said, voice tight, "you can fight it with me, or—" He didn't finish, but I understood. This was mine to bear as much as ours to survive.
I inhaled, letting the fire inside me flare, silver flames spiraling up my arms. "I'm not afraid," I said. And I meant it, though my chest hammered like a drum of war. The statue's eyes roared, flames flaring brighter, and the smoke from the pit coiled upward, twisting into shapes—dragons, serpents, shadows. They were testing me, calling me.
I stepped forward. My brand pulsed in response, searing lines like molten cracks racing across my collarbone. The statues shivered, groaned, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the world itself held its breath.
Then the smoke surged. A tendril shot toward me, snapping through the air. I didn't think—I reacted. Hands glowing, I slammed them down, silver fire erupting in a concussive wave. The tendril hissed, recoiling, but it didn't vanish—it was patient, intelligent. Waiting for my next move.
Damon roared, claws extending, eyes burning. "Stay with me, Dahlia!" His warning barely registered as I felt the pit's pull, a gravity of destiny dragging at the very core of my soul. The red light flared brighter, illuminating every chain, every statue, every scar of the ancient battlefield beneath us.
I fell to my knees, letting the fire blaze across my hands, my chest, my face. The statues' eyes burned wider, a collective roar vibrating through the chamber. "I see you," I whispered, and in that moment, the world shifted—the smoke, the fire, the stone, the chains—they all bent toward me. Recognition. Memory. Power.
Damon caught me before I collapsed completely, steadying me with strong, sure hands. His gaze met mine, storm against silver flame. "You're more than blood, Dahlia. You're the reckoning."
A deep tremor shook the chamber. From the fissure in the largest statue, molten red light poured, illuminating the pit in a hellish glow. I felt it stir—the one below, the First Dragon, the False God. And for the first time in decades, it whispered not to me, but through me: Seraphina… my bride… my key…
I rose, legs trembling, fire coursing through me, brand blazing like a heartbeat on my skin. Damon's hand found mine again, fingers laced, steady. "Then let's end this," he said, growling. "Before it ever begins."
The statues moved as one, massive, deliberate, and the pit's smoke coiled into a new, more terrifying form. Eyes of flame and shadows locked on me, testing, challenging, demanding. I braced, chest heaving, heart a furnace of fear and power.
I was ready.
The last Moonblood had awakened—and nothing in this world, or the next, would be able to stop what was coming.
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