"You cannot be serious."
Faye's voice echoed through the library like frost cracking over glass. Cold. Cutting. She stood at the edge of the long reading table, hands flat on the wood, leaning forward as if sheer proximity could push her argument into Elle's heart.
Elle, unmoving, met her mentor's gaze with quiet certainty. In her hands, she held a single parchment, edges still warm from her grip. The name scrawled at its center shimmered in a deep obsidian ink:
Sable.
A high spirit. A shadow without form.
"I am," Elle said, her voice calm. "And I've made my decision."
Faye's expression didn't soften. If anything, it grew darker.
"Elodie. That spirit is not a whisper in the wind," she said. "It is a predator. It watches. It waits. It devours. No contracts. No loyalty. You don't summon Sable. You invite your own ruin."
Elle stepped forward, the parchment curling slightly at the edges under her fingers. "And yet, I still need it."
"Why? Why him?"
"Because shadow magic isn't just about destruction," Elle said, voice tightening. "It's silence. Secrets. Obedience. Survival. If I want to win in this world, I need eyes in the dark. I need something that answers only to me."
Faye let out a breath, sharp and bitter. "You haven't even tried the lesser spirits. Elementals. Familiars. Even a whisper-bound."
"They're not enough."
"The process could kill you."
"I've already died once," Elle said softly.
The words settled between them like a blade buried to the hilt.
Faye looked away, the tension in her shoulders unraveling just slightly. "You're truly serious, aren't you?"
Elle gave a quiet nod. "This is the only path left to me."
---
Two days later, an ornate envelope was delivered to the Cecilia estate. Sealed in silver wax with the royal crest, it gleamed beneath the midday sun as a footman bowed and presented it.
Marielle opened it first. Her fingers shook.
"A ball," she murmured. "From the royal palace. The Second Prince is... inviting all noble houses."
Elle reached for it. Her eyes scanned the ink, her name etched in the invitation as if nothing had ever changed. As if she were still his betrothed. As if betrayal and death hadn't already carved through her life.
She stared at it for a moment. Then turned.
And tossed it into the fireplace.
The flames swallowed it without hesitation.
"That chapter," she said, "is closed."
---
That night, Elle descended the spiral steps of the old tower.
Few even remembered the place existed.
The sealed ritual chamber was buried beneath stone and ice, hidden beneath their own estate's oldest foundations. It had been a place of communion once, back when the Cecilia line still walked with spirits openly.
Now, it would become something far more dangerous.
She stepped barefoot onto the cold floor. Her hair was unbound, and her ceremonial robe fluttered behind her like a banner of white silk. In her hand, she carried only a single obsidian shard.
She had drawn the summoning circle herself, days of painstaking work. The runes pulsed with pale blue energy, overlaid with crimson glyphs she had modified against Faye's warnings.
Elle stood at the center and closed her eyes.
"I call upon the one who lives between light and nothing," she whispered. "The shadow without chain. The whisper without name. I offer my soul. My pride. My name."
A pulse.
"Come, Sable. Come and test me."
The candles blew out all at once.
The runes ignited in violet and black. The circle pulsed, and the stone beneath her feet groaned with pressure.
Then the darkness rose.
It came like mist at first. Then tendrils. Then a tide. Elle's vision dimmed. Her ears rang with countless voices — none speaking her name, but all knowing it.
She staggered to her knees.
A pressure pressed into her chest, as if a mountain sat atop her lungs.
A voice cut through the cacophony. Cold. Male. Ancient.
> "You reek of death."
From the void, a form emerged.
A shape, vaguely human, but shifting with every breath. A tall silhouette of ink and smoke. A jagged crown flickered above its formless head. Crimson eyes opened one by one, like stars being born in the void.
> "You are weak. Hollow. You bleed regret."
Elle's body shook. She pressed her palms against the floor.
"I am," she gasped. "But I remember. I learn. I don't forget. I will not lose again."
The spirit lunged.
A claw of shadow pierced her shoulder.
Pain. Not just physical. The memory of poison. The weight of a cold room. The scent of betrayal. She screamed as fire and shadow clashed within her body.
And then, everything went black.
---
They found her the next morning.
Elle lay at the center of the scorched ritual chamber, runes flickering weakly around her. Her robe was torn. Blood stained the stone.
Marielle collapsed at her side. Nigel carried her to her room himself.
She didn't wake.
The estate fell into panic.
For two weeks, she remained unconscious. Her breathing was shallow. Fever came and went. The healers could do nothing — her condition wasn't physical. Not truly.
Elijah and Eleazar stayed close, pacing like wolves in a cage.
Faye never left the door.
On the fifteenth morning, a single snowflake drifted in through the open window.
It landed on her cheek.
Elle stirred.
Then opened her eyes.
Her vision sharpened, details snapping into clarity. Her fingertips twitched. She felt something inside her pulse like a second heartbeat.
Her breath caught.
"Elle!"
Marielle rushed in, eyes wide. "You're—"
She stopped.
Elle sat upright. Her left eye glowed faint red, not of fever — but power. Her white hair shimmered in the light — now streaked with thin veins of ink-black, curling like living shadow.
Elle touched her face. Her heartbeat was steady. Strong. Too strong.
Faye stood in the doorway.
For the first time, she looked shaken.
"You did it..." she whispered.
Elle nodded slowly.
Her voice, when she spoke, was calm.
"He answered."