Ciara's POV
The blade Kaelen handed me was lighter than I expected—but no less deadly. Its edge gleamed under the torches as if thirsting for what was coming.
I wrapped my fingers around the hilt, trying to still the trembling in my hand.
Lucian watched me, no expression on his face. "You've held a knife before."
"Once," I murmured. "To protect myself. It didn't end well."
"Then we'll change that," he said. "Because the next time someone touches you with violence in mind—your blade should be the last thing they feel."
Kaelen stepped forward, his swords sheathed again but his tone grim. "The Temple doesn't send scouts. If they're here, they're not just searching."
"They're here to retrieve me," I said. "Or kill me."
Lucian's gaze darkened. "Then let them try."
The training hall Kaelen led us to wasn't what I expected. It was carved from obsidian and bone, lit by candles that burned with violet flame. The walls were lined with old weapons, each etched with runes I didn't understand. Some pulsed faintly as we passed, like they recognized me. Or my mark.
"This place was built by the first bloodborn," Kaelen said. "Those who remembered the old ways—before the Temple rewrote our history."
Lucian took the blade from my hand and replaced it with another—longer, darker, heavier. "The one you held was meant for ceremony," he said. "This one is meant for war."
My arm sank under its weight.
"You want me to fight with this?"
"I want you to survive with it."
Kaelen crossed the floor, unsheathed his twin daggers, and pointed one toward me. "First lesson," he said. "Don't wait for fear to pass. Move through it. Use it."
I raised the sword with both hands.
He lunged.
I screamed and stumbled back. The edge of his dagger missed my throat by inches.
Lucian didn't move. Didn't even flinch.
Kaelen didn't stop. Another strike. A sweep at my legs. I ducked—barely—then fell to one knee, gasping.
"Again," he said.
"You're trying to kill me!"
"No," Kaelen replied. "I'm trying to see if you're worth the blood already spilled for you."
I stood again, fury rising like wildfire. My mark burned.
This time, I didn't wait. I swung at him—wild, untrained—but with everything I had. He dodged easily, but his expression shifted.
"You felt that," he said, low. "Something moved."
I had felt it. A strange heat in my spine. A tug beneath my ribs. Like something locked inside me was beginning to stir.
"Keep going," Lucian said, his voice now rougher. "Your power is older than you. It remembers what you don't."
The third time Kaelen struck, I parried by instinct.
The fourth—I cut his arm.
A thin line of blood welled up.
He looked down at it. Then grinned. "Now you're learning."
But before I could catch my breath, a low, echoing boom shook the ground beneath us.
Lucian's smile vanished.
"They're inside."
Kaelen was already moving toward the entrance, blades drawn. "Three—maybe four. Fast."
Lucian turned to me, grabbing my wrist.
"You bleed now," he said. "Not for them. But for what's coming."
He reached into his cloak and produced a thin silver chain with a dark crimson pendant that pulsed like a second heartbeat.
"Wear this. It binds your scent to mine. They'll know who you belong to."
"I don't—"
"You want to survive, or do you want to argue?"
My throat tightened. I took the pendant.
The moment it touched my skin, the air changed. Warmer. Heavier. Like a cloak of shadows had wrapped around me. My mark calmed, pulsing in sync with the stone.
Lucian turned to Kaelen. "Hold the western gate. Take Groot and Nines. Anyone who gets past—kill them."
"What about her?" Kaelen asked.
Lucian glanced at me. "She's with me."
The halls of the Sanctum shifted around us as Lucian pulled me into a narrow stairwell veiled in mist and shadow. No torches here. Only the light of our marks—mine, faint gold and flickering; his, a deep crimson web barely visible beneath his gloves.
Each step downward was colder than the last.
"Where are we going?" I whispered, my breath fogging in the air.
"Someplace they can't reach you without bleeding first," he replied. "They won't expect you to stand your ground. But they need to start learning."
The stairwell ended in a circular antechamber. The floor was ringed with sigils—old and pulsing—and at the center stood a wide stone platform, worn smooth by centuries.
Lucian drew his blade slowly, reverently, like it were alive. "If they sent what I think they did… this won't be a scouting party."
I stepped beside him, heart thundering, blade clutched tightly in my sweating hand. "Then what is it?"
He turned to me, expression unreadable.
"An execution squad."
The door across the chamber exploded inward.
A man stepped through the smoke, robed in silver and black, face hidden behind an iron mask carved with holy symbols. Behind him came three others—silent, armed, lethal.
Lucian moved like a shadow.
His blade arced once—and one of the robed figures dropped without a sound, throat torn wide open.
The others spread out.
I backed up instinctively—but the masked leader pointed straight at me.
"There she is," he said, his voice a strange blend of rage and reverence. "The Flame of the Betrayer. The moonless witch. Return her now, and we'll give you a clean death."
Lucian stepped in front of me.
"You'll have no deaths today but your own."
The masked man sneered. "She carries a forbidden mark. That makes her a weapon. One we were meant to keep sealed."
"She's not a weapon," Lucian said coldly. "She's a reckoning."
And then everything exploded.
Blades clashed. Magic slammed into the chamber walls. I ducked, barely avoiding a searing arc of light that cracked the stone behind me.
Kaelen would've told me to run. I could hear his voice in my head even now—Live. Escape. Survive.
But something in me snapped.
The mark on my hand burst into flame.
Not literal fire—but golden, pulsing light that filled my vision and howled in my ears.
The second attacker lunged for me.
I raised the sword and screamed—and something moved.
Not my arms. Not my voice.
Something ancient.
A burst of raw energy surged outward. The attacker was thrown backward—slammed into the wall so hard the stone cracked.
Lucian turned—eyes wide. For the first time, he looked… startled.
"You channeled it," he murmured.
"I didn't mean to," I gasped.
"But you did."
The masked leader lunged at Lucian with a dagger wreathed in holy fire. Their blades collided, metal screeching, magic snarling between them.
Lucian grunted as the holy edge grazed his arm—burning flesh and smoke rising.
I didn't think so. I moved.
Slid behind the masked priest and drove my blade upward, just beneath his ribs.
He froze.
We locked eyes for one terrible second.
And then he crumpled.
Lucian caught him before he hit the floor and let his body fall with reverence.
The last attacker fled. But before he reached the door, Kaelen appeared—silent and deadly—his dagger striking true.
Blood sprayed the wall. Silence returned.
I dropped the sword.
My knees hit stone.
Lucian was beside me instantly, hand on my back. "You did what no one expected. You fought."
"I killed him," I whispered.
"You survived him."
Kaelen crouched beside the body of the masked leader and pulled off the iron mask.
He studied the face beneath. "Temple Knight. High rank. They'll send more now."
Lucian nodded grimly. "They know she's awakening."
"Then it begins," Kaelen said.
Lucian turned to me—eyes glowing like moonlit steel. "This was the first. But not the last. You need to train. And fast. Because what's inside you? It's waking up."
I met his gaze, my heartbeat thundering like war drums.
"I want to learn," I said.
Lucian smiled faintly—feral and proud.
"Then welcome, little flame… to war."