Somewhere between root and flame
The Pale Flame camp didn't spread — it rooted. Lines of fire drawn in silent patterns, runes burned into bark. It wasn't just ritual. It was control.
Caelum stood at the edge of their ring. He didn't step in.
Lirael didn't invite him.
The high envoy stood barefoot in snow that didn't melt, her gold-white robes untouched by wind. The third seal's echo burned behind her in a floating shard of enchanted ice.
"You're far from your kind, Caelum," she said without looking.
He stepped forward. "So are you. But here we are."
"You've interfered."
"You've overreached."
At that, Lirael turned.
"Her curse was meant to rot in silence. The prophecy—"
"Was broken the day she survived it," Caelum said. "Don't pretend your Order didn't try to rewrite it."
Lirael smiled faintly. "And don't pretend you haven't been summoned."
He stilled.
"You think the Vampire Court won't notice you've returned to the fold?" she asked. "You're hiding in the mortal dark like your blood doesn't burn louder than hers."
Caelum's jaw tensed.
"They're calling for you, Caelum. You can't delay it much longer."
Ash Circle – Below the Sanctum
Elira stood in the old flame chamber — a hollow of blackened stone where witches were once tested before initiation or execution. The magic here was honest*— cruel, but clear.
Vessa stood with her, arms crossed.
"This is not for punishment," she said. "It's for proof."
"I didn't come to beg," Elira muttered.
"No," Vessa replied. "You came to dig. So dig."
The spell began.
Ash lifted into the air, circling her like crows. Each flake burned a truth onto her skin — her memory of fleeing the Circle, of hiding among humans, of vengeance, of confusion.
Then the chamber whispered:
"Do you seek truth, or retribution?"
Elira's breath caught.
The fire burned her again — but not her skin.
Her certainty.
She staggered out of the ritual an hour later, shaking. Vessa offered no comfort.
"You didn't pass," she said, not unkindly. "But you didn't fail either. That's rare."
Ash Circle Council Chamber
Naerina stood before a crescent table of seven witches. Shadows danced on their faces, cast by a globe of flame suspended above the circle.
"The seal is real," she said. "Veildusk has half-fallen. The Grey Witch has vanished again. And the girl has returned."
"Then we prepare," said a crone with silver-threaded eyes.
"For war?" another asked.
"For truth," Naerina replied. "But we must not forget — she was marked by something beyond us."
"And what of the vampire?" one hissed.
Naerina's eyes darkened.
"He's being summoned. To the Court he swore never to return to."
Somewhere in the forest, Caelum paused beneath a broken moon.
He could feel it.
The blood summons.
They were calling him home.
He clenched his fists, fangs tightening behind closed lips.
Not yet.
Not until Elira knew the full price of what she carried.