“That’s a good possibility,” he said.
Above them, something cracked, followed by the low groan of shifting beams and the unmistakable roar of distant flame.
Riven stared up into the pulsing shadows and exhaled. “Great. House Virellien. Always dramatic.”
“Comes with the name.”
The ceiling gave another crackling groan. Thane reached out and took Riven’s hand—firm, unthinking—and pulled him toward the stairs.
“Let’s go.”
The fire spread faster than seemed natural. Wood cracked above them, a deep splintering sound like bones snapping. Sparks scattered through the smoke-choked air like fireflies, catching in Riven’s hair, lighting in Thane’s clothes. The heat surged with every breath.
He grabbed Riven’s wrist and hauled him forward. Smoke already filled the corridor. It stung Riven’s lungs, made his head spin. Behind them, the mural room roared with fire,flames licking out through the shattered doorway like a beast unchained.
The house creaked and shifted around them, groaning under the pressure. Magic still clung to the walls—Riven could feel it like breath on his neck. Watching. Waiting. They reached the landing and barreled into the front entryway. The door stood just ahead, shadowed and ancient. Salvation. Thane didn’t hesitate. He threw his shoulder against it once. Then again.
The door didn’t move.
“Comeon—” Riven coughed, squinting through the rising smoke.
Thane slammed a palm flat against the wood. “It’s magically sealed. It’s not just old, it’sreinforced.”
Riven reached out with his Sight and saw it, threads of dark spellwork wound through the wood like veins, pulsing faintly with power. The Hollow Hand had planned this escape route too—every exit sealed, every option controlled.
“Can you break it?”
Thane didn’t respond. He just stepped back and punched.
The wood cracked beneath his fist, splinters flying—but the spell held.
He struck again. And again. Sweat ran down his face in rivers. Blood soaked through the bandage on his arm. But the enchantment pulsed, resilient and cold.
“Not fast enough,” Thane muttered, breath ragged. “This is old magic—reinforced by generations of the family. Not Yerin’s work.”
Above them, something groaned.
Riven’s head snapped up just in time to see the ceiling beam crack, its charred length buckling with a brittle sound that sliced through the roar of fire. He didn’t have time to finish his shout before it gave way.
“Thane—!”
But Thane was already moving, throwing his body into Riven and knocking him aside just as the burning timber crashed down where they’d stood. It shattered on impact, splinters and embers exploding across the floor.
They landed hard in the debris, coughing, limbs tangled. Heat seared the air around them, smoke closing in thick as a blanket.
“We’re going to die in here,” Riven whispered, barely able to hear himself over the thunder of flames.
“No.” Thane pushed upright, eyes burning through the haze. “We are not dying in this house.”
He scanned the room, gaze sharp despite the smoke. “East wing. There’s an old exit into the gardens. Long forgotten. It was never warded.”
Riven didn’t ask questions. He scrambled to his feet and followed, the floor shifting beneath them as they turned into a narrower hall. Plaster had crumbled from the ceiling; soot streaked the walls. Fire snapped at their heels, darting along the edges of the corridor.
This part of the house felt older, twisted by age and neglect. The glass in the barred windows had been shattered long ago—mere holes now, sucking in wind but doing little to fight the heat. The air here was thinner, less stifling, but it burned just the same in Riven’s lungs.
And through it all, the house still watched them—its old magic threaded through the walls, sensing them, waiting.
They pressed on, the hallway bending beneath their steps like it could collapse at any moment. Every breath scraped like glass. Riven could hardly see, eyes stinging, shoulder screaming with every movement.
