He began drawing symbols on the ground around the seal's edge, using something that reminded Briar of chalk if chalk could leave marks that glowed with their own sickly light. The corrupted guards moved in response to some unspoken command, forcing the others to stand in specific positions around the circle.
"You here," Malus directed, pointing Eliam to a spot directly across from where Briar stood. "And you," to Arion, "there. Equal distance from both. A triangle of power—how poetic."
"We won't help you," Eliam said, refusing to move to his appointed area.
"Won't you?" Malus walked over to where Sian still supported Halian, whose face was still gray and cracked from the decay magic. Without warning, he pressed his palm against Halian's chest.
Halian screamed as autumn magic poured into him, aging him from within. His hair went white in seconds, skin pulling tight over bones that began to brittle.
"Stop!" Sian cried, trying to pull Halian away, but the corrupted guards held her back.
"I'll stop when they stand where I tell them," Malus said mildly, though his eyes never left Eliam. "Your choice, brother. Your pride, or their lives."
Eliam finally moved to the indicated position, his jaw clenched so tight Briar could hear his teeth grinding. Arion followed, light magic flickering weakly around him in futile protest.
Malus released Halian, who collapsed into Sian's arms, aged by decades but still breathing. Barely.
"Much better." Malus returned to his ritual preparations. "Now, according to father's notes, the seal responds to specific resonances. Blood of the makers, will of the breakers, and..." He looked at Briar. "A vessel capable of containing what's released."
He approached her with the ritual blade, and she tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. The seal's edge was at her heels, and she could feel the wrongness beneath it, the things that waited below.
"Your blood first," he said, catching her wrist with inhuman speed. "Just a little. Enough to wake the seal's recognition."
She struggled to pull free, but Malus held fast without any sign of struggle. The blade bit into her palm, leaving a shallow gash of crimson. The pain was strange, lacking the sharp sting one would expect. Instead it felt hollow, as if it were draining something more than blood. Drops of crimson fell onto the seal's surface.
The reaction was immediate.
The symbols flared to life, not with healthy light but with that same sickly green glow. The ground trembled, and that rhythmic pulsing became audible—a heartbeat made of stone and ancient magic and contained horror.
Through the shimmering barrier, the shadows beneath pressed harder, sensing opportunity.
"Perfect," Malus breathed. "Now we can truly begin."
Malus began pulling more components from his coat—crystals that pulsed with their own sick light, empty vials, and a length of rope that seemed to be made of braided shadow.
"Now for the anchors," he said, moving to where Eliam stood rigid with suppressed rage. "Blood of the makers, brother. Our family line created this seal, your blood will help me unravel it."
He didn't wait for compliance. The blade flashed out, catching Eliam across the palm before he could react. Blood welled, darker than human crimson, almost black in the poisoned light. Malus caught it in one of the vials, the liquid inside immediately beginning to smoke.
"And the other half," Malus moved to Arion with the same swift efficiency, cutting his palm as well. Arion's blood was different—lighter, with an almost golden sheen. When it entered the second vial, the reaction was violent, the contents trying to escape the container.
"Interesting," Malus murmured. "Even your blood knows you're meant to be one. How it must pain you both, being so close to your other half yet unable to reunite."
He returned to the seal's edge, pouring the contents of both vials onto specific points in the carved symbols. Where the blood touched stone, the glyphs flared brighter, that sickly green deepening to something almost black.
The warmth in Briar's chest was burning now, pulling so hard toward the seal that she had to lock her knees to keep from falling forward.
"They know you're here," Malus said softly, standing behind her now. His hands settled on her shoulders, holding her in place when she tried to step back. "The Unseelie. They can sense what you carry. The power that could free them."
He wrapped the braided length of shadow around her wrist and Briar realized with mounting horror that it was hair.
Through the shimmering barrier, those shadows pressed harder. She could almost make out shapes now—faces that weren't quite faces, hands with too many fingers, wings that bent in impossible ways.
"Begin the chant," Malus commanded, moving to position himself in the very center of the seal. The corrupted guards started speaking in unison, their voices blending intosomething that scraped against reality itself. The twisted pixies joined from the trees, their chittering forming an unsettling harmony.
Malus stood at the seal's heart, arms raised, the ritual blade still gleaming with their mixed blood. The symbols beneath his feet pulsed in response to his presence, recognizing the Forest King's bloodline.
"Brothers of light and shadow," he intoned, his voice carrying over the chanting. "Split from wholeness, yearning for unity. Through the vessel that carries your essence, through the one who bore your fragment since birth, let power return to power."
