“Guardian crystal. Removed to power the binding.” Carmilla’s voice breathes reverence.
I circle the chamber, senses extended. Every surface buzzes with watchers’ attention—statues maybe, or invisible wards. My hackles lift. “Guardians might not love visitors.”
“Guardians respect purpose.” She strides to the far wall where glyphs lace a mural of an enormous feather-winged serpent coiling around a luminous rift. She kneels, brushing frost off symbols. “I need transcription.”
I nod, scanning vaulted corners. Shadows twitch, too fluid to be tricks of light. I release part-shift, claws elongating to half-form, eyes adjusting to spectral wavelengths.
Carmilla unfurls small parchment, begins to read. Words tumble in low Old Draconic—harsh consonants softened by her voice. As she speaks, glyphs glow, lines moving like molten silver.
Sudden whine splits air.
From ceiling vents drop shards of ice—no, darts of crystal shaped like miniature spears, each tipped with spinning glyph. Spirit darts, shrine guardians I’ve heard only myths about. They swarm toward Carmilla in a screeching hail.
I spring, shouting, “Down!” She flattens instantly. I lunge, shift in mid-air—a burst of magic folds bones smaller, feathers unfurl, wings slam downward. Eagle form catches air. I wheel, intercept the first wave. Talons slash; darts shatter into harmless glitter. Others streak past toward Carmilla’s prone form.
I dive, spread wings wide to throw gust across her. Darts veer, ricochet off invisible barrier she raises with a whispered sigil.
She doesn’t stop reading.
The mural behind her brightens; glyphs scroll under her palm like living text. I realize translation trance has taken hold—her eyes no longer track darts, only symbols.
“Carmilla, break trance!” I screech in eagle voice, which emerges as harsh cry. She doesn’t blink.
Darts regroup above, forming spiral funnel. I bank upward, flapping for altitude. I feel every feather root; frigid air claws my lungs. I dive again, talons extended, slamming central dart swirl. Explosion of shards showers hall, felling several still orbiting. My left wingtip grazes edge of one spear and sears with frostburn.
I veer, shift mid-dive to wolf-bear hybrid, landing in crouch before Carmilla. I raise arms, swirling ember stripes along forearms. Darts slam into charred channels of my magic, dissolve.
But the funnel reforms behind me, preparing second salvo.
I growl. “You’ve thirty heartbeats, Oracle.”
She murmurs phrase in Draconic. The wall responds—glyph cluster ignites, throwing beam across chamber, striking a pedestal I’d taken for mere decoration. The slab slides back, revealing cavity where sphere once rested.
She gasps, eyes rolling white. Crystal along her neck bursts another centimeter, as if words carve flesh from inside. I feel her pain like echo through bond.
Twenty heartbeats.
I spin, see next swarm aligning into arrow formation. No way to intercept all before they shred her. I think only of wind, freedom, vantage. My body answers: bones hollow, wings unfurl—larger this time, span scraping mosaics. I burst upward, feathers catching rising thermal generated by guardian defenses.
At apex I fold wings, stoop. Air screams against my beak; I slam through vanguard of darts. Talons rake core sigils; magic destabilizes them into misty sparkles. I twist, catch crossdraft, repeat. Harrier tactics thin swarm to half. But stragglers slip past toward the floor.
Below, Carmilla writes another line. The chamber shakes—dust trickles from roof. Crystal slug—two metres long, translucent—crawls from the sphere cavity, jaws clacking. Its surface crawls with minuscule runes, each shedding sparks. The slug lurches toward her.
I curse feathered. I shed eagle, drop as boulder, slamming into slug’s back with half-shifted mass. The creature’s crystalline armor cracks; shards slice my shins. It whips around, mouth unveiling rows of razor shards.
I grip its head, wrestling, feel heat of ley energy burning inside its core. It reeks of the same wrongness as shard—evidence binding rot.
“Finish reading,” I roar, wrestling slug away from her.
Darts dive again, now targeting me and slug alike. Carmilla’s next line emerges aloud.
“Binding requires willing severance. Sacrifice sanctifies site.”
Wordsacrificetriggers slug. It shrieks—sound of glass bowed by violin string—shakes me loose. It lights with inner crimson, surging for her.
I react without thought. My body chooses apex predator unconsciously suited: direwolf. Fur erupts dark, massive jawssnap shut on slug’s neck. Painful—crystal cuts gums—but I hold, shake viciously.
Slug fractures along seams; energy vent hisses. It tries to split, but I twist, hurl torso into incoming dart swarm. Impact detonates both; shards scatter, clinking across tiles.
