I shift our position slightly, bringing us even closer together if such a thing is possible. My forehead rests against his, our breathing synchronized, power flowing between us in steady waves that make the candle flames dance.
"Complete physical anchor," I explain, acutely aware of every point where our bodies connect. "I need to feel you in my body while my consciousness explores the abbey. Your arms around me, your heartbeat against mine—constant contact so I can find my way back."
His arms tighten around my waist, solid and warm and absolutely dependable. "I’ve got you. No matter how far you range, I’ll keep you grounded."
The promise carries the weight of an oath, binding him to my protection in ways that go beyond simple partnership. I close my eyes and let my consciousness separate from my physical form, spirit-self rising while my body remains safely locked in his embrace.
The sensation is profoundly disorienting at first—seeing my own form pressed against his from outside, watching his hands stroke my hair as my breathing slows to the deep rhythm ofmagical trance. He murmurs reassurances I can’t quite hear, his voice a constant anchor in the growing strangeness.
Then I’m flowing into stone walls, following the paths of power that run beneath the abbey’s foundations. The building is older than I suspected, built atop something far more ancient. Chambers and corridors stretch deep into the mountain’s heart, some carved by human hands, others that look natural but pulse with deliberate magic.
The deeper I go, the stronger the magical currents become. Not just the Marshal’s influence, but something older. Something that was here long before the abbey, long before human settlement. The mountain itself is alive with power, and someone has been tapping into that source for far longer than I realized.
I follow the strongest current of power, diving deeper than I’ve ever attempted. The spiritual tether that connects me to Krath stretches but doesn’t break, his steady presence anchoring me as I explore increasingly dangerous depths. Without that anchor, I would already be lost in the labyrinthine passages of power.
What I find when I reach the source makes my spirit-form recoil in horror.
A vast chamber carved from the mountain’s heart, far larger than anything that should exist this deep underground. The walls pulse with veins of living crystal that throb in rhythm with something that might be a heartbeat. But it’s not the chamber itself that horrifies me—it’s what fills it.
Swirling energy that stinks of stolen life, concentrated into a writhing mass of power. Not just death magic—something worse. The accumulated life force of every creature that’s died within miles of this place over the past decades, all of it collected and condensed into a reservoir of raw potential.
Animals, plants, people—their final moments preserved and perverted into fuel for something unspeakable. I can feel the echo of their deaths, the terror and pain that season the stolen energy. This isn’t just necromancy—it’s something far more comprehensive and horrifying.
The Marshal stands at the center of it all, arms raised as he shapes the stolen energy into new configurations. His bone armor gleams with sickly light, and the skull that serves as his face turns in my direction with predatory awareness.
"Too late, little witch," his voice echoes directly into my consciousness, bypassing my ears entirely. "The blood moon rises tomorrow night. Your precious bond will be the key that unlocks centuries of collected power."
I try to flee back to my body, but tendrils of energy lash out with frightening speed, trying to trap my separated consciousness in this chamber of horrors. Pain lances across my spirit-form as necromantic magic seeks to bind me here, away from Krath’s protection.
Hold on. I’m bringing you home.
Power flows along our tether—not just his magical strength, but his will, his absolute refusal to let anything harm me. The combination gives me the force I need to break free from the grasping tendrils and race back across stone and shadow to the safety of his arms.
I slam back into my body with a gasp that borders on a scream, every nerve ending on fire from the spiritual assault. My hands shake uncontrollably, and phantom pain races along my limbs where the necromantic energy tried to bind me.
But Krath’s arms are already around me, solid and real and absolutely safe. His hands stroke my hair as I shudder against his chest, the aftershocks of necromantic contact making my skin crawl.
"You’re safe," he murmurs against my ear, voice tight with concern and barely controlled fury. "You’re here. You’re real. Nothing can hurt you now."
I need several minutes before I can speak coherently, the spiritual trauma taking time to fade. When I finally find my voice, it comes out hoarse and shaking.
"The chamber," I whisper against his chest. "The stolen life force—it’s worse than we thought."
I tell him everything—the vast underground space, the crystal veins suggesting the mountain itself is being drained, the sheer scope of the energy collection. With each revelation, I feel his fury building, protective rage that makes the air around us shimmer with heat.
"Centuries of collected power," he repeats, voice deadly quiet. "No wonder he’s been so patient. He’s been feeding off this entire region."
"But there’s something else," I continue, pieces clicking together as I process what I witnessed. "The energy is unstable. All that stolen life force—it wants to return to the natural cycle. It requires constant will to keep it contained, and willing sacrifice to anchor it properly during major workings."
Understanding dawns in his red eyes. "That’s why he needs our bond. Not just for the power itself, but for the emotional resonance to control it."
"And if we could destabilize it instead?—"
"It would collapse back on him," he finishes grimly. "Destroy everything he’s built, maybe destroy him with it."
We stare at each other, the magnitude of possibility settling between us. Not just escape or survival, but the chance to end the Marshal’s threat permanently while freeing all the stolen life force he’s accumulated.
But the horror of what I witnessed lingers. My hands won’t stop shaking, and every shadow seems to hide reaching tendrilsof corrupted energy. The spiritual violation has left me feeling raw, exposed, as if my very soul has been scraped with rusty metal.
