The air shifted. Heavy. Watching.
She dipped again, drawing faster now, until his whole torso was a map of curses and panom runes. Her throat shook, but she forced the next verse out.
“In flesh inscribed with ink of wings; a soul the price this binding brings.”
The words echoed through the chamber, bouncing back at her until it felt like the entire room was whispering along. Her own blood pounded in her ears. Her knees ached against the hard stone. Her tears blurred the sigils, and she had to wipe them away with the back of her wrist before continuing, smearing red across her own face.
Jake looked no less dead.
Her throat closed. Fear clawed up, hot and sharp, and for one heartbeat she faltered. What if she failed? What if this wasn’t enough? What if she had just desecrated him, covered the man she loved in curses, and still left him lifeless?
Her hands trembled. Not from fear—though it pulsed at the edges of her vision—but from the blood burning, racing through her veins, the spell clawing for her own life. She remembered the warnings: every dark act carved pieces off the soul. Shortened life. Made powers unstable. Could end in magic combustion.
Whatever.
She didn’t flinch.
Her tears hit his skin, streaking down his chest. Where they touched, the ink glowed faintly, drinking them in.
She grabbed the vase with both hands and lifted it to his mouth. His lips were slack, closed, uncooperative.
“Drink, Jake,” she begged, her voice breaking.
If she stopped to think exactlywhatshe had to make him drink, she would vomit or faint in disgust, but it was the only way. The only chance. She pried his jaw open with trembling fingers and tipped the cup. The thick, dark-red liquid slid down, some spilling across his chin, staining his skin. The rest went down his throat, slow, reluctant. She forced more until it was gone, until the vase was empty and her hands were shaking too badly to hold it anymore.
The silence pressed in.
She stared at him, waiting for a cough, a gasp, anything.
Nothing. Just stillness.
Her breath shuddered. The edges of her vision blurred as panic clawed at her ribs. This was it. She had failed. The one thing she had dared to hope for, dared to gamble on, was gone. He was gone.
Her nails dug into her palms, cutting skin. She screamed then—raw, feral, a sound ripped from her chest until her throat burned.
The chamber shook. The air pressed heavy. And then—
A flicker.
The ink answered first.
One line across his ribs shimmered faintly, then another across his chest, glowing brighter with each second that passed. The light crawled across him, sigils waking like stars in the dark, one by one, until his whole body blazed in crimson fire and…navy sparks.
Lenna’s heart lurched. She scrambled closer, her hand holding his tighter than ever, voice breaking on the last words.
“Bound in ink, in flame, in blood, in me. Rise, my man, life forged anew.”
The words boomed, echoing back until she could barely hear her own breath.
Jake’s body arched. His mouth opened in a silent cry, chest heaving as if dragged by invisible claws. The ink bled deeper, disappearing under his skin, until every single rune she had traced was inked in his body, not with red liquid, but with his own, navy ink.
His eyes snapped open, blazing with a Cardinal-red light before fading back to his own—silver, wild, desperate,alive.
He gasped, dragging air into lungs that had been empty. His body shook violently, every muscle seizing as though fighting death itself.
Lenna caught his face in both hands, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks.
“Jake,” she whispered, trembling. “Jake, come back to me.”
