Stupid. So stupid.Poking at the pretty magical lock like it was some noble's strongbox. Except nobles didn't keep interdimensional soul-floods in their vaults.
More souls poured through. A child-spirit no older than ten, tears streaming down translucent cheeks as she called for her mother. A warrior still gripping the sword that had failed to save him, eyes burning with the need for one final battle. An old woman clutching a locket, lips moving in endless repetition of someone's name.
They shouldn't all be here together. They belonged in different domains, different realms, guided by Death Lords who understood their particular needs. Instead, they swirled around the chamber in growing confusion and distress.
Her chest tightened. She'd seen that look before, on the faces of orphans in the street, lost and calling for families that would never come. These souls wore the same desperate confusion, and it was her fault.
"I can fix this." Her voice rose with panic as she grabbed for the tools, hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped them. "I can fix this, I just need to—" Her breathing came fast and shallow. "I broke it, I broke everything?—"
"Look at me."
She turned toward him. He stood between her and the most dangerous spirits, shadows forming defensive walls, but his dark gaze was focused entirely on her.
"Breathe." He stepped closer. "You didn't break anything."
The certainty in his voice made her racing heart slow slightly. "But I?—"
"Focus on my voice, not the chaos." His shadows shifted, creating a small pocket of calm around them while still holding back the displaced souls. "You can see the flows better than anyone who's ever worked these locks. Trust what you know."
The space he'd created felt intimate, even with the chaos merefeet away. She could hear his steady breathing even as his power strained against the supernatural storm. His voice had dropped to that low, commanding tone that seemed to resonate in her chest, making her want to listen, to obey, to?—
Before she could process that thought fully, a soul broke through his defensive barrier. One of the obsessed spirits, its form shifting between that of a young man and something far more twisted. It lunged toward her with desperate hunger, reaching for the life force that blazed so temptingly warm in this realm of cold death.
His shadows slammed into the spirit with force, wrapping around it like chains and dragging it back into the containment area he'd created. The violence of the movement was effortless, controlled, and absolutely terrifying.
Right. Death Lord. Not someone who should make her feel safe.
But the effort left him momentarily vulnerable, and three more souls slipped through the gap.
"The mechanism." His voice stayed steady through the strain. "Can you see the flows now?"
As she focused on the ward-lock, one of his shadows brushed against her wrist. Cool and gentle, at odds with the violence she'd just witnessed. It seemed to beckon her hand toward a tool she'd overlooked in her panic, its presence a quiet reassurance in the havoc.
She couldn't afford to think about how that felt. Couldn't let herself wonder why his shadows touched her with such restraint when they'd just crushed that spirit like it was nothing.
With the shadow's guidance, she forced herself to look past the chaos and focus on the ward-lock. The magical patterns were still there, buried beneath layers of unstable energy. Twisted, yes. Unstable, absolutely. But not random.
"The closing sequence has been redirected." The realization made her stomach drop. "The lock isn't broken. It's been modified to do exactly this when anyone tries to repair it."
A trap. This whole thing had been a trap, and she'd walked right into it.
"Can you reverse it?" His power flared as more violent spirits tested his barriers.
She studied the modified pathways, trying to trace them back to their original configuration. It was like trying to untangle a knot while blindfolded, with someone constantly pulling on all the wrong strings.
"Maybe. But not while it's actively drawing souls through." She gestured toward the blazing aperture. "I need you to stop the flow so I can work."
"I can't close what I can't see." Strain roughened his voice with the effort of containing so many displaced souls. "But I can redirect it."
His shadows began moving in new patterns, not trying to hold back the flood but to channel it. Dark tendrils reached toward the ward-lock's opening, weaving themselves into barriers that guided the soul-flow into more manageable streams.
The control was breathtaking. He was conducting a symphony of death magic, each shadow moving with purpose, creating order from chaos. She'd watched street performers juggle fire, seen master craftsmen at work, but this?—
This was power choosing discipline over destruction.
"There," he said through gritted teeth. "Work quickly."
Brynn grabbed the specialized tools from where they'd scattered, her hands trembling only slightly as she approached the modified mechanism. The souls still came through, but now in slow pulses rather than an overwhelming flood.
