Page 60 of The Blood Rites

fractures must mend.

light to dark.

dark to light.

broken cycle.

tainted power.

hunger. hunger.

not enough. never enough.

Kael’s grip tightens, panic breaking cleanly across his face now. He tries to pull me towards him, but every movement shatters the world further. White becomes black. Black becomes white. The dream folds inwards on itself, collapsing beneath the strain of both voices tearing at it.

And beneath all of it, I feel the second presence searching for me.

Not the Mother Shard, but something else entirely. Something wounded. Something furious.

Then the dream tears apart completely.

I wake gasping.

The ceiling is a riot of fresh cracks, branching out like veins. They pulse faintly with golden light.

My hands are shaking.

Copper coats the back of my tongue, though when I touch my mouth there is no blood left behind. The wound has already healed, if there ever was one at all.

For a long time, I lie there staring upwards, trying to piece the dream back together.

The second voice lingers most clearly in my mind. Not the Mother Shard, but the other one—the broken thing beneath the water.

Fragments of its words still drift through my thoughts, tangled and incomplete. A warning. A plea. Maybe both.

Fractures must mend.

The words settle deep beneath my ribs, heavy with the certainty that this will not be the last time I hear that voice.

Worse still, I think it was searching for me.

The Dome is strangely empty for our final day.

There are no overseers in sight. Even the constant hum of the Embrace seems muted.

Marissa and I have the vast floor to ourselves. Our footsteps echo through the space like we’re already haunting it.

She stands in the centre of the room, the overhead light sharpening her features into something older. She has her hands raised, face taut. I circle around her, trying my best to look the part, despite spending the morning piecing myself back together.

“Shield,” I say. “You need to be fast. It’s no use if the knife is already in your chest.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, and a drop of sweat slides down her temple as a faint pulse of golden light shimmers beyond her fingertips.

“That’s it,” I encourage. “You’ve got it. Now, faster.”

She laughs, the sound rattled with nerves.

“I don’t see you channelling anything,” she taunts.