The scream wasn’t sound.
It was feeling—a raw, jagged pulse of agony that tore through my skull, my bones, my soul. It didn’t come from the vellum, not exactly. It came from the magic itself—ancient, chained, cursed—ripping free from centuries of silence, of suppression, of blood-soaked lies. The grimoire trembled in Kael’s hands. The sigils on its flesh-bound cover flared crimson, writhing like living veins. The torches along the archive walls snuffed out in a single breath, plunging us into darkness so thick it pressed against my skin like a living thing.
And then—
The curse spoke.
Not in words. Not in language. But in memory. In truth. In the voice of my mother—broken, gasping, pleading—as it echoed through the bond, through the blood, through the very air around us.
“He calls it love,” she whispered, her voice raw with pain. “But it’s hunger. It’s need. It’s a leash made of magic and blood. He doesn’t want me. He wants what I can give him. My power. My storm. My blood.”
I staggered back, clutching my head, my vision blurring. The bond flared—not with desire, not with warmth—but with grief. With recognition. With the unbearable weight of what she’d endured. Kael reached for me, but I flinched. Not from fear of him. But from the horror of what I was hearing.
“He says I’m his,” her voice continued, trembling. “But I’m not. I never was. I’m Tide’s. I’m the storm. I’m free. And when she comes—when my daughter comes—she’ll break the chain. Not the man. The chain.”
“Stop it,” I choked, tears burning my eyes. “Stop showing me this.”
But the curse didn’t stop.
It wanted to be seen.
It wanted to be heard.
And it wasn’t done.
The vellum in Kael’s hands began to move—unfurling on its own, the wax seal cracking, the ink bleeding into new shapes, new words, new horrors. The contract wasn’t just a binding. It was a consumption. A ritual that didn’t just enslave the body—it devoured the soul. Every time Vexen fed, every time he used her magic, every time he called her name, he took a piece of her. Not just her power. Her memories. Her laughter. Her love. Her life.
And at the center of it—
The name.
Not Kael. Not Elion.
Vexen Valen.
Written in blood—her blood—etched into the parchment like a brand. And beneath it, a single phrase, pulsing with dark magic:
“By blood and bone, by storm and stone, the bond is mine. The soul is mine. The daughter is mine.”
My breath stopped.
“He wants me,” I whispered, horror clawing up my throat. “Not just to break the bond. Not just to destroy Kael. He wants me. My blood. My magic. My storm.”
Kael didn’t flinch. Just stepped closer, his presence a steady weight against the chaos. “Then he’ll have to go through me,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “And he’ll die trying.”
“You don’t understand,” I said, voice breaking. “This isn’t just about power. It’s about legacy. He’s not just a monster. He’s a father. And he sees me as his heir.”
“He’s not your father,” Kael snapped. “He’s a parasite. A thief. A killer. And he will not have you.”
The grimoire trembled again. The sigils flared. And then—
A whisper.
Not from the contract.
Not from the bond.
From him.
“You’re mine, little storm,” Vexen’s voice slithered through the darkness, smooth as silk, cold as ice. “You’ve always been mine. Your mother was weak. She broke. But you—you’re strong. You’re fire. You’re lightning. You’re everything I’ve waited for.”
I didn’t scream.
Didn’t run.
Just reached for the storm.
Lightning arced from my fingertips, slamming into the grimoire, tearing through the flesh-bound cover, igniting the pages in violet flame. The curse screamed again—this time in rage—and the fire snuffed out in an instant, the book unharmed, the ink unmarred.
“It’s protected,” Kael said, his voice tight. “Blood magic. Old magic. It won’t burn.”
“Then we tear it apart,” I said, stepping forward. “We rip it to pieces. We scatter the ashes to the wind.”
“And if it’s linked to her soul?” he asked, his hand finding mine. “If destroying it destroys her?”
I froze.
Because he was right.
And that was the worst part.
The curse wasn’t just a document. It was a part of her. A piece of her soul, bound to Vexen’s will. Destroy it, and I might destroy the last trace of her. The last whisper of her voice. The last flicker of her magic.
And I couldn’t do that.
Not after everything.
Not after her last words.
Break the chain. Not the man.
“Then we break the bond,” I said, voice steady. “We sever the link. We free her. And we let the curse die with him.”
Kael didn’t argue. Just nodded. “The name. The blood. The bond. That’s how it was forged. That’s how it must be broken.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“Then we die trying,” he said. “But we die together.”
I didn’t flinch. Just placed my hand over the vellum again, my fingers trembling. “Then let’s do it.”
We didn’t speak. Didn’t hesitate. Just began.
Kael sliced open his palm again, his blood—rich, ancient, laced with sorrow—dripping onto the parchment. I did the same, my storm-born magic surging into the bond, into the blood, into the curse. The moment our blood touched, the bond roared—not with pain, not with warning, but with recognition. Like it had been waiting for this. Like it had been built for this.
And then—
The ritual began.
Not with words. Not with spells.
With memory.
The bond flared—warm, deep, alive—and suddenly, I wasn’t in the archive anymore.
I was in the dungeon.
My mother knelt on the cold stone, her wrists bound in iron, her storm-gray eyes blazing with defiance. Vexen stood over her, his fangs bared, his hands dripping with blood magic. And Kael—no, Elion—was there too, younger, paler, his eyes wide with horror.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, voice shaking. “She’s not yours. She’s not a weapon. She’s a woman.”
“And you’re a disappointment,” Vexen sneered, backhanding him across the face. “A weakling. A sentimentalist. You’ll never be strong enough to rule.”
Elion didn’t flinch. Just stepped between them, shielding my mother. “Then I’ll die protecting her,” he said. “But I won’t let you break her.”
Vexen laughed—a cold, hollow sound. “You can’t stop me. The bond is already forged. The curse is already sealed. She’s mine. And when the storm wakes, her daughter will be mine too.”
My mother looked at Elion—just once—and whispered, “Elara.”
And then—
The vision shattered.
I gasped, staggering back, my heart hammering. Kael caught me, his arms wrapping around me, his body shielding mine. “You saw it,” he said, voice rough. “You saw what he did. What he tried to do.”
“You protected her,” I whispered, tears burning my eyes. “Even then. Even when you were just a boy.”
“I failed,” he said, voice breaking. “I couldn’t save her. But I’ll save you. I swear it.”
The bond flared again—warm, deep, alive—and this time, I didn’t fight it.
I let it pull me in.
Another memory.
My mother, alone in her cell, writing in her journal. Her hands were trembling, her breath shallow, but her eyes—her eyes were alive. She wrote—furious, desperate—and as she wrote, the words glowed, rising from the page like smoke, forming a sigil in the air.
And at the center of it—his name.
Elion.
She whispered it like a prayer. Like a spell. Like a key turning in a lock.
And then—
The sigil flared.
The dungeon shook.
And the bond—ancient, cursed, chained—shattered.
But only for a moment.
Only long enough for her to whisper one last thing into the void:
“Break the chain. Not the man.”
And then—
The vision ended.
I was back in the archive, my body trembling, my breath ragged. Kael held me, his hands gripping my arms, his obsidian eyes searching mine. “She knew,” he said, voice raw. “She knew the bond could free her. That it could break the curse. That I could save her.”
“And you didn’t know,” I said.
“No,” he said. “But I do now. And now we have a choice.”
“To destroy the bond,” I said. “Or to use it.”
He nodded. “To break the curse. To free her soul. To burn my father to ash.”
I stared at him. At the man who had once been my enemy. At the boy who had brought my mother water. At the vampire who had whispered her name like a prayer.
And for the first time, I didn’t see a monster.
I saw a weapon.
And I wanted to wield him.
“Then we do it,” I said, stepping forward. “We break the bond. We free her. And we end him.”
He didn’t argue. Just placed his palm over the vellum again, his blood mingling with mine. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive—and this time, I didn’t hesitate.
I poured everything into it—my magic, my grief, my rage, my love. The storm answered, lightning crackling over my skin, the air thick with ozone and power. The grimoire trembled. The sigils flared. And then—
The curse screamed.
Not in rage.
Not in pain.
But in fear.
And then—
The vellum tore.
Not from fire. Not from force.
From within.
The ink bled, the parchment split, the blood seal cracked—and from the center of the contract, a single drop of liquid light rose, hovering in the air like a tear.
My mother’s soul.
Trapped. Broken. But free.
I reached for it—slowly, gently—and as my fingers brushed the light, a whisper filled the air, soft, warm, filled with love:
“Break the chain. Not the man. Love him, Tide. Love him like I couldn’t. Love him like you were meant to.”
Tears streamed down my face.
And then—
The light dissolved.
Not into nothing.
Into me.
Not her body. Not her memories. But her essence. Her magic. Her love. Her storm.
And in that moment—I was whole.
The bond flared—warm, deep, alive—but this time, it wasn’t a chain.
It was a bridge.
Kael looked at me—his eyes wide, his breath ragged. “You feel it,” he said. “The bond—it’s changed.”
“It’s not broken,” I said, voice soft. “It’s free.”
He stepped closer, his hand lifting, his thumb brushing my cheek. “And you?”
“I’m free too,” I whispered. “And I’m not alone.”
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled me into his arms, his body shielding mine, his breath warm against my neck. The bond hummed—warm, deep, alive—not with magic, not with fate, but with something deeper.
Love.
And then—
The ground shook.
Not from the storm.
Not from magic.
From him.
“You think you’ve won?” Vexen’s voice boomed through the archive, shaking the stone, cracking the walls. “You think a broken contract and a dead woman’s soul can stop me? I am eternal. I am power. I am blood.”
Kael didn’t flinch. Just stepped in front of me, his body a shield. “Then come,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Come and see what your son and your prey can do.”
The air thickened. The shadows deepened. And then—
He appeared.
Not in flesh. Not in blood.
But in shadow.
Vexen Valen—ancient, monstrous, his eyes glowing red, his fangs bared, his hands dripping with blood magic. He wasn’t just a vampire.
He was a curse.
And he was here to claim what he believed was his.
“You don’t get to have her,” he snarled, his gaze locking onto me. “She’s mine. The storm. The blood. The legacy. She’s mine.”
“No,” I said, stepping forward, my magic crackling over my skin. “I’m not yours. I never was. I’m mine. And I’m his.”
He laughed—a cold, hollow sound. “Then prove it.”
And then—
He lunged.
Kael moved first—Shadow Veil snapping around him, folding space, carrying him across the stone in a heartbeat. Their bodies collided—fist against fang, blood against shadow, son against father. The archive shook. The grimoire flew from the chest, pages fluttering like wings. The torches flared, then died.
And I—
I was fire.
Lightning arced from my hands, striking Vexen with precision. He roared, his body convulsing, his blood magic unraveling. But he didn’t fall. Just turned, his eyes blazing, his fangs bared.
“You’re strong,” he hissed. “But you’re not strong enough.”
“Maybe not,” I said, stepping forward. “But I’m not alone.”
Kael was at my side in an instant, his hand finding mine, the bond flaring—warm, deep, alive. Our magic merged—storm and blood, fire and ice, life and death—forming a single, pulsing force.
And then—
We attacked.
Together.
Not as enemies.
Not as captor and prisoner.
As one.
The storm broke that night.
Not metaphorically.
For real.
And in the silence between the thunder—
A whisper.
Not from the storm.
From the bond.
“We are free.”