Chapter 49

The river wound north like a silver knife through the land.

For days they followed it, through frostbitten valleys and silent forests, over jagged hills where nothing stirred but crows. Above them, the moon swelled, fat and heavy, its pale glow turning slowly crimson as night after night passed.

When they reached the cliffs, the wind died.

There, carved into the stone like a wound in the world, waited the Black Gate.

It was vast.

Black iron twisted into an arch of fangs and claws, runes pulsing along its edges like veins of dying fire. Chains thicker than a man’s body bound it shut, but they trembled now, rattling faintly, as if something on the other side was clawing to get out.

The ground stank of old blood.

Edgar stepped forward, heart pounding.

“Are we ready for this?” Seraphine murmured.

Magnet Man flexed his fists.

“Never.”

The Professor touched the gate lightly, murmuring a prayer under his breath.

“It will demand a price.”

Edgar clenched his jaw.