The Midnight Grimoire

Levi's breath hitched as she sank into sleep—her palm still throbbing faintly with the sigil's heat beneath her skin.

That night, the dream returned.

But it wasn't a memory anymore.

This time, she was Eloria.

She stood barefoot in a snow-dusted forest, robes clinging to her like smoke, flames licking the horizon. A crescent moon pulsed crimson in the sky, and distant voices chanted in a language that was both ancient and intimate.

Ahead, the trees parted to reveal a stone circle etched with glowing symbols. Eloria—Levi—stepped into it.

And a voice, deeper than wind and older than death, whispered:

"The grimoire awaits. Beneath your world, beneath your blood."

Levi gasped and jolted awake.

The dream's afterimage lingered—stone steps, ivy-covered walls, and a silver key that glinted like bone in the moonlight.

Something about it pulled at her. Not metaphorically, but physically. Her mark pulsed with heat, tugging like a compass needle.

Compelled, she rose, dressed, and slipped from her dorm into the night.

The campus was quiet, drenched in fog. No stars. No voices. Only that silent calling in her bones.

She crossed the courtyard and entered the library, heart racing. The door wasn't locked. No one was at the front desk.

Prairie's journal—unbeknownst to Levi—had already been moved.

But Levi didn't head for the archives.

She moved toward the basement stairwell. Her fingers hovered over the keypad—then it beeped once and opened on its own.

Stone steps spiraled downward. The deeper she went, the colder the air grew, until breath frosted on her lips. Her skin prickled with magic.

At the bottom, she found it: a wall covered in ivy, vines pulsing faintly with silver light.

Without thinking, Levi pressed her palm—the one with the sigil—against it.

The vines withered and shrank. The stones trembled.

And a doorway opened.

Inside, there was only one thing: a pedestal with a book floating above it, wrapped in chains of shadow and moonlight.

The Grimoire.

She stepped closer. Her hand trembled as she reached out.

The sigil on her wrist glowed bright.

And the book… whispered her name.

Across town, far from the ivy and echoes of ancient dreams, shadows stretched longer than they should.

The club Rue Pendragon owned—Elysium—sat like a shrine in the city's underbelly. Music pulsed below the streets, but tonight, Rue wasn't there to entertain demons or dance with desperate mortals.

He stood on a rooftop above the warehouse district, coat whipping in the wind, his obsidian eyes fixed on a crumbling tenement.

Beside him, Scout crouched like a wolf ready to strike. His gaze, sharp and gleaming, flicked from window to window.

"He's inside," Scout muttered. "But the wards are old. Sloppy. Blood-bought."

Rue nodded once. "Desperate magic is still magic. But desperation leaks."

They were hunting a mage named Corwin Bale—a name scraped from forgotten covens and excommunicated tomes. He wasn't powerful by Council standards, but he'd recently surfaced, stealing relics from vaults that hadn't been breached in decades.

And worse: he was drawing power from forbidden sources.

"You think he's connected to her awakening?" Scout asked, not needing to name Levi.

"I think he smells it," Rue replied. "And rats always find the first sparks of fire. If he's sniffing around the girl, he's not the only one."

From inside the building, a flicker of red light burst through a window—then a muffled scream.

Rue's eyes narrowed. "He's calling something."

Scout hissed. "Demon?"

Rue almost smiled. "Worse. A memory."

The two moved as one—Rue vanishing into smoke, Scout leaping across rooftops.

Moments later, they burst through the upper floor's window. The room was scorched with runes and blood trails. Corwin stood in the center, hands raised, eyes rolled back. Around him, half-formed shadow creatures screamed in birth-agony, writhing through the air like stitched nightmares.

Rue didn't hesitate.

He raised his hand, and the shadows froze mid-writhe.

"Still playing with ghosts, Corwin?" Rue said, stepping forward.

Corwin snarled, blood leaking from his mouth. "You can't stop it, demon. She's awake. The Wheel turns again."

Rue's voice turned cold. "You shouldn't have said that."

Scout darted in before Corwin could react, and in a blur, slammed him against the wall, pinning him with vampire speed.

Corwin's last words before losing consciousness:

"The moon bleeds again. Just like before."

Rue stared at him for a long time, then whispered to Scout, "He's not just a scavenger. He's a harbinger."

And for the first time in decades, the ancient demon looked… worried.

The chamber was silent—so silent that Levi could hear the sound of her heartbeat echoing off the stone walls. The book hovered above a stone pedestal, its pages fluttering even though there was no wind. Chains of silver and shadow bound it, writhing slowly like living serpents.

The glow from the sigil on her wrist intensified as she took a cautious step forward.

The book pulsed with the same rhythm.

She hesitated. "What are you?" she whispered.

And the grimoire whispered back—in a voice that was not hers, but somehow within her.

"Levi Rose."

She gasped, stumbling back. The whisper had echoed in her mind, bypassing ears entirely. It wasn't threatening. It wasn't warm either. It was old. Knowing. And full of sorrow.

The book trembled and rose higher, the chains snapping away like mist. Glyphs on its surface began to glow—symbols she couldn't read but somehow understood. Blood-bound, moon-forged, fate-tethered.

The sigil on her palm grew unbearably hot. A single drop of blood surfaced from it—unbidden—and floated through the air toward the book.

The moment the drop touched the cover, the grimoire burst open.

Pages flipped in a violent wind, though no breeze stirred the chamber. Symbols and maps flashed past her eyes. Incantations, star charts, and drawings of faces she somehow knew—Eloria's face among them.

Then one page stopped.

Black ink bloomed across parchment like it was being written in real-time.

A prophecy:

The witch born in crimson shall awaken the broken hour.

She will remember what was stolen.

And choose what will be broken.

Levi's legs gave out. She fell to her knees, staring at the book, breathless.

"What does it mean?" she asked aloud.

The grimoire turned another page—and showed an image. A woman burning. A man with horns. A vampire watching from the shadows. A mortal girl with a blade of bone.

All the faces were familiar. All of them were her future.

Then, in the corner of the page, a symbol appeared: the same sigil now burned into her skin.

And beneath it, the words:

You are the gate.