Chapter 18: Threads of the Unseen

Ariella barely made it out of the chamber before her knees buckled beneath her. Damian caught her just in time, scooping her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Her head lolled against his shoulder, drained but not unconscious—just overwhelmed by the rush of power that had surged through her.

The hallways of Blackwood Tower were eerily quiet now. The cursed presence had retreated into the walls, leaving behind cold air and flickering shadows.

Damian carried her into one of the old guest wings and gently lowered her onto a chaise beside the hearth. The fire roared to life with a single wave of his hand.

"You're safe now," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Ariella opened her eyes, her voice a soft rasp. "I didn't know I could do that… I felt like I was burning from the inside out."

Damian sat beside her, his expression unreadable. "You channeled Lightblood. That kind of magic is rare—even among the Whitewood lineage. And for someone untrained… you shouldn't have survived it."

She gave a faint, weary smile. "You say the most comforting things."

He smirked, but his eyes remained haunted. "You could've died, Ariella. That kind of raw magic… it doesn't just drain you. It marks you. That creature—the cursed one—it knows you now. It will come back stronger."

"I'm not afraid," she said.

"You should be."

A beat passed. Then her fingers reached out and curled around his hand.

"I was more afraid of not knowing who I was," she said. "For years I thought I was nothing. Just some girl left behind. But now I know… I'm part of something bigger. And so are you."

Damian looked down at their hands. "We were never supposed to meet."

"And yet," she said, "here we are."

A knock came at the door—sharp, measured.

Damian stood instantly. His magic rippled beneath the surface, a reflex.

When he opened the door, it wasn't the stranger in black, or a cursed shade.

It was Margot, the tower's mysterious steward. Her eyes were lined with age and secrets, and she held a letter in her hand—sealed with an unfamiliar crest.

"You need to read this," she said gravely. "It came through the mirror."

Damian frowned. "That mirror shattered."

"And yet," Margot replied, "the realm beyond it hasn't."

He took the letter carefully and unsealed it. The handwriting was ancient—looped, elegant, and signed only with the initial E.

> To the one who carries the seal and the one who carries the key…

Time is thinner than it seems. And soon, the hourglass will shatter. Come to the Ashvale ruins before the next full moon. There, truth will be undone, and destiny will choose between love… or sacrifice.

Choose wisely.

Ariella sat up straighter. "What's in Ashvale?"

Damian didn't answer at first.

Then softly, "The place where the curse began."

Ariella met his gaze, eyes burning with quiet fire. "Then that's where we'll end it."

He nodded, the weight of destiny sinking between them like a second heartbeat.

But neither of them noticed the faint flicker of shadow behind the fireplace—the cursed entity watching, listening, waiting.

And smiling.

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