Page 33 of Darkbirch Academy

“You take the two on the left, I’ll handle the right,” I say, already moving into position. “On my mark.”

He nods, for once not arguing or questioning my lead. We position ourselves near our respective triggers, watching the pattern unfold once more to confirm the timing.

“Three, two, one, mark,” I call, dropping onto the first trigger point as it rises.

Dayn hits his simultaneously, and I feel the magical current shift around us. I count under my breath, tracking the seconds until I need to move to the second trigger. When I reach fifteen, I launch myself across the room, landing precisely as the stone rises to meet me.

Again, Dayn matches my timing perfectly. The blue glow in the walls intensifies, and the whining sound changes pitch, becoming almost musical. The concentric circles in the floor begin to rotate in alternating directions, creating a disorienting visual effect.

“It’s working,” Dayn calls over the noise. “The dimensional fold is beginning to open.”

The center of the chamber seems to blur, reality itself becoming indistinct as the fold forms. Through the distortion, I glimpse something solid—a pedestal perhaps, with an object resting upon it.

Suddenly, a new sound cuts through the chamber—a sharp cracking that echoes from all directions. The floor beneath my feet trembles violently, and several of the crystal fixtures crash down from the ceiling, shattering on impact.

“What’s happening?” I shout, dodging falling debris.

“The chamber’s protections are fighting the opening!” Dayn moves toward the center, where the dimensional fold continues to widen despite the increasing chaos. “The fold is unstable!”

A large section of ceiling gives way, massive stones plummeting toward us. I react instinctively, diving across the rotating floor sections to knock Dayn clear of the impact zone. We hit the ground hard, rolling away as the stones crash down where he had been standing.

“I thought you knew what you were doing,” I hiss, pulling myself to my feet.

“The chamber shouldn’t be reacting this way.” For the first time, I hear genuine confusion in his voice. “Unless—” He breaks off, scanning the walls with renewed intensity. “There’s a secondary trigger system. A failsafe we activated along with the fold.”

Another violent tremor shakes the chamber, and a fissure opens in the floor between us and the center where the dimensional fold continues to waver. Behind the fold, I can now clearly see a pedestal holding what appears to be a small, dark object—the Relic of Severance.

“We need that relic,” I remind him, calculating the distance across the growing fissure.

“We need to survive first.” Dayn points to a section of wall that has begun to glow red rather than blue. “That’s the failsafe trigger. If we can deactivate it, the chamber should stabilize.”

I follow his gesture, identifying the now-pulsing section of intricate metalwork. The patterns remind me of something I’ve seen before—not in Heathborne’s library, but in mygrandmother’s grimoire. Blood magic principles repurposed into binding runes.

“I can disable it,” I decide, already moving along the edge of the room toward the glowing section.

“How?” Dayn’s skepticism is clear even through the chaos.

“Just keep that fold open!” I reach the wall, examining the pulsing runes up close. They’re indeed a hybrid system—ancient binding magic infused with more recent blood-based protections. A trap designed specifically to kill anyone trying to access the relic.

I pull my knife from its sheath, examining its edge in the fluctuating light. Not ideal, but it will serve the purpose. With practiced precision, I slice across my palm, letting blood well up before pressing my hand directly against the center of the pattern.

The reaction is immediate. The red glow intensifies, burning against my skin, but I hold firm, focusing my will through the blood connection. I’m not using darkblood magic exactly—that would be detected instantly by Heathborne’s wards—but something older, something my grandmother taught me that walks the line between tradition and instinct.

The pattern fights me, trying to complete its deadly sequence, but blood responds to blood. The runes begin to dim, their power redirecting through my offered sacrifice rather than into the chamber’s destruction sequence.

When I finally pull my hand away, the wall has gone dark, and the violent tremors subside. The dimensional fold at the center stabilizes, its edges crisp and clear rather than wavering.

Dayn stands at the edge of the now-stationary fissure,staring at me with an expression I can’t quite interpret. “How did you know that would work?”

I wipe my bloodied palm on my pants, the cut already clotting. “Salem family tradition. We’ve been dismantling clearblood traps for generations.”

He studies me a moment longer before turning back to the dimensional fold. “The relic is accessible now, but the fold won’t remain stable for long.”

I move to stand beside him, looking across the narrow fissure to where reality bends around the ancient pedestal. “So how do we reach it?”

“We don’t.” Dayn pulls a small crystal from his pocket. “We bring it to us.”

He holds the crystal up, angling it so light reflects through its facets and into the fold. The beam seems to stretch impossibly, crossing the dimensional barrier to touch the relic on its pedestal. For a moment, nothing happens. Then the small dark object—what I can now see is a polished stone disk etched with intricate markings—begins to glow in response.

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