Page 84 of Salem's Fall
A select few men step forward, lighting red candles on the altar. The flames flicker oddly at first, as if resisting, shadows rippling over Lucien’s face, carving it into something terrifying. With each new candle lit, the energy in the room thickens, coiling like a snake ready to strike. Lucien raises his hands, and the chanting softens, falling to a near whisper as his voice rises, powerful and commanding.
“To the East,” he says, his voice reverberating off the stone walls, “I call upon the Watchtower of Air. Bring forth your winds, your clarity, your vision.”
A gust of wind sweeps through the chamber, icy and piercing. It cuts right through me, chilling me to the bone as I feel it coil around my limbs like invisible chains.
Lucien pivots to face the other direction. He lifts his arms higher, his voice deepening. “To the West, I call upon the Watchtower of Water. Bring forth your wisdom, your healing, your depths.”
A dampness fills the chamber, and from the corners of the stone ceiling, water begins to drip, darkening the ground in small, growing puddles. The smell of earth and wet stone fills my lungs. It feels as though I’m underwater for an instant,drowning in the weight of whatever dark forces Lucien is unleashing.
“To the North,” he continues. “I call upon the Watchtower of Earth. Bring forth your strength, your endurance, your guardianship.”
A rumble echoes beneath my feet, a deep, pulsing tremor like an earthquake, that makes the ground shift and crack beneath us. Dust rains down from the ceiling as the stone floor quivers, the walls seeming to close in, more solid and impenetrable than ever.
Lucien closes his eyes, and a note of finality enters his voice. “To the South, I call upon the Watchtower of Fire. Bring forth your fury, your courage, your transformation,” he says and the temperature in the chamber spikes, a sudden, oppressive heat filling the air. Sweat beads along my brow, a suffocating heat pressing down on us, as though the walls themselves have caught fire.
Lucien turns back toward the altar, his eyes gleaming. One by one, each blood-red candle flares up almost to the ceiling, a violent burst of light that seems to reach for something unseen.
I blink, struggling to adjust to the dim red glow that now fills the room. The Veil members hardly flinch, keeping their focus on the ritual, but their faces are tense, eyes darting as the atmosphere tightens with an eerie tension.
“Bring forth the sacrifice,” Lucien orders.
Two masked men step forward from the shadows and grip Damien by the shoulders, dragging him toward the center of the altar. He doesn’t resist, but there’s a defiance in his gaze as he locks eyes with me. The calm resolve in his face sends a wave of nausea through me. He’s accepted this, accepted his death, all for me.
His eyes don’t leave mine. “If things were different… if we had more time...” he says softly, his voice barely audible over the chanting. “I would’ve given you the world.”
I can’t bear it. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, my heart thudding while I reach for Maddie. She whimpers in my arms, and I watch, barely able to breathe, as the dark masked figures sway in unison, hands lifted toward the altar. The air fills with an unnatural energy that skates along my skin like a static charge.
Panic claws at me, wild and suffocating, as I watch Damien at the altar. He doesn’t fight, doesn’t struggle—he just lets them press him against the cold stone. The masked figures hold his arms tight at his sides as Lucien steps forward, eyes gleaming with triumph. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts the knife high, the polished blade catching the crimson candlelight.
“No—please!” I scream.“Stop!”
Lucien’s gaze shifts to me, and I see an almost imperceptible smile playing at his lips.
Then, all at once, the flames erupt.
The underground chamber plunges into chaos as the candles at the altar flare dangerously, flames shooting up in a torrent of fire like the wicks have been doused in gasoline. The heat is sudden, blistering. The entire place erupts into screams as the flames climb the walls and race along the floor, licking the stone like a ravenous creature unleashed, igniting robes and hoods of the masked Veil men standing all around me. All hell breaks loose as the men shove and trip over one another, desperate to escape the sudden blaze.
I watch in horror as one man behind me is engulfed in flames and stumbles forward, his hands clawing at his face, writhing in agony as the fire consumes him. He collapses to the ground, his screams echoing, piercing and guttural. Skin blackens then blisters under the relentless heat before he finally collapses in a smoldering heap, his body charred and lifeless. The acrid smell of burning flesh and fabric invades my senses, turning my stomach.
I pull Maddie close, shielding her from the sight, but I can’t unsee it—the twisted, blackened remains of what was once a person.
Thick, acrid haze fills the air, burning my throat as I struggle to see through the frenzy. Amid the shifting smoke, I spot Lucien. His face is illuminated by the raging fire, twistedin something close to satisfaction. His arms lift dramatically, his voice booming as he calls for order, demanding the Veil members calm down, but the gleam in his eyes betrays him. He’s reveling in this. He wanted this destruction.
And then, suddenly, he’s beside me.
A flash of silver—a blade raised high above Maddie. Fear slams into me, sharp and paralyzing, and I cry out. For a terrible second, I think he’s going to strike her down. But then, with a flick of his wrist, the knife slices through her bindings. He grabs me and shoves me roughly toward Damien.
“Get them out of here!” he orders his brother.
Damien hesitates, his brows furrowing. “But the knife?—”
Lucien doesn’t even pause. He seizes a masked man at random—one scrambling to escape the flames—and, with ruthless precision, plunges the blade straight into his heart. The man gasps, a wet, choked sound, eyes wide with shock. Lucien yanks the knife free and shoves the dying man into the fire.
“It’s done.” His voice is eerily calm as he drags the blade across the sole of his shoe, smearing away the blood in one deliberate stroke. “The Veil has its sacrifice. Now go.”
I hesitate, disoriented, heart hammering, mind racing. This has to be a trick. Lucien doesn’t save people. He doesn’t do mercy. But Damien wastes no time. His arm hooks around my waist, anchoring me to his side.
“Thank you,” he whispers to his brother.
