Chapter Twenty Five - Break the Seal

Sierra’s POV

Malick was waiting. She felt him before she saw him — that tether between them pulling taut as she turned the corner into the east wing corridor.

He didn’t greet her. Didn’t even move from where he was leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed, gaze locked on her like a hunter who had already chosen his mark.

“Who is Vorath Kane?”

The name hit like a thrown blade. Sharp. Cold.

Sierra’s steps faltered, but she forced herself forward, keeping her face neutral. “You’ve been digging in places you shouldn’t.”

“Answer me.” His tone was calm, but there was something in it — a thread of urgency he couldn’t hide.

She looked him dead in the eye. “He’s my father.” Malick didn’t blink. “Ruler of dragons. Master of shadows. That’s what I found.”

“Then you know enough.” Her voice was sharper than she intended. “Enough to leave it alone.”

“That’s not enough for me.”

“Too bad,” she said, brushing past him.

“Combat class starts in three minutes. Unless you want to see what happens when you actually do run out of time.” She didn’t wait to see his reaction, but the echo of his voice followed her down the corridor, softer now, almost… pained.

“I’m not afraid of him, Sierra. I’m afraid of what he’s already made you.”

Combat Classroom

The sparring hall buzzed with tension. The Crows were already there.

Elara leaned against a rack of training staffs like she owned the place, twirling one lazily between her fingers. Patricia whispered something in her ear, both of them smirking. Gloria sat apart from them, back in shadow, the faintest curl of a smile tugging at her lips — but not the amused kind. The knowing kind.

Sierra didn’t give them the satisfaction of glancing twice. She just dumped her satchel, rolled her shoulders, and waited for Maiven’s instructions.

“Full contact. Paired match. Shields and spellwork allowed. Don’t waste my time.”

Malick was across the room. Watching but when she caught his eyes, there was something unreadable there. Almost like… worry.

The boy they called Ryn approached her with the swagger of someone who thought pain was something that only happened to other people. “Crowhurst,” he drawled. “Don’t hold back. I like it when they fight dirty.” Her jaw tightened. “You couldn’t keep up if I tried.”

He grinned, swinging first — too close, too fast. She blocked, but the echo of her mother’s voice from the night before stirred like embers in her skull.

Control is an illusion, little shadow.

Ryn struck again.

Then again.

Each hit rattled her more, anger building until her magic was pressing against her skin like a living thing.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Gloria and that wicked smile hadn’t moved. “Come on,” Ryn taunted, circling. “Or are you just Malick’s little—”

The shadows surged.

No warning, no gradual creep — just a violent flood. Cold and heat in the same breath, curling around her spine, pouring into her limbs. Her vision tunneled into pure black edged in silver.

She didn’t remember lunging. She didn’t remember hitting him once — twice — three times.

The next thing she knew, Ryn was sprawled on the floor. Two other students who’d tried to intervene were crumpled beside him, one clutching his ribs, the other unconscious. Sierra’s hands dripped red. The shadows retreated slow, satisfied, purring under her skin.

The hall was silent.

The Crows didn’t laugh this time.

And Gloria… Gloria’s smile had widened.

Sierra bolted.

Branches clawed at her arms as she tore into the forest, lungs burning. Her pulse thudded in her ears, the image of Ryn’s stunned face branded into her vision.

Was that me? Or him? Or something else entirely?

She didn’t stop until the trees grew dense and the air colder. That’s when she saw it — a tall, black figure between the trunks, just far enough away to blur. Its head tilted once, like it was studying her. She blinked — and it was gone.

“Sierra—!” She spun at the sound of his voice. Malick burst through the undergrowth, hair disheveled, eyes sharp with panic. He caught her before she could back away, his hands gripping her arms like he was afraid she’d vanish. “What happened?”

“I—” Her breath hitched. “I don’t know if it was me.” His eyes softened, but his grip didn’t ease. “Then let me believe it was something else.”

Her throat tightened. “And if it wasn’t? What if this is just who I am now?”

“You are not,” he said sharply, leaning closer, “what happened in that hall.”

“You didn’t see me.”

“I saw enough,” he murmured. “I saw the way you ran. Monsters don’t run from themselves, Sierra.”

Something in her chest twisted hard. She wanted to believe him. Gods, she needed to. But the memory of blood on her hands burned too vividly. “I’m scared,” she whispered, barely audible. “Not of them. Of me.”

Malick’s expression broke open — not with pity, but with something fiercer. “Then let me carry some of it. Even if you won’t let me in all the way… let me in here.” He pressed a hand gently over her racing heart.

That was all it took.

Her resolve cracked.

She stepped into him before she could change her mind, her lips finding his with a desperate urgency. He answered without hesitation, his hands sliding up her back, tangling in her hair, pulling her closer until she could feel the steady beat of his heart against her own. The world fell away — the trees, the chill, the lingering metallic tang of fear in her mouth. There was only him, the heat of his body pressed against hers, the way his hands mapped her like he was memorising every inch before it could be taken from him.

She broke for air, their foreheads resting together, both of them breathing hard. His thumb brushed her cheek, his gaze dark and searching, like he could read every thought she’d never dared speak aloud.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep you safe,” he murmured. Her chest ached. She almost told him he didn’t need to. Almost told him she didn’t deserve it. But instead, she cupped his face, fingers trembling against his jaw. “I just… needed to know what it felt like,” she whispered. He stilled, breath catching. “What this felt like?” Her lips curved into the faintest, broken smile. “You.”

And before he could answer, she kissed him again — slower this time, deeper, like she was committing it to memory. His hands tightened at her waist, pulling her flush against him, his mouth moving with hers until the edges between them blurred.

Somewhere in the distance, the forest shifted — a flicker of movement, a shadow slipping between the trees. She didn’t notice. Not yet. A wind stirred, low and cold, threading through the leaves like it carried secrets.

They slowed, their kiss breaking into lingering brushes of lips, softer now, almost hesitant. Malick rested his forehead against hers again, his breath ragged. “You make it so damn hard to let go,” he murmured. Something in her chest twisted tight, but before she could reply, the forest went unnervingly still. No rustle. No birdcall. Just a silence so sharp it made her skin prickle.

Malick noticed it too — she felt the subtle shift in his stance, the way his body angled between her and whatever might be in the dark.

Then she saw it.

Between the trees, a figure stood — tall, cloaked in black, its edges seeming to blur with the shadows themselves. It didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just watched.

The shadows beneath her skin stirred, a low, dangerous hum in her veins. Malick’s grip on her arm tightened. “We need to go.” She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t look away from the faceless thing staring back at her. The wind rose again — and when she blinked, it was gone. Sierra stumbled backward, hands pressed to her temples as the shadows writhed under her skin. Her vision blurred, black tendrils snaking from her fingertips, lashing outward.

“Stay with me,” Malick called, rushing forward, but she swung a hand instinctively. The force slammed him into a tree, and he grunted, barely keeping his footing. “I… I can’t!” she screamed, panic twisting in her chest. The shadows roared like living things, responding to her fear and rage. Branches snapped. Leaves burst into black smoke. Small forest creatures screeched and scattered — or didn’t. A sudden, violent pulse of magic sent a flock of birds tumbling from the trees, and a nearby fox yelped, its body crumpling to the ground.

Sierra’s eyes widened in horror at what she’d done. She tried to will the shadows back, but they only surged, feeding on her fear. Malick, staggering to his feet, charged forward again, keeping his voice steady. “Sierra! You’re not alone! Fight it, please!”

The shadows recoiled for a moment at the sound of his voice, almost listening, but their hunger was too strong. She shook her head violently, tears streaking down her face. “You don’t understand!” she yelled, voice breaking. “I can’t control it!”

And then, suddenly, exhaustion took her. The shadows withdrew for just an instant, and she collapsed to her knees, trembling, gasping for breath. Malick was at her side in an instant, hands steadying her shoulders, looking at her with a mixture of fear and fierce protectiveness. “Shh… It’s okay. I’ve got you. I swear, I’ve got you.” She pressed against him, sobs wracking her body. “I’m… I’m so afraid… of what I am…”

He cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Then let me bear some of that fear with you. You’re not alone.” Her resolve crumbled completely, and she leaned forward, lips finding his with a trembling urgency. This time, the kiss was raw, desperate — more intimate than before, as if they were both clinging to a lifeline. His hands moved over her back, tangling in her hair, holding her like he couldn’t let go.

When they finally slowed, both gasping, Sierra’s lips barely parted from his when a whisper brushed through her mind, alien and faint, not her own, not his: a name she didn’t know. Malick pressed his forehead to hers, eyes searching hers. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it. Together,” he murmured. The shadows still lurked at the edges, whispering, watching — but for the first time, she felt tethered, however tenuously, by him.