The Salt-Stained Seal

The Oakhaven docks were a graveyard of rusted cranes and skeletal ships, haunted by the constant, rhythmic mourning of the foghorns. The air here was thick with the scent of brine and something sharper—the metallic tang of Valerii magic.

Dante killed the headlights a mile away. We moved through the shadows like a pair of ghosts. He moved with a predatory grace that made no sound, while I struggled to keep my boots from crunching on the sea-salt crusted gravel.

"Warehouse 9 is at the very end of the pier," Dante whispered, pulling me behind a stack of shipping containers. "The water there is deep. Ligeia’s sirens will be waiting in the depths. If you fall in, I can’t reach you. The shadows don't travel well through moving water."

"I don't plan on taking a swim," I whispered back, checking the weight of the silver dagger in my belt.

As we approached the warehouse, the temperature plummeted. This wasn't the natural chill of the ocean; it was the freezing aura of the Void-Walkers. They were already here, guarding the perimeter for my father and the Valerii.

"I’ll clear the path," Dante said. He looked at me, his silver eyes glowing with a faint, dangerous light. "Stay three paces behind me. If I tell you to run, you don't look back. You head for the car and you drive. Do you understand?"

"Dante"

"Promise me, Elara."

"I promise," I lied.

Dante stepped out from the shadows. He didn't use a gun. He simply raised his hands, and the darkness beneath the shipping containers rose up like a tidal wave. The two Void-Walker sentries at the door didn't even have time to hiss before the shadows coiled around their throats and snapped them like dry twigs.

We slipped inside through a side door. The warehouse was a cavernous space filled with the sound of chanting. In the center of the floor, a massive circular seal had been etched into the concrete, glowing with a sickly, pulsating green light.

My father stood at the edge of the seal, looking older and more pathetic than ever. Beside him stood Ligeia Valerii, her sea-foam hair whipping around her face as if she were underwater.

"You’re late, Dante," Ligeia called out, her voice echoing with a hypnotic, melodic shimmer. "We’ve already begun the ritual. The Shadow-Heart is singing to us."

"The only thing you'll hear tonight is the sound of your own screaming, Ligeia," Dante stepped into the light, his presence filling the warehouse.

My father’s eyes landed on me, and for a second, I saw a flash of regret. "Elara... honey, come here. We’re doing this for us. Once the Heart is open, we won't be servants to the Vanes anymore. We’ll be the masters of Oakhaven again!"

"You sold me to a monster, Dad," I said, my voice shaking with a cold fury. "And in doing so, you turned me into one, too."

"Enough talk!" Ligeia shrieked. She raised her hands, and the water from the harbor outside began to burst through the floorboards, forming literal blades of liquid that hovered in the air.

The battle was a blur of violence. Dante became a whirlwind of violet energy, clashing against Ligeia’s water-blades. The sound of magic hitting magic was like thunderclaps inside a drum.

I saw my father backing away toward the center of the seal. He was holding a small, obsidian box—the housing for the Shadow-Heart. He was trying to use a drop of his own blood to unlock it, but the seal was rejecting him. It was pulsing violently, the green light turning a poisonous red.

"It needs a Scribe's touch!" Ligeia yelled, dodging a shadow-tendril. "Get the girl!"

Two Valerii enforcers lunged for me. I didn't think. I didn't hesitate. I pulled my silver dagger and slashed at the first one’s arm.

Static.

As the blade bit into his skin, a vision slammed into my mind—not of the past, but of his immediate intent. I saw him lunging left. I stepped right, and his own momentum carried him past me. I drove the hilt of the dagger into the back of his head, sending him sprawling.

But the second enforcer was faster. He tackled me, pinning me toward the edge of the glowing seal.

"Dante!" I cried out.

Dante turned, distracted for a split second. That was all Ligeia needed. She sent a massive pillar of pressurized water slamming into his chest. He flew backward, crashing into a stack of wooden crates, his shadow-aura flickering and dying out.

"No!"

The enforcer dragged me toward the seal. My father was waiting, his eyes wild. "Just touch it, Elara! Just unlock the box and it all ends! We can go home!"

The enforcer forced my hand down toward the obsidian box. The moment my fingers brushed the stone, the world exploded.

It wasn't static this time. It was a scream.

The Shadow-Heart wasn't an object. It was a memory—a memory of the first Vane, who had been betrayed by his own people and locked away in the dark. The pain was so intense I felt my own skin starting to crack. The seal under our feet began to shatter the concrete.

"It's too much!" I screamed.

The energy was back-lashing, turning the Valerii enforcers into salt statues where they stood. My father was thrown back by the shockwave, hitting the wall and falling unconscious.

I was the only one left holding it. The power was tearing me apart, but through the haze of green and red light, I saw Dante.

He was struggling to stand, his shirt torn, blood leaking from a cut on his forehead. He looked at the chaos, at the ancient power spiraling out of control, and he didn't run.

He ran toward me.

"Elara, let go!" he shouted.

"I can't! It’s locked onto me!"

The Shadow-Heart was feeding on my life force. Dante reached the edge of the seal, the magical pressure forcing him to his knees. He looked at my hand, then at my face.

He knew. If he touched me to pull me away, his curse would hit me. If he didn't, the Heart would hollow me out.

"Trust me," he whispered.

He didn't grab my hand. Instead, he placed his palm flat against the seal itself. He channeled every ounce of his dark, rotting power directly into the floor. He wasn't trying to fight the Heart; he was trying to kill the magic that powered the seal.

The concrete beneath him turned to black ash. The green light flickered, turned grey, and died.

The obsidian box fell from my hands, clattering to the floor, silent and dark.

The silence that followed was deafening. I collapsed, my legs giving out, but before I could hit the hard floor, I felt a pair of strong, solid arms catch me.

I gasped, looking up. Dante was holding me. His skin was touching mine—his bare hands against my shoulders.

I waited for the agony. I waited for the rot to set in, for my skin to wither under the Shadow-Walker’s curse.

But it didn't come.

There was only warmth. A deep, thrumming heat that filled the empty spaces in my soul.

Dante was staring at his own hands in shock. The black veins that usually pulsed under his skin had receded. For the first time in ten years, he was touching another human being.

"How?" he breathed, his silver eyes wide with wonder.

I reached up, my fingers trembling, and touched his cheek. His skin was soft, real, and vibrant. "The Scribe's Mark," I whispered. "I didn't just read the history of the Heart, Dante. I think... I think I rewrote yours."

The moment was broken by the sound of sirens—not Ligeia’s magical ones, but the real, human police.

Dante stood up, pulling me with him. He looked at my unconscious father, then at the shattered warehouse. The curse wasn't gone forever—I could see the shadows already starting to crawl back toward his fingertips—but the barrier had been broken.

"We have to go," Dante said, his voice regaining its steel.

He picked up the obsidian box and tucked it under his arm. This time, when he led me to the car, he didn't stay five feet away. He kept his hand firmly in mine.

The war for Oakhaven had only just begun, but as we drove away from the burning pier, I knew one thing for certain.

The monster had a heart. And it belonged to me.