The ruins of the old monastery rose before them like broken bones jutting from the earth, its stone walls scorched and crawling with vines. Once a sacred ground for witches, it had been abandoned after the last blood war—its sanctity lost in flame and betrayal. Now, it served as the meeting place for the uneasy alliance between the witches and the vampires.
Lyra tightened her cloak, the cold wind seeping into her bones, carrying the scent of ash and something older—like secrets waiting to be unearthed. Raven walked beside her, silent, his eyes flicking across the shadows that curled along the edges of the shattered archways.
"They'll be watching us," he said. "Waiting for a reason to tear this apart."
"They already have a hundred reasons," Lyra murmured. "We just have to give them one to stay."
They stepped into the hollow cathedral, where moonlight pooled through a gash in the ceiling, casting pale light over the gathered circle. Vampires cloaked in midnight stood opposite witches wrapped in thorns and silk. No one spoke.
Until she did.
Lyra stepped forward, unflinching. "We have a common enemy now. One that doesn't care what blood runs through your veins or what magic you were born into."
An older vampire narrowed his eyes. "You speak of the relic."
"I speak of what's waking because of it," she corrected. "The thing in the veil—the one that marked us. It's not done."
A witch with silver braids and ink-stained fingers lifted her chin. "Then let it come. We've endured worse.
"No," Raven said suddenly, voice sharp. "You haven't."
Silence cracked through the room.
"You haven't heard it whisper your name," he continued. "You haven't felt it gnaw at your sanity or dig claws into your soul while you sleep. We have. And we're telling you—it's growing."
He looked at Lyra, then back at the circle. "If we don't learn to fight together, the prophecy won't be the only thing that breaks. The realms will."
The witch leader studied them both. "You say you're bonded. Prove it."
Lyra hesitated. "How?"
"Join your magic here. Now. Let the old seal bear witness."
Raven didn't hesitate. He extended his hand, palm up, glowing faintly with his night-tinted essence. Lyra took it, and the moment their fingers met, the air around them trembled.
A circle of symbols flared beneath their feet, ancient and pulsing. The monks of old had once used this place to test truths—and now it would test them.
Lyra summoned her magic, flame and frost curling through her veins. Raven's power met hers—shadow and pulse and heat. The two magics clashed, then spun into each other, coiling like twin serpents, threading through the air like music only the earth could understand.
The relic inside Lyra's satchel pulsed in response.
A beam of light burst from the circle, shooting toward the open ceiling, splitting the night sky like a wound. And just like that, the seal recognized them.
A Guardian of the Rift stepped from the shadows—uninvited.
"This bond will either save you or unmake all of you," it warned. "Your enemies are not just waking—they are listening."
Then it vanished.
The circle dissolved, leaving stunned silence.
A vampire warrior stepped forward, grudgingly. "We fight together."
Then a witch. "Until the end."
Raven let go of Lyra's hand, but the bond pulsed between them like a tether under the skin. She could feel him even without touching him.
Later, alone by the remains of a broken stained-glass window, Raven found her again. "You held back," he said quietly.
"So did you."
They stood in the ruins, watching the stars shiver in the sky.
"This bond," Lyra said, voice low, "it's not just magic anymore."
Raven looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes. "I know."
"Do you ever wonder what we'd be without it?"
His smile was small. "I do. But I think I'd still find you. Even in a world without prophecy. Even in a world without fate."
Her breath caught.
But before she could speak, the earth trembled.
A distant horn blew from the north—three short notes, then silence.
The first battle was coming.