The crimson moon rose like a wound across the night sky, casting an unnatural glow over the school grounds. The air felt heavy—as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Inside her small, candlelit apartment on the school's eastern wing, Amara stood before a mirror, her fingers trembling as she buttoned the last piece of her black cloak. Her eyes flicked up. The reflection staring back didn't look like a teacher. Or a woman. She looked like a vessel—half woman, half curse.
Behind her, Damon stepped in quietly, holding his breath. He had seen many faces of Amara, but this one—the quiet, frightened version—cut him deepest.
"You don't have to go through this alone," he said, gently resting a hand on her shoulder.
Amara met his gaze in the mirror. "You already know I do."
"No," he whispered. "This time, I won't let you."
They stood in silence, the flickering candle between them dancing like a warning.
Downstairs, Nyla and Elara prepared the sigils. Sacred salts were spread in a perfect circle across the gymnasium floor, layered with ash, bloodroot, and the last petals of moonflowers stolen from the witch's garden years ago.
Elara crouched over the symbols, her forehead glistening with sweat. "Are you sure this will hold her?"
"No," Nyla replied, honestly. "But it will slow her down."
Liora arrived, her face shadowed with uncertainty.
"I'm here to help," she said.
Elara raised a brow. "Didn't think you'd show up."
"I thought about exposing her again," Liora said. "But I realized… she's not the only one hiding something. This whole school is a tomb of secrets."
"And tonight," Nyla added, "some of those secrets will rise."
As the final sigils were completed, Amara entered, Damon at her side. The moment she stepped into the circle, the candles flared violently. The book—the Grimoire—lay open on the altar, its pages bleeding words that weren't there seconds before.
"She's close," Nyla said, eyes narrowing. "The witch is watching."
Suddenly, the air shifted. A laugh—low, feminine, and cruel—whispered across the room.
The lights flickered.
The shadows moved.
From the darkest corner, she stepped out.
The Witch.
Her form was tall, draped in a veil of smoke and silk, her skin pulsing with veins of lightless magic. Her eyes were voids. Her smile could slit the sky.
"Darling Amara," she purred. "You've called me home."
Amara's body trembled, but she stood tall. "This is your last night among us."
The witch chuckled. "Oh, sweet child. You invited me here. You begged for me. And now you think you can erase what we made together?"
Damon stepped forward. "She's not yours."
The witch's gaze sliced into him. "Ah. The boy. Still clinging to something broken."
"You used her," Elara snapped. "And now we're ending it."
The witch floated forward, just outside the salt circle. "You think this chalk and ash can stop me? I've danced with kings, whispered into the mouths of gods, and bled stars dry. You are gnats."
Nyla stepped forward, her hands glowing. "Then let's see how a gnat stings."
She threw the first strike—light and fire. It hit the salt line and erupted into a wall of flame. The witch hissed, recoiling.
The circle flared brighter.
Amara screamed.
Her body bent backward, lifted by invisible force. The witch laughed again.
"Yes, yes, yes! Give birth to my gate! Let the new world come through your bones!"
But something was different.
Amara wasn't writhing in pain. She was glowing—softly, fiercely.
Nyla's eyes widened. "She's not birthing the gate…"
"She's burning it," Elara whispered.
The witch froze.
Amara's voice echoed, calm and strong. "I return everything I took. Beauty. Power. Magic. I give it back to you."
"No," the witch growled. "You cannot revoke what was given!"
"I never wanted it," Amara said. "Not like this."
Her body glowed brighter.
And then—it cracked.
A ripple shot through the room. The salt circle erupted. The witch screamed as if her soul were being peeled apart.
"No!" she shrieked. "We are one! You cannot live without me!"
Amara opened her arms. "Then die with me."
A blinding light exploded.
Everyone was thrown backward.
When the smoke cleared—
Amara was on the ground.
The witch was gone.
And silence reigned.
Damon crawled to her side, clutching her into his arms. "Amara…?"
She opened her eyes slowly.
"I'm still here," she whispered.
And for the first time in years… she was free.