The descent into the void wasn't physical it was emotional, mental, almost spiritual. One moment, Lilith stood with Emanuel in a space that felt like eternity itself, and the next, the world folded in on itself. She opened her eyes and gasped.
They were back in her room.
But it wasn't her room anymore.
The walls bled shadows. The once familiar books on her shelf whispered things they were never written to say. Her window, usually glowing with moonlight, now stared into an endless pitch-black sky where stars blinked in and out like dying souls.
"The book," Emanuel said quickly, pulling her attention. "Where did you last place it?"
Lilith's eyes scanned the room. Her heart thudded. "There," she said, pointing to her desk only, it wasn't just sitting there. The book hovered an inch above the surface, glowing faintly, pages fluttering in a breeze that didn't exist.
As they stepped closer, the room pulsed like a heartbeat. A low hum buzzed under the floorboards. Lilith knew instinctively the Watchers were trying to break through again.
"They're getting impatient," Emanuel muttered. "The more time we waste, the more reality bends around them."
Lilith reached out and touched the book. It was warm.
Then it screamed.
Not out loud. It screamed in her mind.
Visions flooded her bloody hallways, people with eyes like broken mirrors, a girl with her mouth sewn shut, trying to warn her through sobs. And then, a dark figure standing at the center of it all… watching her. Its face was hers.
She yanked her hand back, breath catching in her throat.
"I saw..." she stammered.
"I know," Emanuel said softly. "The book is a mirror now. It shows you what's coming."
"What was that?" she asked, tears threatening her eyes.
"Your future… if they win."
Lilith shook her head. "I won't let it happen."
She opened the book.
The pages flipped on their own, stopping at a blank one that bled ink from its edges, forming new text:
"Only in truth shall the shadow fall. Only in sacrifice shall the door close."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
Emanuel hesitated. "The book demands something. It always does."
Lilith turned to him. "What kind of sacrifice?"
Before he could answer, her door creaked open.
But no one stood there.
Only darkness.
Thick, swirling, hungry.
She heard it before she saw it the breathing.
It wasn't human. It sounded like centuries trapped in stone, like death learning to sigh. And from the void of her hallway, something crawled forward. Not walking. Not running. Crawling.
Claws scraped the wooden floor. Its silhouette loomed, tall and impossible.
A Watcher.
Emanuel threw himself between her and the figure. "Stay back!"
But the thing didn't move.
It just… spoke.
Only, it didn't speak with words. It reached into Lilith's mind and dragged out her deepest fear, wrapped it in ice, and whispered:
"She will die if you don't give in."
Lilith froze. "Who?" she breathed.
The Watcher smiled or rather, twitched in a way that implied pleasure.
"Agatha."
Her mom.
Lilith's knees buckled, fury crashing over her like a wave. "No… No, you stay away from her!"
The Watcher tilted its head. "Then give us the book."
Emanuel turned to Lilith, panicked. "Don't you dare."
But Lilith's heart twisted. She could feel the Watcher wasn't lying not completely. They could hurt her mother. They had that power now. The book had made her a beacon, and the people she loved were the price.
She tightened her grip on the book and screamed back, "If you lay a finger on my mother, I'll burn every one of your names from these pages!"
The Watcher paused. The darkness behind it pulsed uncertain.
And then it vanished.
No sound. No threat. Just gone.
Lilith collapsed to her knees, shaking. Emanuel knelt beside her, holding her shoulders.
"They're testing you," he said. "Trying to break your spirit."
"They're going to use her, Emanuel," she whispered. "They're going to come for all of them. My mom, Angela, Francisca…"
Emanuel's jaw clenched. "Then we end this before they get the chance."
Lilith looked at the book again. It had turned another page.
More words were forming, like blood drawn across a wound:
"One must choose: the heart… or the world."
Her breath hitched. "What if I can't choose?"
"You'll have to," Emanuel said, his voice low. "Because soon, they'll choose for you."