Time passed strangely within the salt-lined prison of her once-beloved room.
The days blurred together—marked not by sunrises or meals, but by the iron weight around her wrists and the slow rot of hope in her chest. The garlic stank. The salt cut her soles when she paced too much. And the silence—the silence screamed.
No one came.
No one spoke.
Not even John.
Especially not John.
She tried to keep her thoughts still, tried to sleep, tried to forget how it felt when the magic moved in her blood like lightning. But at night—when the moon slid cold and white across her floor—her thoughts came alive.
Her fury. Her grief. Her confusion.
Her betrayal.
She no longer cried. There were no tears left in her.
Instead, she stared at the walls and imagined them burning.
⸻
On the seventh night—though she wasn't certain it was the seventh anymore—Jane stirred from her restless sleep to a sound not made by chains or guards.
A voice.
Low. Soft. Not human.
"Witch-born. Flame-marked. Bound and broken child. You hear me now."
She sat up sharply. Her heart thundered. Her mouth opened—but no sound came.
The voice echoed not in the air, but inside her. In the marrow of her bones. It was ancient and powerful, but oddly… familiar. Like a forgotten lullaby.
"You've touched the altar. Awakened the flame. The veil is thinning. The world knows what you are."
Jane swallowed hard. "What am I?"
"You are what they fear. What they sealed away. The last of the Violet Flame."
The room pulsed once—just slightly—as if the walls themselves had flinched.
Jane clutched her knees, breath trembling. "Why me? I didn't ask for this."
"No one does."
She lowered her head.
The voice was quiet for a beat, and then:
"Find the Sacred Book."
Her eyes snapped open. "What book?"
"The one you touched in your dream. The original. The true one. It holds the answers. The fire. The name of your curse and the shape of your gift. Find it… or die as they wish you to."
Jane's hands clenched. The iron dug into her skin. "But I'm chained. Trapped. I can't go anywhere."
Silence.
The voice was gone.
As if it had never been there.
And in its absence, Jane was left shaking. Her breath ragged. Her thoughts spiraling.
The Sacred Book.
Something deep inside her already knew: if she didn't find it, she wouldn't survive a year. Or worse—a month.
The door creaked.
Her body froze.
She turned, expecting another guard with no face, another order with no name.
But it wasn't a guard.
It was him.
John.
Tentu! Berikut adalah versi yang diperpanjang dari percakapan Jane dan John di bagian akhir Chapter 6, dengan tambahan dialog emosional dan ketegangan, sesuai permintaanmu:
⸻
He stepped inside slowly, like a shadow unsure of its place in the light.
Jane stood up.
The chains rattled.
She looked at him—his hair damp with rain, his eyes dark and heavy with something she didn't want to understand.
He said nothing.
He just stepped forward.
Then—without a word—he knelt.
Knees on the cold floor, head bowed.
Jane stared, disbelieving. "What… what are you doing?"
His voice was hoarse when it came. "I've come to beg your forgiveness."
She almost laughed. "Too late for that."
"I know."
Her gaze dropped—just for a moment—to the uniform he wore.
Fine black coat. Polished brass clasp. The Ardent crest stitched in scarlet thread on his chest.
Her lips twisted bitterly.
"So," she said coldly. "That's the reward, then?"
"What?"
"That uniform," she nodded toward him. "New. Clean. It suits you. I suppose betrayal comes with a promotion."
His jaw clenched. "Jane—"
"Congratulations, Captain of the Ardent Guard," she cut in, voice sharp. "Was my blood worth the title?"
The words stung. She meant them to.
John looked away. "It wasn't like that."
"Oh, wasn't it?"
John remain silent.
But jane's voice broke the silence. "Congratulations on the promotion."
John looked up.
"I mean it," she added, venom threading through her words. "Captain of the Guard. Very impressive. You finally made it."
He didn't answer at first. Only lowered his eyes, shame burning across his face.
"I suppose betraying me was the perfect strategy," Jane went on. "You climb the ladder, and I get the chains."
John's jaw tensed. "I didn't want to—"
"Then why?" Her voice cracked, more tired than angry now. "Why did you tell them?"
He stood slowly, took a step forward, then knelt.
It wasn't obedience. It wasn't theater.
It was guilt. And surrender.
"Because they were going to kill me."
Jane's breath caught.
"What?"
He didn't look up. "That night… I overheard your parents. In your father's study. They were talking about the ritual. The cure for Giftlessness."
A sickening chill crept down Jane's spine.
"They said," John continued, "if you reached your twentieth birthday still Giftless… they'd have to make a sacrifice. Human blood. A bonded one. Someone who's savorian."
Jane's lips parted.
"It was me," he said, voice low. "I was the one they chose. The offering."
Silence.
"I thought if they knew you weren't Giftless anymore, they'd stop. That you'd be safe. That I'd be spared." He exhaled shakily. "But then your magic… wasn't a Gift. It was something else."
"A Witch," Jane whispered bitterly.
John nodded once.
"I didn't understand it then. I still don't. But I told them, thinking it would save us both." He looked up, eyes glassy. "And instead, they turned on you."
Jane swallowed hard. Her wrists ached beneath the chains. "You gave me up to save yourself."
"I would do anything to undo it," he said. "Anything. Just tell me how."
Jane stared at him for a long moment. His eyes didn't waver.
Then she turned away.
"I'll decide in the morning," she said quietly. "If I'll let you come with me."
He nodded once, solemn, and left without another word.
But even after the door shut again, Jane didn't sit.
She stood in the moonlight, heart trembling, the voice still echoing inside her.
Find the Sacred Book.
And suddenly, the war inside her didn't feel so distant anymore.
It had begun.