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The energy crackling from the Aetheric Seal was almost a physical presence, a hum that vibrated through the stone floor of the cathedral. In that highly charged atmosphere, Amelia felt the weight of unseen forces converging on the altar. She forced herself to focus, to push down the wrongness that was building in her gut like a coil of ice. There were vows to be said. A ceremony to complete.
But her eyes kept drifting to the congregation, pulled by a sense of impending danger.
Queen Eliza sat with her hands folded primly in her lap, the very picture of regal composure and maternal pride. Yet Amelia, now watching with a heightened sense of alarm, noticed the details she had missed before. The way the queen’s knuckles had gone white where she gripped her own fingers. The rigid tension in her shoulders, hidden beneath the fine silk of her gown. The almost imperceptible way she was leaning forward, as if willing the ceremony to its conclusion. There was something maternal in her gaze, yes, but it was overshadowed by something else entirely. It was the look of a sculptor examining a work in progress, assessing whether it met her exacting, unforgiving standards.
She is not watching a wedding, Amelia realized with a sudden, chilling clarity. She is waiting for something to happen.
Across the aisle, Lord Cassian Dray had shifted forward as well, his posture a mirror of the queen’s. Though his body appeared relaxed, almost languid, his eyes were sharp and intense. He watched the ritual not with the polite interest of a dignitary, but with the focused, unwavering attention of a predator tracking its prey. When he noticed Amelia looking at him, his lips curved into a slight, knowing smile. It was not a friendly gesture. It was a look of shared conspiracy, though Amelia had no idea what secret they shared.
She tore her gaze away, her heart hammering against her ribs, and found Harry’s eyes. He was struggling to maintain his composure, she could see it clearly now. Whatever the ritual was doing to him, it was taking a severe toll. His breathing had grown shallow and ragged. His grip on her hand was now almost painful in its intensity, a desperate, crushing pressure.
"Harry," she whispered, her voice urgent. "What is happening to you?"
"I do not know," he managed to force out the words. "It feels like something is pulling at me from the inside. Like I am being torn…"
He could not finish the sentence. The Aetheric Seal flared, suddenly and violently brighter, and a palpable wave of power washed through the cathedral. Several attendees cried out in alarm. The angelic choir’s perfect harmony faltered, their voices catching in their throats. The very air in the cathedral seemed to shimmer, to distort, as if under immense pressure.
The high priest, seemingly oblivious or perhaps willfully ignorant of the escalating crisis, continued the ritual. His voice rose, competing with the growing magical disturbance. "In the name of the celestial powers and the infernal forces, in the sight of all gathered here, I call upon the ancient covenant to witness this union of souls."
He then drew forth another artifact from beneath his robes, a small silver blade whose edge gleamed with a hungry light. "The blood oath, to seal what mere words have only begun."
This was not in any version of the ceremony Amelia had studied. Her alarm spiked into true fear. "Wait," she began, but her voice was lost in the growing hum of power.
The priest was already moving, gesturing for them to extend their joined hands over the blazing sphere. "A single drop from each, mingled in the sacred unity of the Seal, will complete the binding forever."
Behind them in the pATE_CONCAT, Amelia heard a sharp, collective intake of breath from the congregation. She risked a glance back and saw Queen Eliza half-risen from her seat, one hand extended as if to physically stop the proceedings. But then, with a visible, shuddering effort, Eliza caught herself. She settled back into her seat, her expression smoothing once more into a mask of careful, cold neutrality.
What had the queen been about to do? Why did she stop?
Lord Cassian, meanwhile, leaned back in his seat with an air of visible satisfaction. He exchanged a brief, triumphant look with another demon in his delegation, a striking woman with silver hair and knowing eyes. They both wore expressions of keen anticipation, as if the play they had come to see was finally reaching its climax.
They know something, Amelia thought, a wave of cold dread washing over her. They are expecting this. They want this to happen.
"Amelia?" Harry’s voice was weak now, almost a desperate plea. "Something is terribly wrong. I can feel it inside me. I can feel…"
The priest, with a final, booming invocation, brought the silver blade down.
It barely touched the back of Harry’s hand, the cut superficial, almost painless. But the moment a single drop of his blood welled up and fell toward the Aetheric Seal, the artifact exploded with light. No, not just light. Shadow, too, poured forth from it in equal measure, the two energies no longer dancing but spiraling around each other with a violent, consuming intensity.
Harry screamed.
The sound tore through the cathedral, a raw, agonized cry that shattered the sacred silence. His hand wrenched from Amelia’s grasp as he stumbled backward from the altar. The violent energies followed him, wrapping around his body like living chains of light and shadow.
"Harry!" Amelia lunged forward, but an invisible force, a wall of pure magical pressure, threw her back. She hit the hard marble steps of the altar, the impact driving the air from her lungs.
Chaos erupted. Attendees were on their feet, some rushing for the exits in a blind panic, others pushing forward, trying to help. Guards appeared from the shadows, their weapons drawn, but they were useless against a force they could not see. The high priest stood frozen, his face ashen with shock, the silver blade fallen from his nerveless fingers.
Through it all, Queen Eliza remained seated, though her regal composure had finally, irrevocably cracked. Her face was a mask of horror, yes, but beneath it was something else. Recognition. As if she had long feared this exact moment and was now forced to watch her deepest fears made real.
And Lord Cassian Dray? He was smiling.
Amelia dragged herself to her feet, her bruised ribs protesting with a sharp pain. Harry was on his knees now, completely wrapped in that terrible cocoon of battling energies. She could see his silhouette through the blinding light and suffocating shadow, see him thrashing, hear him screaming.
"Stop this!" she shouted at the high priest. "End the ritual now!"
"I cannot!" The priest’s hands shook as he gestured helplessly at the maelstrom. "This is not the ritual’s doing. This is something else. Something else has been unleashed."
A sharp crack split the air, a sound like reality itself fracturing.
And then she appeared.