The voice that echoed through the chamber was like a distant thunderclap, vibrating through the very walls. It wasn't a physical sound; it was something deeper, something primal, shaking the air and Rowan's bones alike. His heart raced as the temperature in the room dropped even further, the shadows around him seeming to stretch, to reach out with cold fingers.
Rowan's grip tightened around the crystal at his neck, its soft glow pulsing in his palm like a heartbeat. Beside him, Avery stiffened, his hand instinctively reaching for something hidden within his cloak, though he didn't draw it out. His eyes flickered nervously toward the shadows where the voice had come from.
"Who is that?" Rowan asked, his voice hoarse. "What is happening?"
Avery didn't immediately answer. Instead, his gaze locked onto Rowan with a sharp intensity. "You don't understand. The Thirteenth House wasn't just erased from history; it was sealed. The magic within it… it's alive. And now that it's awakened, there's no going back."
Rowan's mind reeled. "But… I didn't do anything! I didn't ask for this magic."
Avery took a cautious step forward, his voice low but urgent. "It doesn't matter. The magic has chosen you, Rowan. And now it's calling."
The shadows around them seemed to shift, swirling and coiling like smoke, until they converged in the center of the room, forming a tall, dark figure. The figure was tall and gaunt, dressed in robes that shimmered with an eerie, almost liquid darkness. His eyes glowed with an unnatural light, and his presence filled the room like an oppressive storm.
Rowan took a step back, instinctively pulling away from the figure, but the magic within him stirred, urging him to stay. His pulse quickened as the figure spoke, the voice impossibly deep, yet clear, resonating within his very soul.
"The heir returns."
Avery's hand shot out, grabbing Rowan's arm and pulling him back. "No! Don't listen to it, Rowan. This is not the magic you want to tap into."
Rowan felt a surge of power in the room, a current of raw, unfiltered energy that pressed against him. He looked at Avery, confusion written on his face. "What are you talking about?"
The dark figure stepped forward, its gaze fixing on Rowan with an unsettling calm. "You have come far, little heir," the figure's voice intoned. "But you have yet to understand the price of the power you possess. Your magic is not a gift. It is a curse. A legacy that damns."
Rowan's throat tightened. "A curse?"
The figure's mouth twisted into something resembling a smile, but it was filled with malice. "The Thirteenth House was the enemy of the other houses. It was destroyed not because of what it could create, but because of what it could destroy. Its power was too much—too dangerous to be allowed to exist in the world of magic."
Avery stepped between Rowan and the dark figure, blocking Rowan's view. "You don't belong here," Avery spat, his voice sharp with anger. "This isn't your fight."
The dark figure's eyes burned brighter, and with a sudden burst of energy, Avery was thrown backward, crashing into the stone wall with a sickening thud. Rowan's breath caught in his throat as he saw Avery slump to the floor, unconscious.
Rowan's breath came in sharp gasps as the dark figure loomed before him, the shadows around its form twisting like living things. The power in the chamber pressed against his skin, thick and suffocating. Avery lay motionless against the wall, his cloak tangled around him, and for the first time, Rowan realized just how alone he was.
"Choose." The figure's voice was both a whisper and a roar, echoing through Rowan's very bones. "Claim the power of the Thirteenth House, or be consumed by it. There is no middle ground."
Rowan's fingers curled around the crystal at his neck. It was warm—too warm—pulsing like a second heartbeat. He didn't understand what this power was, why it had chosen him, but every instinct in his body screamed that this moment was critical.
The book on the pedestal shuddered, its blackened leather cover rippling as though breathing. The runes around it flared to life, casting eerie blue light across the chamber. Rowan felt his magic stir, an unseen force pulling him toward the pedestal, toward the knowledge hidden within those forbidden pages.
Was this what he wanted?
The figure's glowing eyes narrowed. "You were never meant to live in their world. They will never accept you, heir. They will never stop fearing you. But here… you could be something greater. Something more."
Rowan's pulse pounded in his ears. The words clung to his mind, burrowing deep. He thought of the House of Flames, of the way they looked at him like an intruder. He thought of the professors whispering behind his back. Even Lyra, who claimed she wanted to help, seemed to know more than she let on. No one had given him answers. Only warnings.
And now, he was being offered something else—power.
His feet moved on their own, one slow step toward the pedestal. The shadows around him hummed in approval. His magic responded to the call, rising in his chest like fire in his veins.
Then—
A groan from the floor.
Avery.
Rowan's breath hitched. He turned slightly, watching as Avery forced himself up, his movements sluggish but determined. Blood trailed from his temple, his usual sharp gaze now foggy with pain. But when he looked at Rowan, his expression was desperate.
"Don't," Avery rasped. "You don't know what it will cost you."
Rowan hesitated.
The figure's presence darkened, its voice lowering into something more insidious. "He is weak. He does not understand what you are. He would rather see you bow before them than rise as you were meant to."
Rowan's fingers hovered over the book. The magic was electric, calling to him.
Then—
Avery reached out, grasping Rowan's wrist. His grip was weak but real. A human touch in the suffocating darkness. His eyes burned with urgency. "You don't have to do this. You can fight it."
The book whispered. The crystal at his neck burned. The power swirled around him, waiting for his answer.
Rowan's choice would change everything.
And the shadows were watching.