Page 21 of The Blood Rites

Then the voice that speaks is no longer its own.

“My Champions.”

The sound fills the room from every direction at once. The voice is soft and beautiful, but wrong enough to make every hair along my arms rise.

“I call to each of you,” the Mother Shard says through the Overseer’s mouth. “Show me your devotion. Show me your strength.”

The voice slides beneath my skin like warm water, and something inside me responds before I can stop it. Mana stirs violently beneath my ribs, and I clench my jaw so hard it hurts.

“Here in my Embrace,” the voice continues, almost tender now, “we are no longer divided.”

The Overseer’s head tilts unnaturally far to one side.

“In dream, we may commune.”

The words distort slightly near the end as the room begins to feel suddenly warmer.

“Come to... me. Walk... with... me,” the voice whispers.

A pulse of heat rolls through my chest so violently I flinch.

No. This is not the place.

The Overseer convulses once more before its original voice returns.

“You may now retire to your assigned chambers. The remaining hours belong to you.”

Then, together, all the Overseers begin to hum. The sound vibrates through the chamber in eerie harmony as they drift backwards towards the walls.

Bright Mother, see us.

The words echo softly.

Bright Mother, claim us.

A strange blue shimmer trails behind them like falling ash.

Bright Mother, take what you need so the world may breathe.

Then they are gone, passing soundlessly back through crystal and stone until only we remain behind. The silence afterwards feels heavier than the chanting did.

Marissa releases a shaky breath beside me. “Luceris…”

I barely hear her. My Mana is becoming harder to contain by the second. The pressure beneath my skin keeps building, hot and restless, responding to something in this place I do not understand.

Across the chamber, my eyes betray me again. The Shadowborn boy is already watching me. Not casually this time, but intently, like he’s noticed something.

Panic climbs sharply into my throat.

“What’s wrong?” Marissa asks quietly.

“I don’t…” I stop myself, forcing a breath through tight lungs. “I don’t feel right.”

“That voice,” she whispers. “I hated it.”

So did I. But that isn’t the problem.

Light pulses faintly beneath the skin of my palms, and I curl my fingers shut immediately. I need to get out of here.