Sebastian – POV
I crushed the cigarette beneath the worn sole of my Converse, grinding the embers into the packed dirt just outside the tower door. Smoke still lingered in my lungs, but it did nothing to settle the chaos storming inside me. Through the warped glass window, the flickering green and purple lights that had pulsed like a heartbeat had faded into a soft amber glow. It was over.
I swallowed hard and stepped back inside.
The smell hit me first — burnt herbs, incense, something bitter and sharp like ozone. The magic had settled, but the air still felt charged, like the aftermath of a thunderstorm. As I descended the stairs, the room came into focus — cluttered shelves, books stacked high, candles burned low.
And there she was.
Hannah sat with her legs crossed on the floor, her back resting against the stone wall, head tilted to the side. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing was deeper, steadier. There was a kind of serenity in her face I hadn't seen in hours — maybe days. She looked... human again. Not like the shattered girl I'd held, bleeding and broken, in the desert.
"She's stable now," the wizard said, arms crossed. "No internal bleeding, bones are mended. The cut on her cheek is all that remains. Honestly, it's revolting. You might want to have Harvey take a look at it. I don't deal in cosmetics."
I rolled my eyes. "So what now?"
"Well, first of all: you're welcome," he quipped with theatrical smugness. "Secondly, she needs a shower, some real rest, and probably to be kept from doing anything idiotic for the next week."
"She can't even stand," Abigail said, still on edge. "And I don't exactly see a bed. Or, you know, plumbing."
The wizard scoffed. "I don't sleep. Waste of time. And showers? That's what rivers and rainstorms are for. But—" he waved a hand dismissively, "—there is a spare bed downstairs. Velvet. Antique. No bugs, last I checked. You have my permission to use it. She'll recover by morning, if you're lucky."
Without another word, he turned and led us down a steep, creaking staircase. I lifted Hannah gently, her body weightless in my arms. She felt fragile, like one wrong move might shatter her all over again — but the peaceful look on her face told me the pain was finally gone. That was enough for now.
The room downstairs felt like it had been plucked straight from some forgotten century. Wooden walls covered in faded murals and strange symbols. Dusty red drapes hung stiffly over a high, arched window. The bed was extravagant — old-world style with a deep crimson velvet comforter and a sheer canopy draped from the headboard like blood-colored smoke.
I laid her down carefully, tucking a pillow under her head.
"Alright, you three," the wizard called from the stairs, his voice echoing through the chamber. "No funny business! Pregnancy is practically an epidemic these days."
Abigail groaned audibly. "God, why would you say that?"
The wizard cackled, footsteps fading as he retreated upstairs.
I settled onto the bed beside Hannah, pulling the heavy blanket up to her waist. Her face was pale, still marked with blood and dirt, but the tension had left her brow. I couldn't stop looking at her — every scratch, every freckle stained with dried tears. I'd never felt so helpless and so completely in awe of someone at the same time.
Abigail curled up in the velvet armchair tucked in the corner, her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them.
"I still can't believe she did this," she said quietly, her voice laced with something between admiration and guilt. "She did all of it... for me."
"I can," I murmured, brushing a strand of hair from Hannah's face. "That's just who she is."
"I knew it was dangerous. We all did. But what she went through — what we saw..." Abigail trailed off, her eyes glassy, unfocused. She shook her head like she could throw the memories out of her skull.
I didn't respond. What was there to say? I didn't have words for what happened either.
There was silence for a while, broken only by Hannah's soft breathing.
"You two..." Abigail finally said. "You fit together like puzzle pieces."
I glanced over. She was staring at us, her eyes unreadable. The intensity of her gaze made me shift a little. I gave a small, crooked smile but didn't reply.
"I can't imagine what she saw down there," she continued, like her brain couldn't stop moving even if her mouth wanted to. "She must've faced things I can't even picture. And she came back with that — that shard. And that sword."
I let her talk. It was how she coped — filling the silence so she didn't have to sit in the unknown. I understood that more than I wanted to admit.
But in that moment, I couldn't stop thinking about how close I came to losing Hannah. How, if things had gone even slightly differently, I'd be standing in the desert clutching a shard of magic instead of holding her here, alive.
And I still hadn't told her I loved her.
She'd gone into hell with that weight on her shoulders, not knowing. I thought I was protecting her. But maybe... maybe I just didn't want to be the one left behind if she didn't make it out.
Now all I could do was sit here and wait — wait for her to open her eyes... and pray to every god, every star in the sky, that I'd get the chance to say the words I should've said before she ever walked into Skull Cavern.
Abigail — POV
The room had grown quiet.
Sebastian was finally asleep, his arm draped protectively over Hannah's waist. They looked so peaceful together, like a painting you didn't want to breathe too hard around for fear it might disappear.
I pulled the red velvet drape across the doorway, giving them some privacy. My boots made barely a sound as I climbed the old staircase back to the main chamber of the tower. The wizard was waiting, of course — perched on a cracked leather armchair by the fire, sipping some thick, steaming tea that smelled like earth after rain.
He looked at me before I even said anything. Like he knew why I was there.
Without a word, I crossed the room and dropped into the chair across from him. The fire crackled between us, casting our faces in warm gold and long shadows. I swallowed the lump building in my throat, but the words clawed their way out anyway.
"Does Pierre still not know?" I asked. My voice sounded too small in the big, strange room.
The Wizard — Razmodius, I guess — sighed heavily, setting down his cup. He steepled his fingers under his chin and stared into the flames.
"No," he said. "He doesn't know. Your mother asked me to promise her that. And I've kept that promise... for all these years."
I stared at the fire, my hands balled into fists in my lap.
"So that's it, then. I was never really his daughter," I whispered. "And he doesn't even know."
"You are his daughter in every way that matters," the Wizard said gently. "He raised you. He fed you, taught you. That bond is real. Blood is not everything, Abigail."
"But it feels like everything!" I snapped, louder than I meant to. I hunched forward, hands pressed into my knees, heart hammering painfully against my ribs. "I spent my whole life wondering why I didn't fit anywhere. Why I was always... different. Why I felt like I was suffocating in that house." I shook my head, laughing bitterly. "And it was because I didn't belong there in the first place."
Silence fell heavy between us. The fire crackled. Somewhere below, a board creaked as Sebastian shifted in his sleep.
Finally, I found the courage to ask:
"When the witch is sealed away forever... will anything change? Will you — I mean..." My throat closed up. "Will you even want to spend time with me?"
He leaned back in his chair, his expression tightening with something almost like pain.
"Of course I want to," he said, and for the first time, his voice cracked — just a little. "But your safety has always come first, Abigail. If Pierre were to learn the truth, it would... tear your family apart. And I fear he would not forgive you. Or your mother."
I flinched. I hated how much sense that made. Pierre was stubborn — prideful. Maybe even a little cruel in ways he didn't realize. If he knew I wasn't his... he'd never look at me the same again.
"And if suddenly we were seen together... if I began visiting, inviting you here openly..." he shook his head. "It would raise questions neither of us can afford to answer."
I stared at my hands, feeling the weight of invisible chains wrapping tighter around my chest.
"How did you even meet her?" I asked, desperate to understand anything — everything. "What could have possibly made my mom... Caroline... fall for someone like you?"
He chuckled under his breath — a soft, sad sound.
"She was much like you, Abigail," he said. "Curious about the unknown. Drawn to mysteries others feared. She would sneak away from town and find her way here under false pretenses. 'Research,' she called it." His eyes softened, staring into some memory I couldn't see.
"At first, I thought she was just another bored villager chasing ghost stories. But she was... different. Fearless. Hungry for knowledge in a way few are. We spent countless nights pouring over ancient tomes, discussing magic, philosophy, the very fabric of existence. Somewhere in those long nights... we fell in love."
I blinked, stunned. I always thought of my mom as this rigid, judgmental woman obsessed with appearances. I never once imagined her sneaking out at night to flirt with a wizard.
"But she was already with Pierre," I said, trying to wrap my head around it.
He nodded grimly. "Yes. She was young. Afraid. Conflicted. When she discovered she was pregnant... we both knew the truth had to be hidden. My wife — the witch to be sealed — she... she found out Caroline was visiting me. She began threatening her, even tried to curse her. There was no choice. To keep you safe, we had to pretend you were Pierre's daughter. The bloodline, the magic — all of it had to remain secret."
My heart ached with the weight of it all. So many lies. So much stolen time.
"And now?" I asked. "Now that the witch is almost gone for good?"
He smiled sadly. "Now... perhaps there is room to be something more than a secret."
I wiped at my eyes angrily, embarrassed. But I couldn't stop the tears.
For the first time in my life, I understood why I felt pulled toward the strange, the unknown, the magic that throbbed just under the skin of the world. It wasn't rebellion. It wasn't boredom.
It was heritage.
Blood calling to blood.
And maybe — just maybe — it wasn't too late to answer.
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsUJzmAvQ8p
