There’s little to prepare for the ritual, but it takes some time—and blood. 

Alex’s, namely. Eliav volunteers some of his to draw the necessary ruins across Damien’s torso and limbs, but Alex waves him off. ‘I’ve got enough,’ he says. Eliav doesn’t argue, but he grips Alex’s bleeding wrist all the same until the wound stitches itself back together. 

Now they stand before the sofa in a line. Alex is in the centre, Hector to his left and Eliav to his right. Together, they watch the rise and fall of Damien’s chest. 

‘Do you really think I can’t do this?’ Hector’s question is quiet. ‘Be honest with me, Alex. Not angry.’ 

‘I wasn’t angry,’ Alex replies. ‘I was scared.’ 

‘Then…’

‘Are you getting second thoughts?’ Before Hector can pull away, Alex slings an arm around Hector’s shoulders, drawing him in. The latter struggles to no avail. He elbows Alex in the ribs instead.

‘Of course not.’

The answer grants him freedom and he peers up as his brother gazes down. Alex smiles softly. It’s an apology in its own right; Hector has already forgiven him for his earlier slight, but he still feels a shot of warmth looking at Alex’s face. 

Alex gives him a firm thump on the back. ‘So what are you asking me for? We’re ready when you are.’ 

With that, they take their allocated places without further ado. Eliav holds onto Damien’s ankles while Hector touches his palms to Damien’s temples. Alex exhales, slowly raising his hands over Damien’s chest. Blue magic unwinds itself from his arms down to the tips of his fingers. The ceiling lights dim. Alex looks at Eli first, then at Hector.

Begin. 

As Hector closes his eyes, he feels his soul-stuff push up from within him, at his core. He wills it to well up and overflow through his pores into Damien. He can see it against the darkness of his eyelids, the blue light shifting against a canvas of black. His magic, Eliav’s and Alex’s magic too. Three ropes of light searching for the void to be filled. 

Damien convulses between them, head jerking to the side. Hector holds him steady, only gritting his teeth when he sees a white claw rake through the darkness and take him by the throat.