A shattering pain made Bren’s eyes fly open. He was panting against his aching bones, fog and confusion in his mind. It felt like there was poison coursing through him, eating away at his nerves like acid. He grunted out in agony, shivering as he thrashed against the pain and went to push himself up, delusional in his desperate want to escape it.

Hard hands pinned him down, making Bren panic until he heard his brother’s voice. “Shh, Brennon, it’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t move.” Archer’s hands were awash with a warm glow, his magic shimmering over Bren just like when he’d tried to heal his hands. 

How far had Bren gone this time? How much of the corruption would be irreversible?

Wondering if he looked like a monster or had broken his body beyond repair, Bren was suddenly bombarded with fragmented memories. His throat was tight and sore, his lower lip trembling as tears filled his eyes and spilled over to drip down the sides of his face. 

They’d been attacked, his parents were dead…and now, everyone in Vitalos would be hunting him. 

“Archer…” Bren’s voice was barely audible, husky and cracked as he tried to speak. “You shouldn’t have followed me.” His hands dug into the cold, damp earth where he lay. With his teeth gritted against the pain, Bren looked up from the light of Archer’s magic as he tried to get a hold of his surroundings. He wondered where they were and where the Shadow Gate had brought them. Bren saw the vague pattern of bricks above him in the dim, the night and darkness beyond obscuring anything except the curved, stone bridge above them. 

“I couldn’t let you go alone,” Archer muttered, Bren’s attention drawn back to him. Archer’s face was crumpled in concentration, his hands slowly moving to draw out the dark magic that had buried itself in Brennon’s blood. Archer paused for a moment, the glittering, golden hues making him look angelic as he whispered, “You’re all I have left.”

There was a pang of heartbreak in Brennon’s chest, a soft sob escaping his swollen throat as he uttered through his tears, “I’m sorry.” He was on the run again, and this time…it wasn’t just himself he had to worry about. 

“Stop talking and stay still. Let me help you. Then, we’ll figure out where we go from here.” Archer’s voice quivered, fear evident behind the mask of confidence. His clothes were tattered and bloodstained, parts smeared with grime and dirt. Bren had never seen his brother look so disheveled and yet, Archer swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and continued to concentrate on healing Bren’s wounds. 

Bren lay still, gripping the ground to anchor himself, just like he had the night before. Closing his eyes he tried to focus on his breathing, slowly feeling his brother’s pure magic seep into him. The ache in his bones subsided and the piercing pain across his flesh lessoned. His mind became clearer and the magic that split him open—that rush of toxic venom—it too felt lessened. He felt like he could breathe freely once more, the discomfort in his body far more bearable. 

When the glow of Archer’s magic died down, Bren found his strength and sat up with a grimace. He felt tender and raw, like his whole body was bruised, but it was manageable. The first thing Brennon did was look at his hands. They were still black and clawed, monstrous and terrifying, but the quills had retracted and his cuts had healed to silver scars. He wanted to look at his face and see if it resembled anything like the Umbra that had attacked them, but there was nothing for him to find his reflection in. 

Pleadingly, he stared at Archer, asking with a hesitant sigh, “Do I look…like me?” It was a thought that made his heart pound, his mouth feeling dry as he anticipated the answer. He tried to get a glimpse of himself in his brother’s eyes, but he couldn’t make out anything of value. 

Archer’s expression changed to pity, making Bren’s stomach lurch as he watched his brother’s eyes glance over his face. “You mean besides your hands?” Archer asked, his shoulders slumping. After a moment’s tortuous pause he nodded, brushing back his long hair as he answered, “Yes, Bren. You look like you. If not for your hands I wouldn’t be able to tell…” his words trailed off, his face creasing into sorrow. Archer blinked, clearing his throat as he looked back up and asked, “Do you feel okay? I did what I could but you were in bad shape. I’m surprised I got you back to this.”   

Bren’s eyes fixated on his hands as he moved them, swearing under his breath as he shuffled to sit with his back against the stone of the bridge. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the cold, rough stone grip his hair. He was sweating, realizing as he looked down at his dark clothes that they were wet with blood. 

He felt sick, keeping down a retch.

The blood…was his mother’s. 

Looking at the ditch they were sitting in, Brennon didn’t recognize where they were, though it was hard to tell in the darkness. The night was thick past the tunnel of the bridge, moonlight barely illuminating the barren land. One thing Bren was certain of was that they were no longer inside the city core; they were somewhere on the outskirts of Vitalos… Somewhere near the barrier. 

Leaning forward to put his head in his hands, Bren raked his claws against his scalp. “It doesn’t feel real,” he muttered, shaking his head as if he didn’t believe the events that had transpired could be true. But he knew it was. It was true. 

“I know,” Archer whispered in response, letting out a deep sigh. Bren could hear him ripping out blades of grass as his anxiety took over, his voice sounding broken as he said, “Mother… She knew that Umbra’s name.”

Ora… Please don’t do this.

Bren was quiet as he murmured, “Yeah…she did.” 

Vivid, gruesome images of his mother’s death haunted Bren. There had been so much blood draining from her deep wounds… Bren flinched, blinking as he let his hands fall to the breast pocket of his suit. He felt the outline of a notebook, remembering his mother shoving it into his hands. 

This book…is…for you, Brennon.

He pulled it out, saying softly, “Archer, give me your light.” He didn’t have to ask twice as Archer’s hand produced a soft glow, his skin turning auburn as if there were fire beneath his flesh. Light radiated from his palm, acting as a light-source for Bren as he looked over the small book. It was made of thick, worn leather, the cover plain without any inscriptions or embossment. 

“What is that?” Archer asked quietly, shuffling across the dirt to sit next to Bren. 

Bren shook his head, whispering in response, “Mother gave it to me before she died. It was in Father’s pocket.” He opened it, expecting to find some kind of diary or scrawled writings… Instead his stomach lurched as he glanced over the pages. 

There was a dizzying display of runes and ancient symbols inked across the page. They overlapped and criss-crossed over each other to the point the language was illegible. Each page was scratched with more splattered ink and ciphers, the surface shimmering as if it were coated with something iridescent. “What the hell is this?” Brennon murmured, wondering how he was ever supposed to understand what was written in the pages. 

He’d spent all his life studying magic, learning about the Manos and Umbris and how they differed. He’d read countless books on manifesting power and conjuring elements. There were spells and rituals of ancient days, occult languages that had long died out… But Bren had never seen anything like this. 

Archer leaned over him, looking down at the pages with confusion as he muttered, “It’s encrypted.” Hesitantly, Archer reached out to take the book, waiting for Bren to give a short nod of approval before he grasped it and began flicking through. “This is old magic…” Archer murmured, his low tone filled with dismay. Neither of them knew what to make of it. “And Mother gave this to you?” he asked, his eyes darting across the messy writing as if he were looking for any kind of clue. 

Bren nodded, his pulse thrumming as he recounted, “She said it was for me.” 

Grunting, Archer paused, looking up as if he could see something in the distance that Brennon couldn’t. “That Umbra that stormed the party… She was there for Mother. That much is certain.” Was it certain? Bren had every doubt inside his mind, overwhelmed with every possibility, but he let Archer continue his train of thought. “She called her Ora. And Ora said…” he paused, clearly trying to remember the words.      

Bren didn’t need to try and remember, they were burned into his brain, almost as if they’d become a part of him; branded into his mind. “That Mother had been sticking her nose into places it didn’t belong…and that she thought Mother had a vessel.” Bren swallowed, his face draining of color as he recalled his argument with his parents the night before; an argument that had gone unresolved. 

Guilt stabbed through him, Bren clutching his chest with his stained, clawed hands as he recalled his Mother hurrying toward him in the ballroom…and how he’d avoided her. Would it have changed the outcome if he hadn’t run? If he had stayed and spoken to her—or if she had led him somewhere private to talk—could he have saved her? 

Regardless, there was only one reason his mother would have been looking for a vessel…and that was for him. 

Archer seemed to be thinking the same thing because suddenly he couldn’t look at Bren. They were both tense and silent, a cool night breeze gusting through the dark tunnel of the bridge. It echoed like the voices of the Umbra, eerie and sinister as they sat there, contemplating.  

Finally Bren broke away from his petrified state, reaching to take the book from Archer, who let him have it without resistance. Somehow holding it made him feel calmer, like his parents were with him… Like he was still holding his mother’s hand. “Whatever they did with that vessel—whether they bought it, or stole it, or were even just looking for it…they did it for me.” Bren’s throat was painfully tight as he felt more tears swim in his vision. “They’re dead because of me—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Archer scoffed. “They knew the risks of hunting vessels. We all did… The dangers just caught up with them this time.”  He folded his strong arms across his chest, the light from his palm dimming as if he’d forgotten it. What Bren wouldn’t give to have magic like that…limitless and free of corruption. Then, none of this would have happened. 

Bren pressed his thumb to the pages of the journal, flipping through the illegible script that covered nearly every page. Just as he was about to close the book and consider what they were going to do next, a small scrap of paper fluttered down to fall on Bren’s lap. 

He stared at it for a moment before he nudged Archer, plucking the small torn sheet off of his thigh. Archer unfolded his arms, lifting his hand as his light glowed brighter, particles that glinted like dust or sand slowly swirling around his fingertips. 

Bren ignored the magic, focusing on the paper as he expected it to be meaningless as well, but…it wasn’t. Drawn on the piece of parchment, was a sigil; a perfect circle divided into sections, each with its own intricate rune. Below the illustration of the seal was a list of objects and instructions, words that made Bren’s heart start racing. 

He swallowed as he read over it, his eyes darting to the bottom of the page where one word was written. 

Ryva.

“What is that?” Archer asked in such a hush there was barely any sound to his voice. 

“This?” Bren held up the paper as he let out a shaky breath. “This…is how to summon a demon.”