36. Morgan

The golden liquidin the sacrificial bowl swirls and glows brighter, the light creating shadows on Blaze's sharp, strong features as it consumes his penknife.

Finally, after a painfully long few seconds, the liquid stills.

"Accepted," the Buddha says.

Blaze steps back, and his eyes are darker, as if he sacrificed a piece of his soul along with that knife.

My breath hitches, chills running down my spine, memories of the wind's whispers returning to my mind.

He's getting dangerous.

The quill's darkness is consuming him.

You have to end it, before it's too late.

No, I think, shaking myself out of it. I'm inside. The wind can't touch me here. These are just memories.

I'll deal with the whispers later. Right now, I need to figure out what I want to sacrifice, or I might never get out of here at all.

My fingers drift to my necklace again, my heart hurting at the thought of parting with it forever.

Luckily, Damien steps up to the sacrificial bowl before I have a chance, his movements deliberate and measured.

He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out the dagger he had in front of him during our plane trip from New York to the Himalayas. The twin to Viktor's. A relic of a brotherly bond now severed by death.

By murder.

Damien hesitates, his eyes fixed on the blade. "Viktor and I had these forged together decades ago," he says. "They represent our bond, our brotherhood. As I stood before his ashes, I swore to keep both of our daggers, even though he betrayed us, to remind me of who he was before everything went wrong."

He looks up, meeting each of our eyes before settling on the Buddha. There's a pain there, raw and real, that tears at my heart.

"By giving up my dagger and holding onto his, I'm keeping a piece of Viktor with me, while also letting go of the past," he says. "I'm releasing my guilt for doing what I had to do, and I'm allowing myself to move forward—to my future as not just king of my clan, but also as the husband to my bride."

His gaze turns to Amber, so intense that heat rises to her cheeks.

A blushing bride.

So cliché.

Although, I'm pretty sure that's how she was supposed to look at him on the altar when she said her vows—not while we're making sacrifices to a giant Buddha in his temple, who might kill us if our offerings don't please him.

Without another word, Damien drops his dagger into the golden liquid.

The bowl glows intensely, the liquid swirling and consuming the blade.

He stands over it, watching, the sadness in his eyes heartbreaking as the light brightens, settling down as the blade disappears.

"Accepted," the Buddha says.

Damien steps back, a mixture of relief and sorrow on his face.

Amber moves toward him, hesitant, before reaching for him and squeezing his hand.

His posture remains stiff, although he doesn't pull away. Instead, he gives her a small, almost imperceptible nod, acknowledging the gesture.

Relief settles in my chest.

Because it's about time.

If Amber and Damien don't embrace their marriage—if they don't open themselves to the love destined between them—there's a higher chance that the Shadow Lord will pull her into the darkness.

Once he has her in his grip, all will be lost.

Please, Damien, I think. Open your soul to her again. Allow her to love you, like you were allowing yourself to love her.

"Morgan," the Buddha's voice booms through the chamber, yanking me out of my thoughts.

It's my turn.

I take a deep breath, my heart racing as I step forward.

The pendant around my neck feels heavier than ever.

I know what I have to do, even though it tears at my heart.

They'll never forgive me for it.

Just like I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive them for turning on me.

I can't hold onto them forever,I tell myself. Not after they chose immortality and power over their trust in me—their sister.

My fingers drift to my necklace again, but I don't unclasp it.

Instead, I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out my dagger.

The blade catches the light, sharp and cold. Everyone's eyes are on me, but I block them out, focusing on the task at hand. The one I'm unsure I'll be able to go through with, even though I'm so, so close.

No, I think. My sisters sacrificed their trust in me. And now, I will sacrifice my dependence on them.

With a deep, steadying breath, I press the dagger against the place behind my ear, right over my comet tattoo. The one I got at the same time as my sisters, using the same pot of ink as they did. Zara chose a flame, Willow a phoenix, and me a comet.

The tattoos represent our connection to each other. Our devotion to each other.

Not anymore.

Without another thought, I break through my skin with the blade, crying out as it sinks into my flesh. I keep the cut shallow, so it slices just underneath the tattoo, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

Fiery pain sears through me, and blood trickles down my neck, warm and wet. But I keep going, forcing the blade under and up, until the patch of skin is finally free.

It falls into my other hand, and I open my palm, the comet tattoo inked onto the piece of removed flesh displayed for the others to see.

Staring down at it, I feel a strange mix of pain, anger… and relief.

Amber runs to me, holding her palm to my neck, covering the wound. I kept it shallow, so I'll survive. Especially since, given my blood witch abilities, the flesh is already healing.

"Stop." I step away from Amber, tears welling in my eyes. "Please, stop."

Blaze stares at me, his eyes wide in horror.

I can't look at him.

If I do, I fear I might break.

Or be sick on the polished marble stone. From the way my stomach is rising into my throat, I'm betting on the latter and not the former.

Swallowing it down, I step forward, holding the chunk of inked skin over the sacrificial bowl.

"This tattoo represents my bond with my sisters," I say, trembling, but strong. "A bond they shattered when they chose power over family. I'm done holding onto them. Done holding onto the past."

With that, I drop it into the golden liquid.

The bowl glows fiercely, the light almost blinding as it consumes the offering, as if it's hungry for this irreplaceable part of my soul.

Even though it's healing, the pain in my neck intensifies. But I stand tall, my heart racing. I will not let this break me. I will be stronger for my sacrifice. I will focus on the future, and not the past.

"Accepted," the Buddha says, and I release the breath I was holding, not realizing how anxious I was that the offering would be rejected until this very moment.

Blaze steps forward and reaches for me, pulling back at the last second. "Morgan," he says, his eyes settling on the wound that's already starting to heal. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," I say slowly, since I feel like I'm in haze, like this is happening to someone else and not myself. "But I will be."

Damien nods, respect in his eyes. "We're all making sacrifices," he says. "But we're stronger because of it."

I nod, taking a deep breath. He's right. We've made it this far, and we'll continue to push forward, no matter the cost.

The wall behind the Buddha opens, the door's hinges creaking as it reveals the way to the next chamber.

"Let's move on," I say, refusing to look back at the sacrificial bowl. I fear I'll break if I do. "We have two more chambers to go."

As we step through the passageway, the weight of our sacrifices lingers. But so does the strength we've gained from them.

We're one step closer to our goal, and we'll face whatever comes next together.