34. Caine

34

CAINE

In moments of crisis, most people panic. My father trained me to observe.

Even as darkness swallows the corridor, my mind catalogues details: the unnatural silence that follows, broken only by our ragged breathing; the way my ice magick reacts differently to this darkness—not fighting it like normal shadows but resonating with it; the precise pattern of Violet's purple glow as it pulses in sync with some unseen force.

Most importantly, the fact that Nathaniel isn't just watching. He's conducting.

His raised hands remind me of old illustrations in my family's archives of ancient rituals where magickal conductors would direct and shape raw power. But this is different. Wrong.

"Nobody move," I say quietly, my cane tapping once against the floor. Ice spreads in a perfect circle around our group, creating a barrier. "He's trying to separate us."

"Brilliant observation, young Frost Bearer." Nathaniel's voice booms down the hallway. "Your family's reputation for insight is well-earned."

The darkness thickens, becoming like a liquid in its consistency. I feel Flint's Dragon straining against it, while Thorne's shadows twist in confusion, unable to distinguish themselves from this foreign darkness.

"The Ice Demons have always understood the importance of balance," Nathaniel continues. "Tell me, did your grandfather ever share what he learned about the Convergence?"

My grip tightens on my cane. "How do you know about that?"

"I was there, boy. Who do you think helped him contain the backlash when it went wrong?"

Memories flash through my mind of pages from my grandfather's sealed journals, warnings about power that couldn't be controlled. The pieces click together with terrible clarity.

"The Convergence wasn't a failure. It was a test."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Flint mutters, but I ignore him.

"Very good." Nathaniel steps closer, the darkness parting around him. "Just as this is a test. The forest's power seeks balance. Fire and ice, shadow and light. But first..." He makes a sharp gesture, and the darkness surges. My ice barrier shatters. "... it must be unbridled. "

Everything happens at once. The foreign magick catches Flint's apparently new fire power, amplifying it beyond his control. Thorne's shadows rebel, turning against him. My ice magick spikes dangerously, threatening to freeze everything in sight.

And Violet...

Violet screams.

Purple light explodes outward as the forest's power courses through her. I see what's happening with academic detachment even as I fight for control. She's trying to channel all our magick at once, acting as this Catalyst thing she was born to be.

But it's too soon. Too much.

"Stop!" I shout, recognising the signs from my grandfather's notes. "You have to stop! The magick isn't balanced yet!"

"She can't stop," Nathaniel says calmly. "None of you can. The forest, Morgana's power, has waited too long for this moment."

He's right. The power flows between us like a circuit, building with each passing second. Flint's fire melts my ice, which turns to steam, which feeds the flames. Thorne's shadows dance with Violet's light, creating patterns that hurt to look at.

Natural laws begin to break down. Gravity shifts. Time feels fluid. Reality itself bends around us.

This is why true heirs in the past have shunned the power or died trying to control it. The raw power of all four aspects is uncontrolled and unbalanced.

But we have something they don't .

"Violet," I call out. "Listen to me. The magick isn't fighting you. It's fighting itself. We need to work together."

"How?" she gasps. Purple light courses over her skin like lightning.

"Ice tempers fire," I recite, remembering the ancient texts. "Shadow defines light. Four parts of a whole."

Understanding floods her face. With visible effort, she stops trying to control the magick and instead begins to direct it. Like a conductor with an orchestra.

"Flint," she calls. "Draw back your fire. Let it flow, don't force it."

He nods, "This is wild," he grunts. "It's so fucking hot." Sweat beads on his forehead as he complies. The wild flames settle into a steady burn.

"Thorne, stop fighting your shadows. Let them blend with the darkness."

The shadow magick shifts, finding harmony with Nathaniel's foreign power.

"Caine..."

"I know," I say, already adjusting my ice magick to complement rather than combat the other forces.

The chaos settles. Power still flows between us, but now it's controlled, balanced. The four aspects work in concert rather than in competition.

For a moment, I glimpse what we could be. Four parts of something greater, each supporting the others in perfect harmony.

Then Nathaniel laughs .

"Very good," he says. "But that was just the beginning. Now..."

The temperature plummets. My magickal senses scream in warning.

"... let's see how you handle what comes next."

The darkness around him shifts, taking on familiar shapes. Figures step out of the shadows. Creatures I know from my family's history.

The shock from Thorne and Flint tells me they are seeing the same.

Failed vessels. Former attempts.

All wearing the same hungry expression.

All dead.

"Grandfather?" I mutter.

He smiles at me with too-sharp teeth.

"Time for your real test, children," Nathaniel announces. "Let's see if you can survive your predecessors."

Being a keeper of knowledge means understanding patterns. As the dead vessels advance, my mind races through everything I know about revenants, specifically, magickally reanimated ones.

"Move," I order, ice spreading beneath our feet. "Library. Now."

"The library?" Flint questions, flames dancing around his hands as he faces down a woman who can only be a Dragon with those teeth and claws. "Is now really the time for research?"

"Ward stones," Thorne answers for me, understanding dawning. "The original protection grid runs underneath it."

Violet's rushed breath reaches pants out, "What?"

"Just move," I mutter, watching my grandfather's corpse tilt its head at an impossible angle.

We run.

The dead vessels follow, moving with unnatural speed. Behind them all, Nathaniel strolls casually, like he's taking an evening walk.

"Your grandfather was brilliant," he calls after me. "His theories about magickal resonance were revolutionary. Pity he could never quite get the balance right."

Ice erupts from my cane, creating a barrier between us and our pursuers. It won't hold them long, but it doesn't need to.

We burst into the library, slamming the doors behind us. Violet immediately starts pushing tables against them while Thorne's shadows reinforce the barricade.

"Southeast corner," I direct, already moving. "Under the restricted section."

"What exactly are we looking for?" Flint asks, keeping his flames ready and seemingly enjoying the fuck out of this new power.

"This." I drop to my knees, brushing aside the corner of a rug to reveal an intricate pattern carved into the floor. "One of Morgan's original ward designs. Blackthorne showed it to us in class one day when we first started. If we can activate it..."

The doors shudder under an impact .

"How?" Violet demands. "We can barely control our magick right now."

Another crash. The barricade won't hold much longer.

"The same way you just balanced our power," I explain, staring at the symbols on the stone. They are familiar and not at the same time. Where have I seen them before? "I need a second." I close my eyes and think, sorting through my memories like flash cards. My eyes fly open when I land on the one I am seeking. "The scorch marks on the table."

"What?" Thorne snaps. "We don't have much time."

"When I cleaned the dining hall, there were scorch marks on one of the tables," I explain calmly, knowing the seconds are counting but also, I need to be succinct or risk wasting more time repeating myself. "Blackthorne knew they were there. Or he made them, knowing I would see them. Three of them are exactly like this. Can you read the inscription, Thorne?"

He frowns and glares down at it. "Fire, ice, shadows."

"It's us. We need to create a resonance pattern. Each of us taking a corner, channelling our aspects through the ward stone."

The doors splinter.

"No pressure," Flint mutters, taking his position.

The dead vessels pour in just as we complete the square. My grandfather leads them, his movements are jerky and wrong.

"Now!" I shout .

Power flows through us again, but this time, we're ready. Violet conducts our magick like before, directing it into the ward stone like she has been doing this her whole life and not just a few seconds. The carved patterns glow.

"You still don't understand," Nathaniel says, entering behind his macabre parade. "This is necessary. The forest's power must be fully unleashed before it can be properly controlled."

"Pretty sure raising the dead isn't proper anything," Violet snaps, purple light pulsing as she maintains the magickal flow.

The ward stone's glow intensifies. I feel the power building, different from before. More structured.

My grandfather's corpse lunges for me.

Ice explodes from my hands instinctively, catching him mid-leap. But instead of freezing, he changes. His flesh ripples, transforming into pure magickal energy.

The same happens to all the dead vessels. Their physical forms dissolve, revealing what they truly are - constructs of pure magick, shaped by Nathaniel's will.

"The forest remembers them all," he says softly. "Every failed attempt, every vessel that couldn't handle the power. Their magick never truly died. It just waited."

The magickal constructs swirl around us, their energy trying to disrupt our connection to the ward stone. I recognise the patterns - they're trying to force their way into our magickal circuit, corrupt the balance we've created. Take control of it, even .

"Don't let them in," I warn. "If they merge with our magick..."

"We become them," Thorne finishes grimly, his shadows fighting against spectral darkness.

Flint's flames roar higher. "Not fucking happening."

The ward stone pulses beneath us, its pattern spreading across the library floor. Books rattle on their shelves as magickal energy builds.

Nathaniel watches with that same patient smile.

He knows something we don't. The thought hits me with certainty. This isn't just a test, it's a demonstration. But of what?

"The forest's power can't be contained," he says, as if reading my thoughts. "It must be experienced. Embraced. Even if that means breaking a few vessels in the process."

The magickal constructs press closer, their energy becoming more frenzied. Our balanced circuit starts to falter.

"Vi," I call out, an idea forming. "The book. Use the book!"

She understands immediately, pulling out the purple volume from the back of her pants with one hand while maintaining her conductor's stance with the other.

The moment she opens it, everything changes.

Knowledge, my father has always taught, is power. But watching the purple book's pages glow, I can see we never truly understood what that meant.

Ancient runes spiral off the pages, interweaving with our magick and the ward stone's pattern. The spectral vessels recoil from the burn.

"The Codex Noctis," Nathaniel breathes, his awe evident. "You can read it. To me, the pages are blank."

"Yeah, well, it must recognise you as a complete motherfucker," Violet rasps.

The Codex Noctis. I know that name from my grandfather's most secret journals. It's a book of pure magickal theory, supposedly written by Morgan herself. Lost for centuries.

Or perhaps just waiting for the right Catalyst.

"Violet," I say urgently. "The runes are a frequency key. Like musical notes, but for magick."

She nods, already directing the power flow to match the book's patterns. The ward stone resonates in response, its glow changing from simple light to something more complex.

The spectral vessels try to retreat, but they're caught in the resonance pattern. Including my grandfather.

For a moment, his magickal form stabilises enough to look as I remember him again. His eyes meet mine, and I see something there - recognition, relief, and… pride.

"The balance," he whispers, his voice like wind through ice crystals. "We never understood... the book was always the key..."

Then he dissolves completely, his energy absorbed into the ward stone's pattern. The other vessels follow, their magickal essence purified and transformed by the resonance .

"Fascinating," Nathaniel murmurs, studying the pattern spreading across the library floor. "You've exceeded all expectations. Perhaps too well."

Because the power isn't stopping. The ward stone continues to pulse, the book's runes spinning faster, our magick building toward something that feels increasingly dangerous.

"We need to break the circuit," Thorne shouts over the magickal roar.

"If we do, all those lectures in Advanced Magickal Theory tell me all that power backlashes," Flint counters, his flames now tinged with purple light.

"If we don't, it overloads," I add, watching frost patterns spiral up the library walls. "The resonance is too strong. Violet?"

We all look at her.

She stands at the corner of the square, purple light coursing over her skin as she conducts the magickal symphony we've created. The book hovers before her, pages turning by themselves.

"We don't break it," she says, her voice overlaid with something ancient. "We complete it."

Before any of us can ask what that means, she steps into the centre of the ward stone pattern.

"No!" Nathaniel moves forward, genuine alarm on his face. "The vessel must be prepared first!"

But it's too late. Violet raises her hands, and all our power—fire, ice, shadow, and whatever her own magick has become—flows into her at once.

The world goes white .

When my vision clears, I'm on my knees, my cane the only thing keeping me semi-upright. Flint and Thorne are in similar states; our magick is drained but somehow not depleted.

Violet stands in the middle of the ward stone, which has stopped glowing. The purple book floats serenely before her, closed.

And she's changed.

Her eyes shift colour like aurora borealis, and her skin holds shadows and light. When she moves, I catch glimpses of frost and flame beneath her skin.

"Well," she says, her voice carrying the ancient undertone from her trance-like state, "that was interesting."

Then her eyes roll back, and she collapses.

Thorne catches her before she hits the ground, but we're all watching Nathaniel. His expression is unreadable as he studies Violet's unconscious form.

"The first stage is complete," he says finally. "Earlier than planned, but..." He smiles that knife-edge grin. "Perhaps that's for the best. The forest's patience grows thin."

"What did you do?" Flint demands, flames flickering weakly around his clenched fists.

"I?" Nathaniel raises an eyebrow. "I merely provided the Catalyst for what was already inevitable. She chose to take that final step herself."

"What final step?" I ask though I fear I already know.

"Full integration of all four aspects," he says simply. " The forest's power now flows through her completely. Whether she can survive that power..." He shrugs elegantly. "Well, that's what we're about to find out." He turns to leave, then pauses. "I'll be seeing you."

Then he's gone, leaving us with an unconscious Catalyst, a mysterious book, and the terrible certainty that whatever just happened was only the beginning.

I look at my fellow vessels, seeing my exhaustion and worry reflected in their faces.

"So," Flint says finally, "anyone else really want to set him on fire? Just a little bit?"

"Soon, mate. Fucking soon."

In the aftermath, which is a bit anticlimactic, Thorne carries Violet up to her room. No one suggests taking her to the infirmary. How exactly would we explain this to the academy healers? The students bustling about appear to be none the wiser of what has happened, going about their routines as they normally would.

What the ice hell? Has time been manipulated?

"Her magick's stabilising," I say as he lays her down on her bed. "But the frequency is different."

"You can hear it as well?" Flint asks.

"Like a high-pitched scream?" Thorne adds.

"Yeah. I'm guessing she's somehow maintaining all four magickal frequencies simultaneously."

"This is bad," Thorne mutters.

"It should be fatal," I admit. "Supernatural bodies, in general, aren't designed to channel multiple magickal aspects at once. It's why we are designated into different species and specialise in certain aspects. "

"But she's not a general supernatural body, is she? She's heir to Morgan's power. Maybe that's why she can handle it."

I shake my head, not in denial but trying to process. "This goes beyond normal magickal theory. The resonance frequency she's generating is beyond even that of my dad's."

"Speaking of the fam… are we just going to ignore what we all saw back there?" Flint asks. "Former relations that were former vessels?"

"Or former heirs?" Thorne points out. "And no, we can't ignore it. It is obviously why we are who we are."

"So if Nathaniel knew this all along, why did he try to keep her from us?"

"You heard him; this step was too soon. He must've known we would figure it all out and plough ahead," I say with absolute conviction.

Violet stirs slightly, making us all tense, but she doesn't wake. Purple light still flickers beneath her skin, though fainter now.

"The book," Thorne says suddenly. "Where is it?"

We look around, but the purple volume is nowhere to be seen.

"It was just here," Flint frowns. "I put it on the bedside table myself."

"Maybe it's still there, and we just can't see it. We sure as shit can't read it, only Violet can."

"True." But he doesn't look convinced.

"Right," I sigh. "Let's focus on what we know. One: Nathaniel orchestrated this whole thing, including raising dead vessels as magickal constructs."

"Two," Flint adds, "He knows way more about all of this than he's telling us. Including stuff about our families."

"Three," Thorne continues, "The forest's power is growing stronger, and apparently getting impatient, wanting Morgan's true heir to hurry the fuck up already."

"Four," I finish, "Violet's now channelling all our aspects at once, which should be impossible."

"You forgot five," a weak voice says from the bed. "I really, really need a drink."

We all turn to find Violet struggling to sit up, her colour-shifting eyes trying to focus.

"Water?" Flint offers.

"Blood."

I hold out my wrist, and she is quick to drop her fangs and bite into me. I hiss and try not to flatten her to the bed and ravage her as my arousal levels shoot through the roof.

She releases me before I'm ready to let her go. Her gaze is disconcerting now when she looks at me. "So. That happened."

"You could have died," Thorne says quietly. "Stepping into that resonance pattern without knowing what would happen?—"

"Wasn't exactly thinking clearly at the time," she admits. "It felt right. Like the magick was showing me what to do. "

"The book," Flint says. "It changed something when you opened it."

"The Codex Noctis," I murmur. "A legendary text of pure magickal theory. My grandfather spent years searching for it."

"And now it's vanished again," Thorne notes.

Violet looks at the empty bedside table. "Nope, it's still here."

"Told you," he grits out.

"It's not going anywhere. We need it. When we're ready for the next stage."

We all look at her sharply.

"What next stage?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know.

She closes her eyes, and for a moment, I see our magick swirling beneath her skin. Fire, ice, and shadow are all in perfect harmony.

"The forest..." she begins slowly, "it's not just getting stronger. It's waking up. Really waking up. And it wants..."

She trails off, shuddering.

"What?" Flint prompts. "What does it want?"

"It's Mistress," she whispers. "It wants everything back. All the magick that's been bound and regulated and controlled. It wants to be wild again, and it wants me, us, to help make that happen."

Silence falls as we process this.

"That would be chaos," I say finally. "Uncontrolled magick on that scale..."

"Would change the world," Thorne finishes .

"Or end it," Flint adds grimly.

Violet looks down at her hands, where purple light still dances across her skin. "I don't think we have a choice anymore. The forest has waited centuries for vessels that could handle its power. Now that we've proven we can..."

A distant howl echoes from the forest, followed by another, and another. The magickal torches in the room flicker as shadows deepen. Temperature fluctuates wildly as my ice magick responds to some unseen stimulus.

The forest is calling.

And for the first time, we can all hear it.