The festival had ended, but its echoes lingered in the quiet.
Colorful lanterns still swung on their strings, half-burned and sleepy in the midnight wind. The scent of candied plum and roasted nuts clung to the stones of the academy courtyard, where only a few stragglers wandered home with tired feet and confetti in their hair.
Elias shut their dorm door behind him with a sigh of satisfaction. He tossed his coat onto the back of a chair, missed entirely, and didn't bother correcting it. "Okay. I'm declaring it. Best night since we got to the capital."
Revantra was already curled on the couch, her braid undone, her cheeks still faintly flushed from her performance. She was sipping what looked suspiciously like Theo's abandoned festival drink—a violently pink sugar monstrosity—and pretending it didn't taste like liquified regret.
"I'm not saying it was good," she said, glancing at him from over the cup. "But it didn't make me want to incinerate myself onstage."
Elias chuckled. "High praise."
She sipped again, then added with deadpan delivery, "Also, no one threw shoes this time. Progress."
They were settling into something warm, something that felt almost normal—until Revantra suddenly stilled.
Her eyes darkened. Not with fear, but with recognition. Her entire posture changed, as if the air had stiffened around her bones.
Elias frowned. "What is it?"
She stood slowly, setting the drink down without looking. "Someone's calling me," she murmured. "With the same blood."
That wasn't a metaphor.
Elias felt the bottom of his stomach drop.
She walked to the window, fingers brushing the sill. Her gaze stretched into the darkness like she could see through the city's walls. Her voice was low, flat, as if trying to separate her thoughts from her instincts.
"It's faint. But it's old. Deep. Familiar in a way that makes my skin itch."
"You mean magic?"
She shook her head. "Not just magic. Blood." She turned to him. "And it's calling me. Which means it knows I'm here. Which means something's wrong."
Something sharp and primal moved through the moment.
Elias grabbed his coat again and was halfway through pulling it on when the door burst open.
A boy stumbled in—wide-eyed, breathless, and bleeding from a cut above his temple.
"Help," he gasped. "Theo. They took Theo—masked men, they—"
Revantra didn't wait.
She shoved past the door and vanished into the night.
The chase was wordless.
Elias followed only because he'd learned, by now, that when she ran, you didn't ask where—only how fast.
They darted through the dim alleys behind the academy, Revantra's bare feet slapping against cobblestones, the wind lifting her loose hair like smoke.
"Do you know where they're going?" he shouted as he kept pace.
"Yes," she called back. "No. Sort of."
"Not helping."
She skidded to a stop at a crooked intersection and tilted her head like a hound scenting something. Her eyes glowed faintly now—barely, but enough.
"They're underground. Sewers."
"Of course they are," Elias muttered. "Kidnappers never rent out inns like normal people."
She looked at him, one brow raised. "You want them organized?"
"No, I want them to not kidnap Theo!"
Her face twitched. The slightest flicker of a grimace that might've been worry, if Revantra ever admitted to that kind of thing.
"Come on," she said, her voice quieter now. "We're close."
They moved again.
Through a drainage tunnel. Down into the old underpass. Across broken bricks and the rush of foul water that would've made anyone less traumatized hesitate.
But Revantra didn't hesitate.
And then they heard it—muffled voices, the scrape of boots, and something far more chilling: chanting.
Elias grabbed her arm. "That's not a good sign."
She didn't blink. "It's worse than a sign."
He swallowed. "Do you think it's..."
"The Hollow Flame?" she whispered. "Yes."
Of course she knew.
The cult. The one from Theo's book. The one that believed in a prophecy about awakening the "true demon queen." A creature of pure fire and destruction. A version of her that no one wanted to meet.
"Then why Theo?" Elias asked.
But even as he did, he realized.
Revantra looked away.
"Because he's the one who found it," she said. "The book. The history. The truth. And now they think he's in the way."
Elias felt cold.
They crept forward, sticking close to the wall until they reached the edge of a large, circular chamber.
The smell of damp earth and sulfur filled the air.
In the center, a circle of robed figures stood chanting around a stone pedestal. Atop it—bound, gagged, and glaring—was Theo.
He looked furious.
Not scared.
Just offended.
Elias could almost hear him saying, "I specifically told everyone I am not a damsel in distress!"
Revantra was already studying the layout. "There are seven. Two near the entrance. Four around the circle. One watching the back."
"Great. Seven cloaked cultists. Against us."
She looked at him.
He raised a hand. "I'm not saying we can't do it. I'm just saying they probably think we can't."
That made her smirk—briefly. But then her face sobered.
"You have to stay back."
"What? No way. I'm not letting you—"
She grabbed his face.
Not hard. Not rough.
Just firmly.
"If they're calling to me with blood," she said slowly, "it means they're ready to awaken something that should never wake. If they force it—if I get close—I don't know if I'll stay me."
Elias's mouth went dry.
"You will," he said. "You are you. I know you."
Her eyes shimmered with something too complicated to name.
"I'm scared."
He nodded. "Me too."
And then she smiled—a small, trembling thing—and turned away.
When she stepped into the chamber, the chanting stopped.
All seven turned toward her.
The tallest, in robes trimmed with scorched gold, lowered his hood to reveal a face Elias would've forgotten instantly if it hadn't been for the eyes—black, glassy, and hollow.
"Revantra," the man intoned.
"You say that like I should be flattered," she said dryly.
"You've returned. Our flame. Our queen."
"Nope. Just a girl with a lot of trauma and a vendetta against bird masks."
They looked at each other. Hesitation in the ranks.
The leader recovered. "The ritual is nearly complete. Once your blood touches the altar, your inheritance will awaken. The demon queen reborn."
"Funny thing about inheritance," she said. "You don't have to accept it."
They lunged.
But so did she.
The fight wasn't elegant. It wasn't magic and sparks and perfect timing. It was wild and messy and real. Elias helped where he could—throwing stones, using a minor shield spell to block knives. One cultist tripped over Theo's still-bound legs. Another got knocked out cold by Revantra swinging a rusty pipe.
It lasted maybe five minutes.
Then, silence.
Except for Theo's muffled cursing.
They rushed over and undid the gag first.
"I swear," he spat, "the moment I find out who designed this rope knot—"
"You're okay?" Elias asked.
Theo looked at him, then at Revantra, then sighed. "I was having a nice night. I had a drink. I was going to flirt with the alchemy teacher. Then boom, cultists. So no, I'm not okay. But I am alive. Which I guess is a win."
Revantra didn't speak. Her hands were trembling.
Theo noticed. "Hey," he said, softer now. "You okay?"
"I heard the call," she whispered. "It was in me. It still is."
Elias reached for her. "But you fought it."
"I don't know how long I can keep doing that."
"You don't have to do it alone."
She stared at them.
Then, very slowly, she nodded.
"Next time," Theo muttered, rubbing his wrists, "we leave the festival early."
Elias laughed, and even Revantra managed a smile.
But as they climbed back out of the tunnels, all three of them knew:
This wasn't over.
The Hollow Flame was still burning.
And Revantra's blood still answered its call.
But tonight, she had chosen herself.
And that choice mattered.
To be continued…