The path to the Crimson Valley was unforgiving. Thorn-laced underbrush clawed at Selene's cloak as she and Damon pressed forward, each step pulling them deeper into a territory neither fully understood. The sky overhead roiled with heavy gray clouds, threatening to drench the earth at any moment.
Selene's pulse thrummed with growing urgency. Every second wasted was another step Theron took toward destroying cursed bloodlines—toward unraveling the only chance she and Damon had to break their bond without dying.
They moved in silence, bound by shared purpose and the weight of what they had learned. The High Priestess was using Theron. The Bloodfangs were no longer just enemies; they were pawns in a game of ancient escape.
Selene adjusted the satchel on her shoulder, her fingers brushing the edge of Damon's mother's journal. It felt like the only thread connecting her to the truth.
"We need help," she said, finally breaking the quiet.
Damon's crimson gaze flicked toward her. "Help from who?"
"A witch," Selene answered, firm. "Someone who isn't bound to the council. Someone who knows the ancient ways."
"You mean Eira," Damon said, his voice darkening. "She won't help us."
"She might if we offer something she wants."
Damon shook his head, his jaw tightening. "Eira makes bargains, Selene. Dangerous ones. Her price is never simple."
"Neither is our situation," Selene snapped. "We're running out of options."
Reluctantly, Damon relented, guiding them toward the southern woods where Eira—the banished witch—was rumored to reside.
They found her cottage nestled between gnarled trees, its roof sagging under the weight of ivy and time. Despite its decaying facade, Selene felt the sharp pulse of magic surrounding it, woven thick into the air like invisible threads.
"She knows we're here," Damon murmured.
"Good," Selene replied, squaring her shoulders as she stepped toward the door.
Before she could knock, the door creaked open on its own, revealing a woman draped in dark silks, her silver hair cascading like a waterfall. Eira's eyes shimmered unnervingly—one gold, one pitch black.
"I wondered when you would come," Eira purred, her voice both melodic and menacing.
"We need your help," Selene said, wasting no time.
Eira's gaze flicked between them, lingering on the faint glow of Selene's blood-marked palm. "Ah, the tethered witch and the cursed hybrid. How deliciously tragic."
"The Bloodfangs are preparing to wipe out every cursed bloodline," Damon said. "Theron has made a pact with someone powerful."
Eira smiled knowingly. "With the High Priestess."
Selene stiffened. "You knew?"
"Of course. She's been trying to sever her binding to this world for centuries. You two just happen to be the final keys."
"Can you break our bond?" Selene asked.
Eira tilted her head. "Yes. But I require something first."
"What?" Damon demanded, his hand already resting on his blade.
"Relax, child." Eira turned, gliding toward a shelf lined with vials and relics. "I require a single drop of Selene's blood—the one that holds the bond—and in exchange, I will grant you a spell capable of severing the High Priestess's anchor."
Selene hesitated. The price sounded simple. Too simple.
"Why do you want my blood?"
Eira's smile widened, revealing sharp teeth. "Because your blood is now tied to ancient magic. It is a rare ingredient I cannot easily find."
Damon growled. "How do we know you won't use it against us?"
"You don't," Eira said plainly.
Selene studied her, searching for deception. But all she found was hunger—the hunger of a witch who thrived on dangerous games.
"If there's a chance to break this," Selene whispered, "we have to take it."
Reluctantly, Damon stepped back, his trust pinned entirely on Selene's decision.
With a swift cut, Selene let a drop of her blood fall into the vial Eira offered. The moment the blood touched the glass, it glowed faintly, threads of magic curling within.
Eira sealed the vial, her grin sharp. "Thank you, my dear. As promised, the spell you seek."
She handed Selene a small scroll, bound with black ribbon.
"The spell requires both of you," Eira warned. "It draws power from your bond. Fail to perform it correctly, and it will consume you both."
Selene nodded, tucking the scroll safely into her satchel.
"Tell me," Selene asked, pausing at the door. "If we break the anchor, what happens to the High Priestess?"
"She will be bound to this world forever," Eira said, her mismatched eyes gleaming. "Unable to pass into the next. Immortal… but powerless."
Damon's lips curled into a rare smile. "Sounds like a fitting punishment."
As they left the cottage, Selene couldn't shake the feeling that they had just traded one danger for another. But for now, they had what they needed.
The Crimson Valley awaited—and so did the war that would decide everything.