Page 68 of Wild Ivy
The temple’s death throes intensify. Support columns crack and buckle. The floor starts to cave in at the edges, revealing the void-dark spaces beneath. It is pissed that the ritual was stopped, or maybe it’s just pissed that it was awoken from itsslumber. Either way, it’s pissed, and we need to calm it down before it crushes us.
I close my eyes and reach for the power waiting. Death isn’t just an ending—it’s transformation, change, and a doorway to something new. I let that truth flow through me, through all of us.
“Hold on to each other,” I manage through gritted teeth. “No matter what happens, don’t let go.”
The ceiling gives way completely. Tons of ancient stone plummet toward us as the floor disintegrates beneath our feet. Time slows, caught between one heartbeat and the next.
I pull on every scrap of power we have left, weaving death and shadow and chaos into something new. Something that tastes like possibility.
The world goes white.
And we fold.
Reality bends around us like paper, creasing along impossible angles. For a fraction of a second, I see everything at once: the temple collapsing into itself, the corrupted ley lines snapping like overtightened strings, the countless layers of existence stacked like pages in a book. Our combined magick tears through them all, searching for a way out.
The sensation is indescribable - like being turned inside out while falling in every direction at once. If I thought being scattered across dimensions was painful, this is worse. I scream, my throat raw and bleeding. I feel Tate’s hand gripping mine so tightly the bones grind together. Bram’s magick screams as it’s stretched to its absolute limit. Torin’s magick dances wild and erratic through our impromptu spell.
We’re burning up what little power we have left. If this doesn’t work...
Then, something catches us. A current in the chaos, a thread of familiar power. It takes me a moment to recognise it.
Blackthorn.
I grab onto it with everything I have left. The others follow my lead, our combined magick wrapping around that glowing thread like drowning people clutching a lifeline.
The world twists one final time…
And spits us out.
We hit grass instead of stone. Clean night air fills my lungs, sweet and cold and blessedly real. Somewhere nearby, crickets are chirping as if nothing extraordinary has happened at all.
I force my eyes open and see the Professor standing over me, peering down with an inquisitive stare. “Well done, Miss Hammond,” he says cheerfully. “Well done, indeed.”
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“Well done, indeed,”Blackthorn repeats, offering me his hand.
I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. My legs feel like jelly, and my entire body throbs with the aftermath of channelling that much power. But we’re alive. We stopped Life. We saved... everything.
“The temple?” I ask, my voice rough.
“Improving,” he says. “The ley lines are realigning themselves. It will take time, but the damage can be repaired. This forest and everything in it is nothing short of powerful.”
I look around, taking in our surroundings. We’re back on MistHallow’s grounds, the mist curling around our ankles like curious cats. The guys are sprawled in various states of consciousness on the damp grass.
“They need medical attention,” I say, watching Torin try and fail to sit up.
“Already arranged.” He gestures, and several figures emerge from the mist - healers, I assume, given their focused expressions and glowing hands.
“Professor,” I start, but he holds up a hand.
“Rest first. We have much to discuss, but it can wait until you’re all recovered.”
I want to argue, but exhaustion hits me like a tidal wave. The healers approach, their energy gentle but insistent. One of them guides me to sit on a nearby bench.
“The ritual?” I ask as healing magick seeps into my battered body.
