Page 109 of Crown of Storm and Silence
"How much blood?" Kaan asks, positioning himself protectively near me despite the way his poison in his system makes my light magic recoil instinctively.
"Merely a few drops from each," Erlik assures him, lifting one of the ritual blades. "Though the magic itself will be... intense. Purification of such deep poison requires significant power."
I take Kaan's hand despite the way the poison writhes beneath his skin at my touch, silver fire responding to my light with hungry interest. Through our bond, I feel his determination mixed with growing desperation as time runs out.
"Something feels wrong about this," I whisper, my healer's instincts screaming warnings about the excessive magical preparations.
"Everything feels wrong when dealing with him," Kaan mutters, but his fingers tighten around mine. The silver veins have spread to his throat now, each breath bringing him closer to complete transformation.
"Your hand, my boy," Erlik says with false paternal warmth.
I watch in growing anxiety as Kaan extends his palm reluctantly, the blade biting deeper than necessary. Silver blood wells up, but instead of just a few drops, Erlik continues cutting, creating a gash that sends corrupted blood streaming down Kaan's wrist.
"Father—" Kaan begins, but Erlik is already moving toward me.
"And now the light to balance the darkness," he murmurs, taking my hand with disturbing gentleness.
The moment his blade touches my palm, agony explodes through me, not just from the cut, but from the way my power responds. Golden radiance erupts from the wound like liquid sunshine, more than blood, more than magic. Pure light essence pours from me, and I watch Erlik's eyes widen with hunger as he collects it in a crystal vial.
"Beautiful," he breathes, and the reverence in his voice makes every protective instinct I possess scream warnings. "Such pure light, untainted by shadow. Perfect for what comes next."
But instead of combining our blood immediately, he turns the blade on himself. The cut he makes across his own palm is deeper than either of ours, and what flows from the wound isn't blood—it's liquid darkness that seems to absorb light itself.
Terror crashes over me as I watch him turn the blade on himself. "What are you doing?" Kaan growls and steps closer to me, as if at any second he is ready to flee with me.
"The curse was of your brother," Erlik says, watching his essence drip into the chalice with satisfaction. "Only the same blood as its creator can truly break what he wrought."
I glance behind me to where Banu is watching. I don't know what I want from her: to tell me we should continue, to tell me this is safe, or to run for our lives. She appears pale but gives mea nod of encouragement. I can’t even look at Eclin; she’s already radiating her dislike of this. I turn back to Erlik.
Erlik combines all three essences in the silver chalice: Kaan's corrupted blood, my liquid light, and his own primordial darkness. The opposing forces don't just react; they war against each other. Silver poison, golden radiance, and absolute void spiral in patterns that hurt to look at directly.
The chalice trembles in his hands as the mixture tries to tear itself apart, and I taste copper and desperation through our connection.
"Drink," Erlik commands, offering the chalice to Kaan alone.
"Both of us?" I ask, noting the way he's excluded me from this final step.
"The poison lives in his veins," Erlik explains with patient condescension. "He must be the vessel for purification. Your essence will guide the process from within."
I watch Kaan take the chalice with hands that shake from more than just poison. The liquid inside writhes with its own life, creating patterns that defy comprehension. Through our bond, I feel his growing alarm, but there's no alternative left.
Kaan drinks from the chalice and for a moment, nothing happens. Then, through our bond, I sense the agony that washes over him.
"Kaan!" I cry out as he drops to his knees, his body convulsing as opposing forces wage war inside him.
Erlik watches with malicious satisfaction. Whatever this ritual truly is, it's not simple purification. There's triumph in his expression, the look of someone whose long-laid plans are finally coming to fruition.
I try to reach for Kaan, try to pour my own power into him, but the pain steals his consciousness as surely as it steals my ability to help. Darkness consumes everything as his system overloads.
The last thing I hear through our bond is his screaming.
When consciousness returns to him,I feel it immediately through our connection—the strange sensation of lightness, like the absence of something that's been there so long we'd forgotten what it felt like to exist without it.
The poison is gone.
"Kaan?" I say, helping him sit up as relief floods through me. "How do you feel?"
He flexes his fingers experimentally, and I watch through our bond as shadows respond to his will with eager obedience instead of poisonous resistance. "Clean," he admits, wonder threading through his voice. "I feel... clean."
