A Spark In The Shadow

CHAPTER - TWENTY EIGHT

The air inside the church was thick with the smell of strong, bitter herbs and a quiet sadness. Duskiel lay on his simple bed, looking pale and almost see-through against the rough blankets. The silver wound on his back was slowly healing, but the Shadescore's nonstop draining continued its scary work.

He was fading away.

His breathing was shallow, his heartbeat faint and uneven.

His human side, the lively boy who laughed and built forts, was barely there now. His eyes looked dull and far away. Brianna rarely left his side, her face showing deep worry. Her fingers often brushed the old leather of Ember’s journal, looking for answers, for a way to save him.

                                   ---

In the cold afternoon, as a thin, biting wind shook the church windows, a sudden loud noise broke out at the heavy wooden doors. Voices, sharp and urgent, cut through the quiet.

"Stop! Who's there?!" a guard's voice boomed, full of suspicion, his spear ready.

"Tell us who you are, stranger! You can't enter Havenwood's holy place!"

"Your worries are heard, guardian. But I am looking for the boy. The one who carries the cursed heart. And the girl with the new light. My reason for being here is urgent." a voice, smooth and clear, yet old and powerful, cut through the noise. It was calm, but it had a power that made the very air hum.

"Cursed heart? New light? What kind of magic is this?" another guard mumbled nervously.

"Step back, witch! We won't let you pass!"

Brianna gasped, her head snapping up. She looked at Duskiel, who weakly stirred on the bed, his eyes fluttering open. A faint shiver ran through him.

He too had heard the voice. A cold dread, a feeling of deep, forgotten history, filled him. Who was this person, who knew so much? Who spoke of "cursed hearts" and "new light"?

The heavy church doors groaned, pushed inward from the outside with a slow, unstoppable force. The guards stumbled back, surprised, their weapons still raised, but not daring to strike. They seemed frozen by some unseen command, or maybe by the pure, imposing presence of the newcomer.

A figure stood in the doorway, framed by the pale afternoon light coming through the clouds. She was tall, incredibly thin, with long, silver hair that seemed to shine like moonlight, falling past her waist. Her clothes were dark and flowing, made of a fine, almost whispering fabric. Her face was beautiful, sharp, with high cheekbones and eyes the color of old ice. But there was something else in those eyes – a deep, ancient sadness, and a hint of a burning light that seemed almost to glow from within her, a strange mix for someone clearly a vampire. Duskiel, even in his weak state, recognized her. She was one of the old ones. And she was powerful.

Brianna clutched Ember’s journal to her chest, her heart beating wildly. She remembered the name from Ember’s scared and desperate writings: "Seraphine."

The oracle. The one Ember had not trusted, yet who had given Duskiel the gem and told him to run away.

Seraphine's gaze swept over the crowded church, ignoring the murmuring villagers and the wary, frozen guards. Her eyes, like two beams of cold, pure light, found Duskiel on his bed. A flicker of something, perhaps sadness, perhaps deep regret, crossed her face. Then her gaze shifted, landing on Brianna, and her icy eyes seemed to soften, almost invisibly, as she recognized the journal.

"You hold the truth," she murmured, a quiet acknowledgment.

She walked into the church, her steps silent, making no sound on the stone floor. The guards moved aside for her, unable to stop her, held back by an unseen force, or perhaps by their own strong, natural fear of her power. She moved directly towards Duskiel's bed, her dark cloak swirling around her like mist.