He turned. Prince Vald stood with his cloak torn, one arm wrapped in blood-soaked linen. His eyes still flickered gold at the edges — the demon’s remnants watching from inside.
And the spell screamed.
They descended into the chapel where the spell began. The crimson sigils on the walls had changed — twisting into shapes that breathed. In the center, a mirror waited. Not glass. Ice made of frozen blood. crimson spell volume 8
He drew his sword not to strike, but to swear. He turned
The moon hung low over Valdrigal, fractured like old bone. Haldyn pressed his palm against the ruins of the castle gate, feeling the curse pulse beneath the stone. Alive. Hungry. crimson spell volume 8