He drags the blade down again and slices into my palm before I can even scream.
Pain explodes through my hand, sharp and electric, like a wire has been jammed under my skin. The Leader grips my wrist hard, his fingers biting into my flesh. The ritual knife glows a strange blue where it touches my blood.
The clearing goes silent, except for my ragged breathing and the low, humming sound of the blade. Blood drips from my hand, staining the metal, and suddenly everything feels real. Heavy. Like a storm about to crash down on me.
“Vek’tara esh fenir,” the Leader chants. His voice is deep and strange, the words thick like they’re pushing their way into my head.
The pain shifts. It’s not just a cut now. It turns into something deeper, something wrong. It burns through my veins like acid, sp
