THE SIGIL:II
674 Words
He stepped closer.
Her breathing rasped. Each inhale sounded wet. Blood pooled beneath her ribs and seeped into the grooves of the symbol.
Ending her life now would be simple. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, not sure if he even meant it. He stepped closer and reached for her wrist, ready to put an end to her life.
The moment his skin touched hers, the world convulsed, and power moved through him in a violent current.
This…this was not how summoning worked.
She was supposed to weaken under his presence. Mortals always did. Their bodies strained under the weight of a spirit stepping into proximity.
Instead, energy tore from him. She was pulling directly from his life source.
His vision sharpened painfully, and the air thickened around them. He tried to withdraw his hand, but he couldn’t.
Her fingers tightened faintly around his. Her heart stuttered once, then steadied. A few moments later, strength returned to her pulse.
He felt his own essence thin slightly, siphoned through the connection.
She’s not just a Habringer. She was…he didn’t even know what she was.
“What are you?” he breathed.
Her chest rose deeper this time, and the sigil beneath her hand brightened with renewed force.
Her eyes opened.
They were dark and unfocused. For a second, they simply stared at one another.
In that locked gaze, something inside his chest gave way. The last time someone had looked at him like that, there had been smoke in the sky and blood on his hands and a woman dying in his arms.
He pulled his hand back instinctively.
The energy snapped, then held.
She swallowed, voice raw. “Help me.”
She had opened the door, but she had not finished the incantation.
Without completion, the energy exchange would collapse violently. It would tear through the house and forest alike.
She had to finish it, but she was dying. He exhaled slowly and stopped resisting the pull. He fed just enough strength into her body to restore motor control.
“Listen to me,” he said quietly, hoping she could hear him. Her brows knit together, which indicated that she did. “You began something you must complete.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Who…”
“You do not have time for that.”
The hunters were at the door now.
She tried to push herself upright and failed.
He slid one hand behind her back and lifted her gently. Her weight was fragile against him.
“You will repeat the words that came to you,” he said. “Exactly.”
Her gaze searched his face as if trying to understand whether he was real.
“You can stand,” he told her.
He let more strength pass between them. Her legs trembled, but she rose. Just then, the door splintered under a heavy strike. Her breath quickened.
“You are not afraid,” he said softly.
She looked at him as if that were absurd.
“You are,” he corrected. “But you will not let it stop you.”
The first word came out hoarse.
The language was older than either of them in that form. The syllables shaped the air. Structured it.
The hunters burst into the room. They had their iron blades raised, but she continued speaking. Her voice steadied with each word, and the sigil began to burn brighter. He stepped back just enough to give her space.
The air thickened with pressure and the hunters slowed, confusion crossing their masked faces.
One lunged forward.
She finished the final word.
The house answered.
Power exploded outward in a violent surge that bent the walls and shattered what remained of the windows. The floor trembled beneath them. The hunters were thrown backward as if struck by an invisible wall. Their weapons splintered. Their bodies hit trees outside with sickening force.
The forest went silent.
Dust settled slowly through the air.
The sigil dimmed, and her knees buckled.
He caught her before she hit the floor.
- Writer
