The Mad Ҡìղց

"A Heart Torn Asunder"

The day dragged on so quickly, like a fleeting flash of light. Preparations had been made, and everything was ready in the clearing. It felt almost surreal—how hours passed so fast, blurring together as the final ritual approached. Zhan could barely keep track of time. The weight of the upcoming task pressed on his heart, heavy and unrelenting.

"I will bring him an hour before the ritual," Zhan said quietly.

They nodded, trusting him to fulfill his role, and left to complete their duties.

Duan Dan went with Nie Ming Jue, while Meng and Chang joined Fengmian, they needed to cross-check everything for the ritual. There was no room for error. This was their last chance, the only hope they had left.

Zhan looked at Wang, who was sitting silently, staring off into the distance. There was a look of calm on Wang's face, but Zhan knew it was a mask—a shield hiding the whirlwind of emotions underneath. Fear, anxiety, and uncertainty gnawed at them both, but Zhan refused to let doubt overtake him.

"Zhan, you can still save yourself... and the rest," Wang breathed softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Zhan's eyes full of determination shook his head. "I'll save everyone after saving you," he replied firmly. His resolve was unshakable.

A quiet moment passed before Wang's voice broke the silence again. "Can we go to the garden? I want to see it one last time."

Zhan's heart clenched at the words "one last time." He swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

He gently carried Wang to the garden, cradling him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. Once there, they stayed for hours, the sun sinking low in the sky as the ritual hour approached. Zhan didn't want this time to end, but he knew it was inevitable.

An hour before the ritual, Zhan brought Wang to his parents' burial ground, introducing his mate to them with reverence. "Say a prayer for him," Zhan said softly, his voice trembling with both hope and fear. He knelt down beside Wang, feeling the weight of his ancestors' presence in the air, as if they, too, were holding their breath for the outcome of the night.

Zhan's hands trembled slightly as he held his mate, closer to his chest. He could feel the life slowly fading from him, like a candle burning down to its final flicker. No one else would notice—Wang still looked as serene as ever, his pale face calm, his eyes closed as though in sleep. But Zhan knew. He knew every subtle shift in Wang's body, every change in his breathing, and this slow decline was a knife to his heart.

When the time came, Zhan carried Wang to the clearing, where the others were waiting. The moon hung heavy in the sky, nearly at its peak. In the center of the clearing were two large circles, each inscribed with intricate pentagrams and surrounded by flickering candles. The blood moon cast an eerie glow over everything, its crimson light painting the world in shades of red.

"Place him in the circle," Duan Dan instructed urgency in her voice.

Zhan gently laid Wang in the first circle, then stepped into the second one himself, lying down just as they had planned. The ritual wasn't just about words or actions—it was about intent. Zhan focused every ounce of his love, his desperation, his hope into what was to come.

In between the two circles, the sacred items were carefully placed: the unicorn, a moonstone, and a phoenix feather. Each was imbued with ancient power, relics of an old world that few understood anymore.

As the moon reached its peak, Duan Dan and Meng, both steady and composed, began their incantations. Their voices filled the clearing, a low rhythmic chant that vibrated through the air. Zhan felt the power of the ancient words resonating around them, wrapping the entire space in an invisible force, growing stronger with each passing second.