Empyreal, Book 1

Chapter 32

Sarah stood before the grand thrones, her heart pounding. The heavy fur-lined robes of midnight blue hung heavily on her slender frame, the weight of the jeweled crown already causing a headache. She glanced at Malachi beside her, his strong features echoed with triumph beneath his own golden crown.

Her hands twisted nervously in the silk lining of the robes as Eden and Roan approached, bearing the royal scepters and orbs. This was it, the culmination of everything Malachi had worked for. Sarah swallowed hard, willing herself not to tremble as Malachi's hand gripped her arm possessively.

The blessing began, the droning words of the priest barely registering over the rushing in Sarah's ears. One by one, the guests approached to bow before their new king and queen. Sarah scanned the crowd, desperate for one friendly face among the sea of strangers.

Each subject bowed low, solemn-faced. Sarah straightened her back, clutching her scepter tightly to stop her hands from shaking. She could feel Malachi's satisfied smile burning into her as the endless procession of nobles pledged their loyalty. Trapped, that's how she felt. Trapped in this web of Malachi's making.

Sarah's breath quickened as a strange tingling sensation began to spread through her body. The scepter grew warm in her grip as the procession of nobles continued. What is happening. Sarah's palms began to glow with a faint green light that pulsed in time with her racing heart.

She glanced at Malachi, but he was focused on accepting the obeisance of their subjects, oblivious to the changes happening within her. The green glow intensified, casting an eerie hue onto the faces of the bowed nobles. Sarah blinked rapidly, but the radiance only grew brighter.

Within her chest, she could feel the dark magic unfurling like the slow bloom of a lunar flower. It coursed through her veins, seeking, searching. Sarah swayed on her feet, the heavy robes and jewels now feeling like lead weights trying to drag her down.

No one else seemed to notice the supernatural light emanating from her. Their heads remained lowered, their murmurs of fealty a steady drone beneath the frantic pounding of her heart.

Sarah gripped the scepter until her knuckles turned white, willing herself to remain upright. What was happening? Why now? The dark magic flooded her senses, blurring the throne room into a kaleidoscope of green-tinted shadows.

A soft moan escaped her lips. The scepter grew hotter in her hand, pulsating with power. Sarah closed her eyes, losing herself in the rising tide of ancient magic that threatened to consume her.

Sarah hovered several feet above the stone floor, her body enveloped in a haunting glow that pulsed and brightened with each passing moment. Her hair floated around her like tendrils in water, and her eyes had rolled back, showing only the whites.

Malachi's breath caught in his throat as he watched, a creeping dread filling his chest. This was not how it was supposed to happen. The ritual had gone too far, tapped into something beyond his control. He had aimed to bind Sarah to his will, to exploit her power for his own ends, but he now realized his mistake.

"Sarah!" he shouted, striding towards her suspended form. Shadows flickered at the edges of the hall, cast by the unearthly light. Malachi's footsteps echoed as he approached.

Sarah did not respond, did not even turn her head. The glow brightened further, forcing

Malachi to squint and raise a hand against its harshness.

"You must stop this," he commanded, infusing his voice with as much authority as he could muster. It did nothing. Sarah continued to rise, her hair and dress blowing around wildly, consumed by the magical forces flowing through her.

Malachi grabbed her arm, wincing at the shock of power that jolted up his own limb. He clung tightly, trying to pull her back down, but she remained fixed in the air as if made of stone.

"Sarah, listen to me!" Desperation tinged his words now. "Do not let it overtake you!"

Her head turned, agonizingly slow. The green of her irises had been replaced by an infernal glow, like gazing into the heart of an otherworldly flame. Malachi tried again to suppress the magic, to force it back under his dominion, but it slipped through his grasp like smoke.

For the first time in decades, stark fear gripped the ancient warlock. He had never imagined she could become more powerful than him. But it was too late. The transformation was complete, and Sarah was no longer his to command.

The guests in the grand ballroom looked up in awe and terror as Sarah hovered above them, wrapped in a vortex of magical energy. Her eyes blazed that unnatural green, casting a ghostly glow across the ornate room.

Cries of shock and alarm rose from the crowd. Many stumbled back, trying to get away from this strange apparition that had once been a shy, unassuming girl.

"My God, what is happening?" Lord Alfred shouted, his voice trembling.

No one had an answer. The magical wind whipped through Sarah's hair and tore at the guests' clothes and hair. It increased to a frenzied roar, drowning out their screams.

Then the manor itself began to tremble. The chandelier overhead swayed violently, the crystals tinkling. The floor buckled under their feet. Fissures split the marble tiles and crept up the soaring walls. Dust rained down as the convulsions grew stronger.

Panic took hold of the crowd. They stampede toward the great oaken doors, shoving and stumbling over one another in their haste. But the doors refused to budge, held fast by Sarah's magic.

They were trapped inside this possessed castle with a girl who was no longer a girl, but a vessel for something ancient and terrifying.

Upstairs Dorian gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles white, as the wooden surface beneath his hands began to tremble. The shuddering intensified, papers scattering as drawers rattled open. He squinted against the sudden gust swirling through the study, the sheets caught in a whirlwind.

"What the hell..." he muttered. This was no mere draft - the very walls seemed to hum with an energy both foreign and familiar. He recalled the prickling unease that had needled his spine when he first met Sarah, her silver hair almost blinding. Her eyes had flashed, not with anger, but something far more primal.

The trembling crescendoed, books toppling from shelves, before dying abruptly. In the silence, Dorian's breath echoed harshly in his ears. He glanced warily about the disheveled study, reluctant to release his white-knuckled grip on the desk.

Whatever was happening, the girl was the catalyst. He could feel the truth of it in his bones, an instinctive recognition of the power simmering beneath her unassuming exterior. She was more dangerous than she knew.

Dorian straightened, smoothing the front of his shirt with a shaking hand. He needed to find the others.

Stepping into the hallway, he was struck by the unnatural stillness that had settled over the manor. Only the tap of his boots on the polished floorboards broke the heavy quiet as he briskly made his way toward the east wing.

He was nearing the corner when a muffled clatter shattered the silence. Dorian froze, listening intently. There - another clatter, followed by hushed voices rising in alarm.

Rounding the corner, he found Tamsyn and Cap in the hallway, their faces pale. Tamsyn knelt to gather up a fallen goblet, while Cap gripped her shoulder, wide eyes fixed on Dorian's approach.

"What's happening?" Cap demanded, his fingers red where he clutched at Tamsyn.

She rose slowly, turning the goblet in trembling fingers. "It started shaking on the table, then suddenly flew off. I've never seen anything like it."

Dorian studied them gravely. "Something is stirring within the manor. I suspect our new guest may not be all she appears..."

He trailed off as a tremor shivered up through the soles of his boots. Exchanging an uneasy glance with Cap and Tamsyn, he started toward the staircase. "We need to find out what she's done."