The wind's mournful howl seeped through the cracks in Lisa's window, echoing the heavy churn of thoughts in her mind. Each whisper from the darkness seemed to pulse with warnings she didn't fully understand, and yet, she couldn't ignore them. The air felt charged with a purpose beyond her own, guiding her forward with an invisible hand.
Liam's revelation still played in her mind—the notion that he'd been sacrificed to imprison the necromancer's spirit, that his own existence had been manipulated in a way neither of them could escape. But perhaps… there was a way. She turned back to her worn-out notebook, scrawled with incantations, symbols, and half-formed ideas.
Somewhere within the rituals of binding and sacrifice lay the answers she needed.
Lisa spent hours poring over every scrap of knowledge she could find on sacrificial bonds and binding spells. Old tomes filled with crumbling pages lined the floor around her, the flickering candlelight casting ominous shadows on the walls. Her research led her to a disturbing suspicion, one she dreaded was true—the ritual she had used to bring Liam back might have weakened the original spell. The resurrection could have fractured the chains that bound the necromancer, allowing his dark influence to seep back into Liam's spirit.
It was a cruel irony: her desire to save Liam had possibly made him a target once more.
Her hands shook as she turned another page, her fingers grazing a passage about "counter-binding rituals." There it was, written in faded ink—a way to possibly sever the necromancer's hold on Liam. But the risks were daunting. If she made even the slightest error, the counter-ritual could backfire, bolstering the necromancer's power instead.
Lisa's eyes moved back to the line she'd read twice already: To anchor light in shadow, one must sacrifice a part of oneself.
Sacrifice.
She took a deep breath. It felt as though the room closed in around her, weighing her down with the knowledge of what she'd need to give up to keep Liam safe. But if there was even a sliver of a chance she could shield him from the necromancer's influence, she had to take it. Even if it meant giving up something vital.
The sky had darkened by the time Lisa set everything in place. A circle of candles surrounded her, flickering with a ghostly light that made her feel as if she were hovering between worlds. She glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting Liam to appear, to stop her. But she had insisted he rest; after everything he'd been through, he deserved a few moments of peace.
For a moment, she doubted herself. Could she really perform this ritual alone?
But doubt had no place here. She had to act. Lisa took a deep breath, focusing her energy, letting it settle deep within her, until she felt a warmth radiate outward. Her mind brushed against memories of her and Liam—moments of laughter, stolen glances, and quiet assurances. She held onto that warmth, using it as her anchor, a beacon of light she'd cling to through the shadows.
With trembling fingers, she traced a line across her wrist, letting a single drop of her blood mix with the dried herbs at her feet. The air crackled around her, as if the ritual's energies were awakening.
Her voice was a mere whisper as she began the incantation, each word laced with her intentions, her fears, her love. She spoke with an intensity that seemed to resonate in the air, the candle flames dancing to her cadence. She could feel the necromancer's presence, a dark, oppressive force lurking at the edges of her mind, watching, waiting.
"You will not have him," she whispered fiercely, and the room seemed to shudder in response.
The light in the candles dimmed, as if a shadow had crossed over them. A chill wrapped around her, seeping into her bones, but she stood firm, grounding herself in the circle, her voice steady as she continued the incantation. Her senses heightened, and she became acutely aware of her own heartbeat, a rhythmic pulse that seemed to echo louder with each beat.
Then, a vision—a fleeting image of Liam's face, twisted in pain, as if something was pulling at him, trying to drag him back into darkness.
"No!" Lisa cried, pouring all her will into the words of the ritual. "I won't let you have him!"
The candle flames flared, their light briefly overpowering the shadows. She could feel the strain, like a cord stretching too tightly, ready to snap. And then, as she spoke the last word, a wave of energy surged through her, as if every ounce of her strength had been drained in an instant.
The flames guttered, leaving her alone in the darkness.
---
When she opened her eyes, the room was eerily silent. Lisa staggered to her feet, her head throbbing, her vision blurred. She felt hollow, as if part of her had been siphoned away. But as she steadied herself, a sense of calm washed over her. She didn't know if the ritual had succeeded entirely, but she could sense that something within the balance had shifted.
Her hand instinctively moved to the pendant around her neck, a small token she had enchanted long ago, a connection she'd never broken. She clutched it tightly, sending a silent wish into the void: Let him be safe.
There was no answer, but for now, that would have to be enough.