Lucan placed a heavy tome on the table, its leather cover worn with age. He flipped through brittle pages until he stopped at an intricate illustration of three glowing relics, surrounded by swirling lines of energy. At the center, a lone figure knelt, their body chained by invisible bonds.
"This is what you carry," Lucan said. "A relic that does not simply grant power—it binds itself to the wielder's soul."
Lira's breath caught. "So, when I use it... it takes something from me?"
Lucan nodded. "Strength. Willpower. Eventually, more."
Kael's jaw clenched. "And you think the vampire lord doesn't already know this?"
Lucan's expression was grim. "He does. And he's waiting. Because once the relic consumes her, it will no longer be hers to wield."
Lira felt the weight of the relic at her side, suddenly heavier than ever before. "So how do I stop it?"
Lucan hesitated. "There is a way. But it's dangerous."
Nyra sighed. "Of course it is."
Lucan turned a page, revealing an ancient ritual—a blood ritual. "To sever the relic's hold, you must spill the blood of its creator."
Lira stared at him. "And who created it?"
Lucan's eyes met hers. "The vampire lord himself."