A Vow of Vengeance and Silk

The child's laughter coiled through the ruined crypt like a living thing, its bright, mocking tones bouncing off shattered mirrors in a way that made Seraphine's teeth ache. Too sweet. Too alive in this tomb of dust and forgotten things. She could feel the sound vibrating in her chest, crawling up her throat like she might choke on it. Kaelan's hands clamped down on her shoulders, his grip tight enough to bruise. "Don't move," he breathed against her ear, his voice barely audible over the sudden, deafening rush of blood in her ears. His gloves were warm through the thin fabric of her tunic, but she could feel the unnatural heat of his scars even through the leather. The tear in the air pulsed like a living wound, its edges shimmering with that same sickly green light that had once pulsed through the Thorn Crown's vines. The darkness beyond wasn't empty, it churned", thick as spilled ink but shot through with fleeting streaks of emerald that twisted like snakes in oil. Then, movement.

A small hand pressed against the invisible barrier from the other side, fingers splayed. A child's hand, pale as milk and just as smooth, its nails crusted with something dark that flaked away as the fingers flexed. The laughter came again, closer now, and Seraphine realized with a jolt that curled her stomach, it wasn't joyful. It was mocking.

Rook's crossbow clicked as she nocked an arrow, the sound deafening in the stillness. "We should go," she said, her voice carefully flat, but Seraphine could see the way her fingers trembled against the weapon's stock. "Now." The small hand flexed. A single fingernail, longer than the others, sharpened to a wicked point, dragged down the unseen barrier with a sound like bone scraping glass. Seraphine's scar blazed in response, the pain so sudden and vicious that her vision whited out for a heartbeat. Something warm and wet trickled down her temple. Kaelan yanked her back just as the tear ripped open wider with a sound like tearing flesh. Cold poured out, not the crisp, clean chill of winter, but the damp, suffocating cold of a tomb sealed for centuries. The child's laughter rose to a shriek, the sound splintering into something that wasn't human, wasn't animal, but something other. Something with too many teeth and not enough eyes.

Then, silence. The tear hung open, quivering like the surface of disturbed water. Waiting.

Brick hefted his axe, his usually impassive face taut with something Seraphine had never seen there before, fear, "That's no child," he rumbled, his deep voice shaking the dust from the ceiling. Seraphine knew he was right. Whatever waited in that darkness, it had worn a child's laughter like a mask. Just as the crown had worn the queen's face. Just as the first daughter had worn hers. Kaelan's gloved hand found hers, his grip crushing. "We're leaving," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Now." They turned as one

And froze. The crypt's entrance was gone.

Where the crumbling staircase had been, there was only smooth, unbroken wall, its surface slick with something that glistened black in the dim light. Seraphine reached out, her fingers hovering just above the strange substance. It pulsed, like something breathing beneath the stone. The shattered mirror shards on the floor began to tremble, skittering toward the tear like iron filings drawn to a magnet. One particularly large fragment sliced past Seraphine's boot, leaving a thin red line across the leather.

The child's voice came again, sweet as poisoned honey

"Seraphiiiiine..." Her scar split, a hot line of agony as something thick and dark trickled down her temple. Kaelan cursed, reaching for her, but she barely felt his touch. The world narrowed to the tear, to the small, pale hand now beckoning from the darkness. Come, it seemed to say. Come and see what you really are. Then, A new sound. Distant at first, then growing louder with each passing second. A rhythmic, wet crunching, like teeth sinking into overripe fruit. Like bones being ground to powder between molars. Something was coming. And it was eating its way through the dark. The child's hand withdrew suddenly, fingers curling in what might have been a wave. The laughter returned, higher now, almost giddy. The sound skittered down Seraphine's spine like spider's legs.

The crunching grew louder. Closer. A shape began to form in the darkness beyond the tear, something massive, something with too many joints in its limbs, its outline shifting and warping like smoke. The stench of rotting meat and spoiled honey rolled out in waves, so thick Seraphine could taste it on the back of her tongue. Rook's crossbow trembled as she raised it. "Whatever comes through," she said, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes, "aim for the mouth. That's always the weak point." Brick shifted his grip on his axe, his massive shoulders tensing. Kaelan's free hand went to the dagger at his belt, his scars flaring brighter beneath his gloves, as if in warning. Seraphine wiped the dark fluid from her temple with the back of her hand. It wasn't blood. It was thicker, darker, and it stung where it touched her skin. The crunching stopped. The tear shuddered. And from the darkness, a single, bloodshot eye rolled into view, its pupil slit like a cat's. It fixed on Seraphine, blinked once…

And winked.