The air snapped like lightning.
At the center of the forgotten ruin beneath the city, the rift had opened—a jagged tear in space pulsing with flickers of crimson and blue light, swirling like liquid time. It hummed with ancient magic, an aching sound that pressed into the back of Levi's skull and set her heartbeat to an unnatural rhythm.
The grimoire in her hand vibrated violently. Pages flipped as if caught in a phantom storm. Runes glowed, whispering in languages Levi didn't speak but somehow understood. Words not meant for this time… not meant for any time.
The spiral seal on her wrist ignited.
Levi stumbled backward, the pull of the rift becoming physical—like invisible hands were dragging her soul toward it.
"No—no, not yet!" she gasped, trying to brace herself against the stones, her boots skidding across dust-slick runes.
Then a low growl echoed from the shadows.
Out of the smoke—Rue Pendragon appeared.
He was bloodied. His coat was torn, one horn cracked, and deep claw marks ran along his ribs. His infernal form was showing, the part of him he rarely let surface—flesh streaked with shadowfire, eyes rimmed in flame, voice like gravel dipped in thunder.
But despite the wounds, he looked furious and focused.
"Levi," he growled, staggering toward her. "It's now… or never."
Levi's breath caught. "Rue—you're hurt—what—"
"I bought us two minutes. No more." He looked over his shoulder as a howl echoed far behind him—some demon-beast still hunting. "The Council knows. They know the tether is opening."
The tether.
The rift.
Levi stared at it, realization crawling up her spine like frost.
"That's the breach Eloria made," she whispered. "It leads to the past, doesn't it?"
Rue gave a grim nod. "To Salem. 1692. That's where the tether was forged… and where it has to be broken."
"But why me?"
"Because you're the witch she marked. You carry the flame. If you don't anchor it now, it devours time itself."
Levi stared at the swirling void, every instinct screaming to turn away.
But another part of her—the ancient part—ached to leap forward.
Behind her, Scout lay unconscious. Prairie, above ground, was likely being hunted. The Council was closing in.
Rue reached out his hand, blood dripping from his knuckles, fire licking along his wrist like a burning vine.
"Come with me," he said. "We change it. Together."
And Levi, trembling but resolute, took his hand.
Together, they stepped into the rift.
The world bent and shattered.
Light spiraled. Sound dissolved. The moment Levi and Rue stepped into the rift, it was like diving into molten glass—every memory pulled thin, every bone filled with song. She couldn't tell if she was screaming or silent. Then, suddenly, there was stillness.
Darkness greeted them, thick and wet like fog laced with soot.
They emerged in a forest—cold, haunted, and silent. The air reeked of burning wood and fear. In the distance, a bell tolled, and a woman's scream cracked through the trees.
Rue groaned, dropping to his knees beside her. The strain of the jump had drained what strength he had left. His infernal fire flickered out, and for a moment, he looked—human.
"We're here," Levi whispered, staring at the gnarled trees and distant smoke of old Salem. "The 18th century."
But before she could move, a voice echoed—not in the forest… but in her mind.
"Time is not your ally, witchling. But she still watches."
Levi clutched the grimoire tight against her chest. It had stopped vibrating. Its light was gone.
And then—another voice cut through the silence. A real one.
"Levi!"
Levi turned.
There, half-hidden in the underbrush, dressed in a hooded coat and clutching a leather-bound satchel, was Prairie Smith.
"What—how—?" Levi stumbled to her.
"I followed the pull," Prairie said breathlessly, stepping into view. "That night in the library… something burned a mark into my memory. I thought I forgot it, but I didn't."
She looked down at Rue, who gave a weak nod, barely holding himself together.
"I'm not magical, but… I'm still part of this," Prairie continued. "And I have something you need."
She pulled open her satchel and revealed a faded, timeworn page—the same type of parchment that matched Eloria's grimoire.
"This was torn from the journal I found in the library basement," Prairie said. "I hid it. Something told me it was the most dangerous page."
Levi reached for it carefully. The moment her fingers touched it, the symbols glowed red and then shifted into words.
"To open the Hourglass Gate, two must bleed.To seal the spell, one must leave."
Below it was a drawing: a moon bleeding into a key. A tether wound through two silhouettes.
Levi's heart thundered.
"It's a prophecy," she said. "And a choice."
Prairie nodded. "I think… you and Rue have to decide who stays and who returns."
Rue looked up, pale but clear-eyed. "There's always a price for rewriting fate."
The wind howled through the trees like a warning.
The forest of Salem was waiting.
The page from Prairie's satchel trembled in Levi's hands. Runes shimmered like molten silver, responding to her touch. The ancient parchment pulsed with the weight of centuries, and her veins burned in answer.
Rue was swaying beside her, sweat beading his brow despite the cold. His infernal mark—the spiral sigil on his wrist—began to glow red.
"It's now," he murmured. "Before the hunters find us. Before time changes its mind."
Levi knelt and opened the grimoire on the forest floor. The book responded instantly. Pages turned on their own, stopping at a page inked in two languages—one of fire, one of moonlight.
Prairie stepped back, her eyes wide with awe and something else: sadness.
"This is the moment, isn't it?" she whispered. "Where everything changes."
Levi didn't answer. She closed her eyes and pressed her palm over the open page. The mark on her wrist flared, and from her fingers, flame spiraled out—not hot, but ancient, like a sunrise long forgotten. The wind ceased. The trees stilled. The world held its breath.
Rue stepped forward, his own sigil responding. He took her hand. Their fingers intertwined, and time fractured.
Light burst from the grimoire—threads of gold and crimson, forming a ring around them like a burning clock.
The words came from nowhere and everywhere.
"Blood to bend.Fire to mend.Through the veil,let time descend."
The earth beneath them cracked, not with violence, but with memory. The sigils in their flesh burned bright, tethering them to the spell. Levi's hair floated upward, caught in invisible tides. Rue's eyes turned black as void, then lit with a fire only demons knew.
Prairie reached out—too late.
They vanished.
Not in smoke.
Not in flame.
But in a cascade of falling embers and shattered light.
And the forest of Salem was empty once more.
Behind her, Prairie felt a whisper tug her mind—Eloria's voice, clear and mournful:
"They go to the past… but one shall not return the same."
The grimoire slammed shut.
And time moved on.