⚠️ Trigger Warning: This chapter contains a reference to suicide. If you don't want to read that, feel free to skip the second scene of this chapter.

I mention the technical aspect of how sorcery – as well as all magic – works because the Spell of Obtainment seeks to rewrite these rules.

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Deep in the night a week later, Angella heard a hiss. Not in her ears, necessarily, but in her soul. Her eyes snapped open, and Micah – who had been drifting off to sleep – stirred. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

Angella caressed his arms, so muscular and safe around her. "There's a disturbance at the tunnel again, Micah," she whispered. More hissing – as if her stomach writhed with snakes. "Shadow Weaver...she's there."

"Oh, moons..." Micah shut his eyes. "Angella, I..."

"You don't have to go. Not yet." She pulled his mouth to hers, savoring the rasp of his beard against her cheek, as if that could dispel the uncomfortable feeling. As if that could chase away her dread. Shadow Weaver was inside the tunnels, prowling about somewhere. There was something hidden within those chambers. But more importantly, the dark sorceress didn't know Seraphite structures would drive her mad.

Micah kissed her back tenderly, then rose. "I'll be back by noon," he said. "Get some sleep, please."

"Micah, you've barely gotten any!"

"And? Angella, she's going to her death. Either I stop her, or she'll end up becoming more powerful. And insane." He downed a vial of moondust. "I don't even feel tired."

"Yes, because you're so used to getting such little sleep," she retorted, sitting up. "Micah –"

"I'm going, Angella," Micah said, his voice firm as he perched on the windowsill. "Don't try to stop me."

"Micah!" she cried as she reached toward him. But he jumped out the window and into the night, leaving her alone.

✧✧✧

Micah dashed toward the entrance of the tunnel at a blinding speed, his eyes bleary. But he could not stop. If Shadow Weaver ventured into the tunnels alone, she could lose her mind – not to mention a powerful relic rested somewhere in here.

He levitated ever-so-slightly to dance along the stone, flying ten yards in before he even knew what was happening. Darkness choked his surroundings; Micah prayed he wouldn't bump into something. King Micah of Bright Moon, dead because he broke his face on some stupid rock. Not the most flattering title...

At the end of the tunnel, he slammed into her. "Micah!" Shadow Weaver snapped. "How – dare – you –"

Micah punched the side of her mask, jerking her face to the side as a flare of pain raced through his fist. He pinned her in a headlock, trying to knock her unconscious by diverting blood flow. It was a simple method...taught by the best of Meyan warriors...

She gasped beneath his hold. "Please...let me go..."

"Not until you swear an oath by your life to leave," Micah snapped. "I'm trying to protect you."

She choked. "A...lot of good that's doing..." Shortly after, the blank eyes of her mask closed as she slumped to the ground.

Micah had to get her out before she accessed the power. She wouldn't stay unconscious for long...

Sure enough, Shadow Weaver laughed beneath him – a thin, sweet chuckle. "So gullible. I always loved that about you, Micah."

Then she leaped to her feet, taking his shoulders. Micah's body collided with the wall; spots swam in his vision. His hand touched something cold in the center. Suddenly he was falling backward, Shadow Weaver shouting a curse as he dragged her with him.

Shadow Weaver banged on the door. "It's locked," she said. "There's no keyhole on this side."

Micah coughed. "Not surprising."

He shuddered; the air down here was cold, and he wore sleeveless attire, not expecting to find his way into the labyrinth. "Can you contact someone to help us?" he asked.

"Not without selling you out," Shadow Weaver said bluntly. She shuffled near him, glowing eyes trained on him. Micah gripped himself as mistrust and remembrance pounded through his body.

He was alone in a death trap with his old teacher, the traitor Emeth.

"We have to find a way out," Micah said desperately. "Why were you here? And answer honestly, or I'll cast a truth spell on you..."

Shadow Weaver crossed her arms. "I'm looking for something to ensure I don't die in six months."

"What do you mean?"

"Classified Horde business." She sighed. "This place is strangely familiar."

Micah tilted his head. "You've been here before, haven't you?"

Shadow Weaver shook her head. "This is the first time I accessed the corridor. It feels like a dream that I forgot – like I'm supposed to be here."

"Well, you're not," he replied. "I was trying to keep you from going insane. Didn't think of that, did you?"

"I considered it worth the risk," Shadow Weaver said with a shrug. "I could have killed you, you know."

"You wouldn't."

"Won't I?"

"You were seized by the Spell, and spared my life," Micah replied. "You're not as much of a monster as you assume..." His strength waned. "You need me," he said. "If you kill me, you'll die in here. That's a guarantee."

"Another way to commit suicide. I'll bear that in mind next time you ruin my life."

Micah chose to ignore that comment. "Please, Light Spinner...we have to work together like before, when we saved Illuras."

He reached over, his hand finding hers in the dark. Shadow Weaver avoided his eyes for a long while. Finally, she gave a rough sigh. "Very well. I'll stand watch."

"No."

She chuckled quietly. "No?"

Micah clenched his jaw. "If you stand watch, I won't be able to defend myself. I still don't trust you."

"A wise decision," Shadow Weaver admitted, helping him to his feet. "Come now – lean on me. I can survive on magic alone, but we must be careful. If we run out...it will be worrisome for us both."

Micah nodded numbly. They walked a short distance before settling against the wall. "Can you make us a fire?" he asked her, shivering. "Your light –"

" –No longer works," Shadow Weaver finished. "It hasn't worked since..." She trailed off, and the silence finished her sentence. Since the Spell.

Micah sighed. "But you have lightning. Can't you use that?"

"Yes, but I'll need fuel."

"Will my shirt work?"

"It's an inefficient source, nor do I wish to see you shirtless."

"Prudish."

"Prudent," she corrected.

"What can you see?"

"Magic. Anything with it is illuminated to me, unless it's covered by something dun. The power is comparable to sonar."

Incredible, Micah was tempted to think. "Is there anything we can use, then?"

Shadow Weaver frowned. "There are vines across the opposite wall. Do you have a sword?"

"I use my staff. Remember?"

"Can you transmute it into a sword?"

"No."

She sighed. Then Shadow Weaver stood, unhooking a weapon from her belt. It elongated into a red spear that glowed in the dark, red lightning crackling off it as her mask flashed against the light. "I hope you will master this skill someday. Perhaps I will teach you."

"You'd educate your enemy on how to stop you?"

"You are still my pupil," she replied, as if that were answer enough. Crossing the room, Shadow Weaver tapped the staff against the floor. "Be," she commanded.

Immediately, the staff crackled, transforming into a sword. The red lightning went out, and he heard hacking sounds from across the room – as well as a grunt from Shadow Weaver.

She carried bundles of foliage over to him. "You have evocation magic. Light it."

The blood drained from Micah's face. "I can't."

"Why not?" she said impatiently. "You injure me, but are unable to light a simple fire?"

"I didn't want to hurt you," he said, steeling his voice. "You know that."

"Absurd. Come, now." She pointed the sword at him, which crackled again with a red-hot spark.

Micah shuddered, leaning in close and focusing on his emotions. Fatigue. Sorrow. Anger. Pain.

But he ignored those emotions – he would hurt her again if he gave in to them. Instead, Micah focused on the emotion that lay buried beneath everything else, the complicated feelings he had toward the one known as Shadow Weaver.

Care. Elation. Awe at the terrible beauty she possessed.

A small flicker burst from his finger, pale pink in hue. It drank the vines up greedily, flaring into a homey flame. "Amazing," Shadow Weaver whispered from the other side.

"What are you gaping at? You knew I could do it."

"But you..." she tilted her head. "You pulled it from light. Not darkness..."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because," Shadow Weaver said, her voice carrying a small strand of triumph. "It's confirmation of what I always knew. Evocation...it isn't always dark. Sometimes it can be a beautiful light..." She reached toward the flame, her black fingernails reflecting off the glow.

Micah sighed. "Thanks."

"What for?"

"Helping me."

"Don't think I'll actually stay," she warned. "Anyone could betray you, Micah. Anyone."

"If it's that way, I'll go down being the better man."

"Idealism."

"Optimism."

"Will you argue with me all night, or will you sleep as I intend to?" she asked in amusement.

"I'll argue as long as you keep saying stupid things," Micah replied. "Just like I used to in Mystacor."

Shadow Weaver sighed in resignation. "Fair enough," she conceded. "You always were the wiser of us." She did not expand on this point, but lay on the other side. "When the cold wakes you, we will travel more. But for now, go to sleep."

She lay down, curling into a ball and resting her back against the wall, hands over her chest – a protective sleep-stance. Micah imitated her, laying down and ignoring the pain in his stomach, until her breathing became deep and even. And soon enough, they both slumbered in the too-silent Seraphite chamber.

✧✧✧

Shadow Weaver woke up slowly; moisture covered the ground beneath, and her uniform was damp with sweat. She shivered; the fire had died down to embers, but Micah hadn't stirred.

Shadow Weaver bit her tongue as she gazed upon his face. Did I truly threaten to kill him? What was wrong with her? She had fought him in order to protect him – to prepare him for the day she would go insane, so he could defend himself.

But a strange emptiness rested within Shadow Weaver. Before the Spell, she liked to think she would have cared. That she would never have harmed him. Threatening him, however, felt good.

Shadow Weaver's stomach rumbled, but she ignored her hunger. She would not eat until she was weak; she was the only one with food, and she needed to save it...

But why did she care?

Shadow Weaver answered her own question harshly. There were two of them, and she would share her food with him when he needed it. Of course, she would save the best of it for herself.

She stretched, hearing popping noises in her back. Was she forty-one now? Shadow Weaver hadn't celebrated her birthday in so long that she'd almost forgotten when it was. Rarely did she remember her age, particularly since her hair didn't gray like humans', but today the fatigue from age gripped her shoulders.

Again, she was reminded of the Spell. This wouldn't have happened if I...hadn't...failed.

Micah shivered, so she inched over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. "It's still cold," he murmured.

Shadow Weaver nodded. "I feel it too."

"You didn't complain about it before."

"When you're a true soldier," she said, helping him up, "you learn not to speak a word against your commander."

"But I am the commander."

"Exactly. You have been pampered. Now, light your staff. You will carry it to illuminate our path."

Micah nodded. "Do you know where to go?"

"In a manner of speaking. There's something...welcoming about this place."

He tilted his head. "I wonder why it opened for me. Angie might be important, but I'm just...me."

So he was a Seraphite. How interesting – though not surprising. "This is a most intriguing mystery," Shadow Weaver agreed. "But we need to focus on finding a way out. I can locate gemstones."

Micah shook his head. "You need to save your power. I can't fight off whatever creatures are around here alone –"

The room rumbled, and Shadow Weaver clenched her jaw. Underworm? she wondered, forming a battle stance and summoning her sword. The trembling continued for a time, then...stopped.

And the ground became liquid. Shadow Weaver plunged into the depths of the thick, molten rock, cold around her and causing her to sink, fast. Her mind panicked, old memories bubbling to the surface as she screamed. TheSpellit'skillingmefasterfasterfaster...

Her thoughts were jumbled as she sank into the rock, as it closed around her mask and shattered it. The floor poured into her mouth, her nose. Shadow Weaver continued to fall, fall, fall...

❂❂❂

Did you know...

- I wanted to do an illustration, but my silly brain completely forgot that I'd split up the first scene of Chapter 46 and thus part of it remained in 45. Sorry about that.

- I think Shadow Weaver both resents Micah for "ruining her life" and loves him for being the only person who gives a crap about her. She's a woman of contradictions.

Tell me what you think...

- What might Shadow Weaver find when she's swallowed up?

- What is the significance of Micah being able to summon evocation magic?