A wave of cold swept through the ancient hall as the heavy iron doors smmed shut behind him. Gideon’s boots echoed on the bck marble floor, his dark cloak swirling around his ankles. Faint blue light pulsed from the rune-carved walls, the ancient symbols flickering as though awakening from a long slumber. The air reeked of burnt incense and old blood — a smell he’d grown too accustomed to.

  At the center of the hall stood the pedestal. Bck stone, veined with crimson, rose from the floor in jagged splinters. Suspended above it, a sword floated within a column of pale blue light. The weapon was beautiful — sleek and wicked, its bde made of some dark, metallic material that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. Strange etchings marked the length of the bde, their patterns shifting ever so slightly when viewed from the corner of the eye.

  Gideon approached, ignoring the chill seeping into his bones. He could feel the power radiating from the sword — dark and coiled, like a predator ready to strike. His hand hovered over the hilt.

  Don’t touch it.

  The voice was female — sharp and cutting, like the edge of a bde. Gideon’s eyes narrowed. He gnced around the hall, but there was no one there. His gaze returned to the sword.

  “Who are you?”

  You’re not ready for me.

  Gideon smiled faintly. “We’ll see.”

  He closed his hand around the hilt.

  Pain erupted through his arm, searing up into his chest. His body locked, his heart hammering against his ribs. He gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out. Dark tendrils of power slithered up his arm, burning into his skin like brands.

  Arrogant fool, the voice hissed. Let go before you break.

  Gideon’s grip tightened. His magic surged in response — raw and violent, tendrils of bck fme licking across his skin. The sword’s power pushed back, a wave of icy contempt washing over him. He growled, pouring more of himself into the connection.

  Enough!

  A shockwave erupted from the sword, bsting him backward. He struck the marble floor hard, skidding across it until he smmed into a pilr. The sound of his ragged breathing filled the hall.

  He forced himself upright, wincing at the deep ache in his chest. The sword was still floating above the pedestal, but the dark tendrils of power now flickered around it more weakly. A low, annoyed sigh filled his mind.

  You’re stubborn. I’ll give you that.

  Gideon’s smile was sharp. “You’re mine now.”

  Hardly.

  The sword’s energy coiled tighter. Then, slowly, it descended, coming to rest in the air before him. Gideon stood and extended his hand again.

  This time, the sword allowed him to grasp the hilt. The cool metal pulsed under his touch. The bde hummed with restrained power, alive beneath his fingertips.

  Try not to die too quickly, the voice murmured. It would be disappointing.

  Gideon chuckled darkly. “No promises.”

  As he stepped away from the pedestal, the massive doors at the far end of the hall creaked open. Torchlight flooded into the room, casting his long shadow against the polished floor. A figure stood at the threshold — tall and armored, a red cloak trailing behind him. His helm gleamed with a faint golden light.

  “Gideon Thorne,” the man said, his voice rough. “The Council demands your presence.”

  Gideon slid the sword into the sheath at his side. He could feel it pulsing beneath his fingers, the bond between them still fragile — but there. He brushed a hand through his dark hair and smiled faintly.

  “Tell the Council I’m bringing a guest.”

  The sword pulsed, a low hum of amusement echoing through his mind.

  This should be fun.