"Now, are you ready to show me your favorite spell?" Bunny asked, her tone light but expet.

  Bir exhaled softly, shaking off her nerves. "Yes," she said, smiling. "It's a simple golem spell."

  Simple.

  That was what she said.

  Ahe moment she started casting, it was clear nothing about this was simple.

  Her red string magic just unravelled like thick, vibrant wool—it moved with liquid smoothness, like veins weaving ienbsp;

  The threads coiled in midair, twisting and shaping with a speed that suggested they already knew what they wao bee. There was ation, no faltering, just the kind of seamless precision that came from absolute mastery.

  The golem took shape.

  The red string coiled into the form of a kitten—a delicate, intricately crocheted creature with a plume-like tail made from a denser weave of string. Its ears twitched the moment they finished f, big bck button eyes flickering to life.

  The kitten tilted its head, its surroundings with adorable intelligence.

  Bunny gasped, g her hands together as her expression softened into genuine delight. "Oh, you clever thing."

  The cat moved. Its tiny paws, barely the size of as, stepped onto Bir’s palm with the grace of something far too real for an artificial struct. It flicked its tail—testing its weight, its limits, its existence.

  And then, without a single sound, it disappeared. No puff of smoke. No unraveling threads. It simply wasn’t there anymore.

  A beat of silence.

  Mante’s brow furrowed. Vd’s gaze sharpened. Isaiah’s fiwitched toward his spear.

  And then—

  Matthew yelped.

  "GAH—!" He nearly fell backward as the little red kitten reappeared on his shoulder.

  The golem blinked up at him. Tilted its head. Then, ever so ily, nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

  Matthew froze. An and Evan froze. Bunny, meanwhile, squealed. "ADORABLE!"

  Evan, more than anyone, was staring.

  Not at the cat. But at Bir.

  He smiled, and seeing it, Bir blushed.

  And right on cue—

  Bir staggered.

  The moment it happened, it was like her body had suddenly fotten how to hold itself together. Her breath hitched—shallow, sharp. Her knees buckled, and her hands shot up to clutch at her throat as if something unseen had ed its thin, thread-like cws around it.

  And then—

  COUGH.

  A wet, ugly sound tore from her lips, followed by a spray of red.

  The droplets hit the ground in a sptter far too vibrant against the dull earth. The world around her blurred, her vision swimming with dizzying, shifting shapes. A sickly heat burned beh her skin, winding its way through her veins like living wire, searing hot and ice-cold all at once.

  Her fingers, blood-streaked and trembling, dug into her own skin. Not out of pain. Not out of shock. But because some part of her o feel something real—something tangible—before the sensation of unraveling swallowed her whole.

  A curse.

  Her lips parted—whether to gasp or to scream, she didn’t know—but nothing came out except more blood.

  Bir’s vision wavered. The world tilted. Somewhere in the distance, she heard voices—shouting, urgent footsteps— but they souoo far away, too distorted.

  And then, just before her legs gave out—

  A hand caught her.

  Warm. Firm. Familiar.

  “Bir—stay with me.”

  The voice was right there, close enough to ground her. A red thread ed around her left pinky, its other end winding around his.

  But the curse had already sunk its teeth in.

  Amidst the chaos, just like the st loop, Finn’s voice cut through the tension.

  “Monsieur Sator!”

  The man rinting toward them, breathless, frantic.

  “Monsieur! I just received a report—the First Prind the Elven Princess have been kidnapped on their way here!”

  Bunny and Mante exged a ghe kind that carried far too muderstanding for a disaster like this.

  “Isaiah, with me. Finhe guards and secure the kids. Think you hahat?” Mante asked, already turning back to his wife as he issued orders.

  Bunny gave a sharp nod. “I’ve got this.”

  And just like before, Burn was gone in an instant, Isaiah right on his heels. Meanwhile, Vd—after finally prying Nemo off him—turned his attention tan, lending a hand to keep Bir from crumbling.

  And then, they arrived.

  A pair of monstrous, bed hands cwed their way ience, dripping with thick, mud-like corruption. They hung there, grotesque and unholy, their long, gnarled fingers bound by sinister red threads—threads that trailed down and coiled tightly around Bir’s neck, wrists, and ankles like a puppeteer’s grip on a marioe.

  Bir’s scream tore through the air, raw and guttural. Her body vulsed as a thick glob of that nightmarish sludge forced its way out of her, spttering onto the ground like the bile of something long sited.

  Above her, those monstrous hands twitched, fingers jerking the threads with unnatural precision.

  And then, a pair of eyes snapped open in the palms of the hands. Wide, round, and disturbingly aware. They flicked over the battlefield, then locked onto one person in particur.

  Man Le Fay.

  A voice, thick with malice, slithered through the air.

  “We finally meet, inal Saint and her Vampire Cardinal.”

  Predictable.

  Just like the st loop, without missing a beat, the grotesque hands hovered above, was shackled by a of light. Then, Vd barely needed a sed before snapping his fingers and slig through the threads holding Bir hostage.

  Of course that wasn’t the end of it.

  The strings, onder and orderly trol, went rogue. The red threads twisted, multiplied, and coiled tighter, binding Bir’s entire body. No longer satisfied with just her limbs, they stricted every inch of her frame, sharper than knives and disturbingly se.

  Then came the ugh. Low, wet, and thhly unpleasant.

  “It’s too te, inal Saint.” The voieered, self-satisfied. “You actually think you stop this? That you undo my greatest iion? How pathe—”

  Man cut in, pletely unimpressed. “Standard vilin monologue. Skip.”

  After all, she had heard it i loop.

  Bir screamed again, her agony tearing through the battlefield.

  Man didn’t flinch. She just kept p her holy energy into Bir, already predig every possible attack that could e her way—Vd, of course, watg her back as usual.

  Blood dripped from Bir’s lips as she gasped for air, her fingers g at the red threads in a desperate, losing battle. They cut into her deeper, tg onto something vital—her heart.

  Man moved without hesitation, weaving her hand through the tangled, suffog mass of strings and pressing a steady palm against Bir’s cheek.

  “Be not afraid.”

  The words, simple and unshaken, cut through the chaos like the toll of a bell. And with them, the corruption shattered.

  But the real battle wasn’t over.

  Bir had one final oppo: herself. She had to take trol of her Vision, to rip herself free from the fear that had ed around her like a noose.

  She felt it—her heart bound, shredded, and pulled in a thousand different dires by those ruthless red threads.

  “Bir.”

  Man’s voice sliced through the madness, steady and unwavering. Even as the world twisted and threateo break, her words nded sharp and deliberate.

  “All of this power is yours.”

  Bir’s once-violet eyes burned red. Specialty awakening—