bChapter /bb86 /b

bXavier /b

The Underworld breathes like a beast tonight. I feel it shifting beneath my boots, coiling in the walls, whispering through the spines of obsidian trees that should not grow, but do. The magic here is old.. It listens. It watches and tonight, it waits. bI /bstand at the edge of the southern ridge, where the veil feels the thinnest and most dangerous. A pulse runs under my skinb, /bnot panic. Never panic. bI’ve /bspent centuries hunting things that can’t be reasoned with. But this? This isn’t something I can kill, and that unsettles me. Behind me, Layah shifts on her feet. I don’t have to look to know her paws are glowing faintly, the shimmer of her maged through her like moonfire and teeth. She doesn’t speak, but I feel her thoughts brush the edge of mine. She’s focused. Good. We’ll need her wildness here. Envy had tasked us with guarding this ce. iHer /iice /iand gods help anything that tries to take it from herb. /bI inhale slowly. The air tastes like burnt roses and regret. There are cracks in the sky, thin as spiderwebs. Something else is leaking through. Not just sunlight or grass or memory. Intent. And I don’t like that one fucking bit. The bsouls /bbare /brestless. The forgottenb, /bthey press against the veil, drawn toward the cracks in the veil like moths to me. But this me doesn’t burn. It devours.

Layah curses low under her breath. “iThey’re /iigathering /iifaster/i. iLike /iithey /iiknow /iisomething’sing/i.”

“They do,” bI /bsay simply, letting the shadows roll out from my boots like a tide. “They’re listening.”

“To what?b” /b

I nod toward the fracture near the canyon’s edge. “Whatever calls from the other side.”

We fall into motionb, /bpatrol patterns, and magical sweeps. Envy asked me to hold the line. If this ce falls, the rest of the world follows. I flick my wrist, and a of shadow spikes into the ground, sealing a fresh split that hadn’t been there an hour ago. Layah watches me with quiet curiosity, her fur shifting slightly.

“iYou’re /inot iafraid/ii,/ibi” /i/bshe says.

“I amb,/bb” /bbI /banswer, voice t. “I’m just used to it.”

She smiles like she understands. bI /bnce once more to the distant edge of the rift where the sky flickersb. /b

“biWe’ve /i/bgot ithis/i,” Maddox tells me.

i“/iiFuck /iiI /iihope /iso,” iI /iiwhisper /iiback/i.

bLevi /b

The graveyard we’re standing in isn’t on bany /bmap. Not a marked oneb, /banyway. It’s hidden deep in a forgotten stretch ofnd where the trees grow sideways and the wind hums in broken tones. The moss here bis /bthick and wet, curling around the stones like fingers. Haiden and I have been tracking the pull, following bthe /bstrange current bof /bmagic that Madra tuned us into. I crouch beside a crooked markerb, /bthe name long since worn away by time. My fingers brush bthe /bedge of the stone, and the bair /btightens. A pulse echoes beneath my palm, slow… steady… broken.

“Got somethingb,/bb” /bI murmurb. /b

Haiden’s already at my sideb, /bsilent bas /bever. bHe’s /bhunting, calctingb, /ba different kind of predator than the rest of us, I can feel the shift in his energy as he reaches toward the earthb, /bhis own magic threading through the ground like roots searching for bone.

“They’re hereb,/bb” /bhe says, voice low. “Or… what’s left bof /bthem.”

We found one bgrave /bhours ago. A girl with a soul still lingering. She didn’t remember her name, Just pain and fire, but we need more. I unsling my tools. We aren’t grave robbing, we’re searching. For patterns, for sigils, for remnants of the spell Marcus and Salira used to tear the veil and build their sick ritual. The one that made Envy. The one that stole dozens bof /bchildren from their futures and left only silence behind.

“I think this one’s newer,” I say, pointing to a partially hidden mound behind a tree with strange ck bark. “Could be one of the cloaked.”

Hayden nods once and begins clearing away the earth with precise movements. I can tell he’s trying not to think about it too hard. If he does, he’ll break something. Probably himself. Or whoever’s nearest. I’d rather that not be me. The big bastard has a good right hook. We uncover a faint glint of metal and a carved symbol burned into the base of the coffin holding a small child’s remains.

“That’s not normal magic,” I whisper.

“No,” Halden agrees, his jaw tight. “It’s god–touched. Like her.”

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1:03 PM bP /b

He means Envy. The one we’re all doing this for.

“Can you feel them?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer. He bjust /bcloses his eyesb, /bces a hand over the disturbed soil, and listens.

After a long silence, he opens his eyesb, /bhaunted.

“She was nine. Her name was Ilyra. She liked honey bread and had a pet mouse named Stitch.b” /bHis bvoice /bcracks, barelyb, /bbut I bhear /bit. I feel it.

“They buried her alive.”

I almost vomit. But I don’t. I grip Haiden’s shoulder instead, grounding us both. Where’s her soul?

“We’ll find them,” bI /bsay. “Everyst one.”

He nods, but his hands are already glowing. He whispers to the bones, apologising for the pain and promising revenge for her. We rise and move to the next grave. We don’t stop. We won’t. Because Marcus thought these children were expendable. But they weren’t.

This work, Goddess of the Underworld by Sheridan Hartin, is an exclusive intellectual property legally contracted with NovelSnack. Any reproduction, distribution, or upload outside Novel Flowb, /bAnyStories, NovGo, and Readink is unauthorized and constitutes copyright infringement

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