“I’m always bleeding.”

He turned. Prince Vald stood with his cloak torn, one arm wrapped in blood-soaked linen. His eyes still flickered gold at the edges — the demon’s remnants watching from inside.

The mirror pulsed.

“There is no other way.” Vald turned. For one breath, his face was human again — soft, tired, afraid. “Volume eight ends here, Haldyn. Not with a battle. With a choice.”

They descended into the chapel where the spell began. The crimson sigils on the walls had changed — twisting into shapes that breathed. In the center, a mirror waited. Not glass. Ice made of frozen blood.

Haldyn’s throat tightened. “Then we find another way.”