The tunnel stretched far behind them now, its chilling echoes growing faint as Hope, London, Raphael, Stephen, and Daemon emerged into the forgotten underbelly of the school. The group came to a halt, panting and alert. The faint flicker of green torchlight from mossy sconces on the damp walls barely lit the eerie corridor they had entered.
Hope glanced at London, whose shirt was torn from a near-miss against a metal grate. A trail of blood had crusted along his shoulder, but he waved off her concern.
"I'm fine," he muttered, grinning as if nothing happened. "Kinda used to dodging death at this point."
Hope gave him a knowing look—something in her chest tightening. She didn't say it, but watching him throw himself into danger for them stirred something deeper than admiration. She clenched her fists. Focus. There was too much going on to get lost in feelings.
Stephen groaned dramatically, slapping his hands against his thighs. "Okay, someone explain why I'm risking my perfect face for a secret tunnel again?"
Raphael growled under his breath. "Because someone's trying to blow up the school and we want answers."
"Right, but did we have to crawl through a spider-filled cave to get those answers? I still have webs in my hair. Look!" He shook his head like a wet dog, sending a puff of dust everywhere.
Daemon gave him a withering glare. "Stop talking. We're not safe yet."
"Yeah, yeah, Mr. Eternal Sulk." Stephen winked at Hope. "He's just mad because someone stole his black eyeliner."
Hope rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself.
As they moved forward, the corridor widened into a chamber hidden beneath the school. Ancient symbols lined the walls—runic carvings glowing faintly, vibrating with dormant power. In the center stood a large iron gate etched with a sigil they'd seen before—on the amulet Trent always wore.
"This… this is his," Hope murmured, walking slowly toward the gate.
"You think he's working with someone?" Raphael asked, sniffing the air. His nose crinkled. "Smells like blood. And old magic."
Stephen examined the sigils with surprising seriousness. "These aren't just decorative. They're wards… very old. Vampire-made, but corrupted by something darker."
Hope tilted her head, eyes flashing yellow in the low light. "Trent's not working alone. He's a pawn. A weak one."
Suddenly, London swayed on his feet. His hand clutched the wall as his vision blurred. Flames whispered behind his eyes, but not from the torches.
"London?" Hope caught his arm, alarmed.
"I'm—fine," he gasped, but his knees buckled, and he hit the ground.
Everyone rushed to him, but Raphael crouched first, turning him over. London's eyes fluttered shut. A gash along his side had reopened.
Then it happened.
His entire body ignited in silent fire—no heat, no smoke, just brilliant orange flames engulfing him. Hope screamed. Raphael flinched back. Daemon's eyes widened, and Stephen fell speechless for once in his life.
Within seconds, London's body turned to ash—then reformed.
Clothes gone. Skin flawless. Breathing steady.
Hope dropped beside him, trembling, tears in her eyes. "London…"
He blinked awake, confused. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"
"You died," Raphael said, voice low. "And came back. On fire."
Hope's heart raced as she hugged him tightly, uncaring of the others. "You idiot…"
Stephen finally found his voice. "Okay… that was officially the coolest—and freakiest—thing I've ever seen. You pulled a phoenix move! Except… no feathers. Just… fire. Naked fire."
London looked down. "Crap. Not again."
Daemon took off his coat and tossed it to him without a word.
"Thanks," London muttered, standing slowly. "I… I think I've been this way before. When I was little. I thought it was a dream."
"You can't die," Hope whispered, eyes wide. "That's your power."
"No," Raphael said quietly. "That's his curse."
They all stood in stunned silence as the implications set in.
Then a sharp sound echoed through the chamber. Stone grinding against stone.
The iron gate slowly creaked open.
No one touched it.
The scent of rot flooded the room.
Daemon stepped in front of the group, fangs bared. "We're not alone."
From the darkness beyond the gate, a figure emerged—hooded and cloaked. Not Trent. Taller. Shadows seemed to cling to the figure unnaturally.
The figure pointed toward them. "You were not supposed to come here yet."
His voice wasn't a voice—it was a vibration, echoing inside their skulls.
"Who are you?" Hope asked, stepping forward.
"Call me... The First. I warned Trent not to play with fire. But now he has burned too brightly."
The figure raised a hand, and the wall behind them slammed shut, trapping them.
Stephen muttered, "I told you tunnels were a bad idea."
The First continued, "Enjoy your youth, children. Every path leads to your end. Even immortals can be broken."
With a gust of wind, the figure vanished into smoke.
Hope looked at the others. "We need to get back. Now."
---
Back on the surface, Jessa and her sister were in Richard's office. Books were strewn across the desk. The sisters had finally decoded the last of the messages Richard left behind.
And then they heard it—a distant echo. A bang. Magic rippling through the floors of the school.
"Something's wrong," Jessa whispered.
The door burst open—Stephen, Daemon, Hope, London (now redressed), and Raphael stormed in.
"Dad's gone," Jessa's sister said before anyone could speak. "We can't find him anywhere."
Hope turned to London. "It's all connected. Trent, Richard, that thing in the tunnel…"
London nodded grimly. "This is only the beginning."