Chapter 7 Ashes and bloodlines

Great! Here's Chapter 7 of Crimson Heir, deepening the mystery, the bond, and the danger surrounding Maxine.

They moved fast, cloaked in the shadows of moon-drenched pines. Maxine barely kept up with the boy, his steps silent even as twigs cracked beneath her boots.

"You still haven't told me your name," she said, panting.

"Luca," he replied without slowing.

It suited him-sharp, old-world, unreadable.

He led her to the ruins at the edge of Branesti Hollow. Charred stone, torn symbols etched into ancient rock. Maxine could feel the energy pulsing beneath her feet-residual magic, sickened and decayed.

"What is this place?" she asked.

"A sanctuary. Once. Before the War of Chains," Luca murmured. "It's where the tribrid prophecy was sealed."

Maxine turned sharply. "You mean me."

"Yes." He met her eyes. "You're not the first, Maxine. But you may be the last."

The air thickened.

He knelt beside the ruined altar and swept away ash and dirt to reveal a carving beneath-an ouroboros devouring its own tail, encircled by three runes glowing faintly: Lupin, Sangre, and Hexa.

Wolf. Vampire. Witch.

Her blood.

"Who told you about me?" she asked.

"My father was Keeper of the Old Pact," Luca said. "He died protecting the last tribrid. Your mother."

Maxine stepped back. "You're lying."

"I'm not." His voice was grave. "Your mother died so you could live. And now every faction wants your power-some to use it. Others to erase it."

A cold gust tore through the ruins. Luca stood and moved closer, his voice low. "If you're to survive, you need training. Control. Allies."

"From who?" she whispered.

"From those who haven't forgotten what your family stood for."

Maxine's hands clenched into fists. "And if I refuse?"

His expression darkened. "Then they'll come for you. All of them. And I won't be able to stop them next time."

Maxine's heart pounded in her chest. She didn't know whether to run or stay-whether Luca was her salvation or her undoing.

But in that moment, she knew one thing for certain:

She was no longer just a girl in hiding.

She was a storm waiting to break.