Married To Darkness-Chapter 384: Into The Cursed Lake

By the time they reached the lake, the sky was bleeding pale gold over the horizon. Dawn was slowly peeling back the dark, but the fog still clung thick and low over the waters like a jealous secret. The lake—still, cold, and massive—glimmered beneath it, almost too silent.

They halted their horses by the edge of the cliff overlooking the lake, the water below vast and glassy. Their breaths were shallow, ragged from the hard ride, but no one spoke for a moment. The weight of the unknown pressed down on all of them.

Salviana slid off Alaric’s horse and stepped forward, her eyes scanning the still surface. "This is where the ashes must’ve been poured," she whispered.

"Feels eerie enough."

Lucius dismounted next, his jaw tight. "Then I’m going into the lake."

"What?" Salviana snapped her head toward him. "Lucius, I don’t think that’s a good idea."

"She could be trapped somewhere beneath. If there’s even a chance she’s alive—"

"Maybe we don’t need to go in," she interrupted, voice rising with desperation. "Maybe we just need to get a portion of the water. To summon the witch Jennifer. If she’s part of the lake now, or if the fog is her..."

"But we can’t do that from up here," Lucius argued, gesturing to the rocky cliff edge. "It’s too far down."

"I can," Alaric said quietly.

All heads turned to him.

Salviana frowned. "How?"

A smirk has is Alaric’s lips. "I’ll teleport."

"Teleport?" Lucius asked skeptically. "You shouldn’t use that in—"

"I can still do it," Alaric said firmly. "I’ll be fast. Just in and out. Get the water and return."

Salviana stepped forward, her expression unreadable but her hands fidgeting. "Teleporting near enchanted bodies of water—especially cursed ones—isn’t safe."

Alaric’s smirk didn’t fade. "Nothing’s safe anymore."

"But—"

"I have to try," he said, meeting her gaze. "You want answers? We’re not getting them by standing around waiting for another person to vanish. We do this now."

Salviana looked like she wanted to argue, to scream even, but instead, she swallowed hard and nodded once. "Okay."

Lucius crossed his arms. "We’re not leaving without you."

"You won’t have to," Alaric promised. "Just keep an eye on the fog." he said because it was lightly swirling around.

He stepped toward the edge of the cliff, eyes narrowing as he focused on the lake below.

Then, with a low breath and a shimmer of magic that rippled through the air, he vanished.

They waited.

And waited.

Seconds bled into a minute. The air grew colder. The fog thickened unnaturally.

Salviana’s arms wrapped around herself, her pulse pounding in her ears. "Alaric?"

No answer.

"Where is he?" Lucius muttered, already stepping forward.

Suddenly the wind shifted—howling briefly through the trees, rattling the leaves.

Then something cracked.

The water below churned, and a dark shape breached the surface just enough for them to see it—

A hand. A pale hand clutching a vial of glowing blue water.

Alaric.

But something was wrong.

He was suspended midair just above the lake, his body frozen, eyes wide open, mouth open as if he were trying to say something but no sound came out.

Then the hand dropped the vial.

And he vanished again.

"No," Salviana gasped, running forward. "No, no, no—!"

"Stop!" Lucius caught her around the waist just before she reached the cliff edge. "You’ll fall—!"

"But he’s gone!" she cried.

Behind them, the vial hit the ground with a soft, surreal clink, rolling in a slow circle before coming to a stop.

Glowing.

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Unmoving.

Lucius stared at it, his face pale. "He got the water... but what did it cost?"

Salviana didn’t answer. She just dropped to her knees beside the vial and whispered, "This wasn’t the plan. Nothing ever goes according to plan."

Moments later,

The night pressed heavy upon Salviana, as if the weight of the fog itself had settled on her chest. Her heart still thundered with panic, the hollow thrum of loss echoing louder than any sound outside. She had screamed, cried, shaken the trees with her grief—but nothing had brought them back.

Jean was gone. Alaric too.

The fog had swallowed them whole.

And for a moment—just a moment—Salviana had allowed despair to take root. She had fallen to her knees, lips trembling, fingers shaking around the glass vial that Alaric had thrust into her hands before everything fell apart. Her breath had hitched. Her vision had blurred. Her soul had cracked.

But only for a moment.

Because she was Salviana Velthorne.

She was not born to break. Not for long. Not without a fight.

With slow, purposeful movements, she wiped the tears from her face and rose to her feet. Her spine straightened. Her chin lifted. Her hands, though still trembling, held tight to the small, sealed vial containing lake water from the place where the fog first showed its fangs.

Lucius paced not far off, frantic. "Salviana? What are you doing? Talk to me."

She ignored him.

Because this wasn’t about fear anymore—it was about fire.

She would summon her. Jennifer—the ghost witch in the fog. The one the old whispers feared. The one tied to this cursed mist. The one they said had children buried in the winds, haunting the shorelines, their laughter dancing through fog-shrouded trees.

Salviana uncorked the vial with a sharp pop.

The scent of lakewater was faint but crisp, like morning frost and something ancient. She tipped the vial over her palm and let a single drop splash onto her skin.

It was cold. Too cold.

She shut her eyes.

Call her. Bring her forth.

But... how?

Her throat tightened. She hadn’t thought this through. What was the spell? The chant? The symbol? Should she draw a circle? Should she bleed? Should she—

She opened her eyes and whispered, "Jennifer... I call you."

Nothing. Just the moan of the wind.

"Jennifer!" She tried again, this time louder. She lifted her hands to the sky. "Ghost of the fog—come to me!"

She believed she should have this power.

Still nothing.