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Of course it did. Dozens of witches must’ve tried before her. Riven magic couldn’t break the metal. She’d hoped her blood might have been enough to slip through.

“Fine,” she said under her breath.

She lifted the dagger again. If blood and ash weren’t enough, then she needed depth. Sigils cut into the metal itself, not laid overtop. Carved sigils held shape. Carved sigils forced the metal to respond.

She scraped the blade into the Lodamante, metal screeching as she gouged the first line. Blood beaded along the grooves as she carved the symbol and let it drip, her blood tracing the pattern like a river finding its bed.

This time, the Lodamante vibrated. A low, steady thrum. A rhythm that matched her pulse. A response. Weak, but real.

She sat back on her heels, breathing hard.

What am I missing?

Riven rituals required balance. Blood, bone, and will. But the claws, her claws, were another thing entirely. They were older than Lodamante, older than Riven rituals even.

Idonea stared at her hands, flexing them. Sensed the emptiness where Current should flow. She’d never called the claws without Current before. Her mouth went dry.

“Lance.”

He lifted his long, scaled head.

“I need you to bite me.”

He hissed low and uncertain.

“I know. I wouldn’t ask if I had another way.”

He circled her arm, rolling up her sleeve. She braced herself as Lance opened his jaws and clamped down, not enough to break bone, but enough to trigger the instinct buried beneath her skin.

Pain flared, sharp and bright. She gasped, breath shuddering.

Come on. Claws, respond.

Dragonkin were tied to Current, but clearly not dependent on it. And whatever twist of lineage had put claws under her skin, might be the same.

She clenched her hands until her knuckles whitened.

Her nails lengthened, blackened, curling into the hooked points she needed.

A shaky laugh escaped her. “Good. Let go.”

Lance unwound from her arm, his tongue flicking in approval.

Idonea turned back to the door and replaced steel with bone and claw. The claws carved deeper than the dagger ever could, slicing through Lodamante like it begrudged resisting her. Ash and blood filled the grooves. Bone dust settled in the cracks. She carved until her shoulders trembled, until her vision blurred, until hours passed in a haze of metal dust and iron scent.

Then a subtle shift, but unmistakable. Her heart jumped.

Idonea slapped her bloodied palm across the newest sigil, pressing so hard her arm shook. The Lodamante grew warm beneath her hand. The Eitr thrummed, then loosened.

Current stirred, faint, thin, but there. Relief hit first, then something colder. Ordinary witches couldn't do this. Blood dripped down her wrist into the sigil, feeding it. The marks along her back burned faintly beneath her clothes.

She flexed her fingers and sensed the Current coursing again, free enough to answer.

Lance butted her with his head.

“We did it,” she whispered, afraid that saying it aloud might undo it.

The link was weak, temporary, but if she carved every Lodamante surface in the cottage the same way … She would've Current back.