Chapter 76 One third of your soul
One Hour Earlier At The Silver Coven
The air in the hidden valley had been peaceful, the scent of damp earth and sage filling Elara’s lungs. She had been sitting on the hovering wooden bench, her brow furrowed as she stared at the ancient grimoire Master Aris had forced upon her.
"Focus, Lady Elara," Aris had barked, his eyes sharp behind his spectacles. "The magic is not a weapon you pick up; it is a river you navigate. If you do not steer, you will drown."
Elara had sighed, her fingers tracing the glowing runes on the page. "I’m trying, Master Aris. But Lyra is restless. She says the wind smells like iron."
Aris had paused, his head tilting like a bird’s. He looked up at the artificial sky of the pocket dimension, his expression shifting from annoyance to a sudden, bone-deep dread. "The wind shouldn't smell like anything here. The wards are—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
The sky didn’t just go dark. It hemorrhaged.
A sound like a thousand mirrors shattering at once tore through the valley. It was the high pitched screech of reality splintering. The sunny blue illusion of the pocket dimension didn’t fade. It peeled. The fake sky curled back like scorched parchment in a furnace and revealed the raw bleeding heavens above.
Master Aris dropped his grimoire. The heavy book hit the stone with a dull thud. His skin turned a ghostly translucent white as he looked up. He didn't even glance at Elara. His eyes were locked on the moon which was already convulsing in its orbit.
A jagged line of crimson sliced across the lunar surface an hour before the stars were meant to align. It wasn't an eclipse. It was a cosmic rupture.
"The calendar," Aris whispered. His breath hitched in a throat tight with terror. "They’ve shifted the celestial gears. They’ve forced the ripening."
Before the echo of his voice could die the first drop of red light hit the ground. It didn't illuminate. It burned. The peaceful academy grounds vanished under a tidal wave of oppressive copper scented heat. The forced moon began to scream its silent command.
"Run Elara!" Aris lunged for her but the air between them was already beginning to boil.
Chaos erupted in an instant. Witches began to scream as their magic turned against them. One student, trying to cast a protection ward, was suddenly enveloped in a gout of green fire that turned her into ash before she could even shriek.
"Elara, get to the palace!" Aris yelled, grabbing her by the arm.
But as they ran toward the exit, the ground beneath them began to liquefy. Shadows rose from the earth like grasping hands, wrapping around the ankles of the fleeing students. Faye and Liora surged forward, their blades singing as they cut through the dark tendrils, but for every shadow they sliced, three more took its place.
"Get away from her!" Faye roared, her eyes flashing yellow as she prepared to shift.
A wave of cold, black energy slammed into the maids, knocking them backward.
"Faye! Liora!" Elara yelled and tried to run to them.
Aris raised his hands, chanting a desperate barrier spell, but the Red Moon vibrated at a frequency that shattered his wards like porcelain.
"Valerius..." Elara gasped as the rift tore open behind her.
The emissary stepped through the tear in reality. He reached for her neck with fingers that looked like white needles. Elara tried to summon her black lightning but the premature lunar pull was too strong. Her blood surged in three different directions. Her heart stuttered and stalled in her chest.
"The King is trapped in a loop of his own making Princess," Valerius purred as he gripped her throat and dragged her toward the darkness. "By the time he breaks free the Red Moon will have claimed its tithe."
Aris lunged forward with his hands glowing in a final suicidal burst of mana. Valerius simply flicked his wrist. A bolt of shadow struck the Magister in the chest and sent him sprawling against a stone pillar. His own magic backfired and charred his skin.
But the mention of Ronan was a mistake. Inside Elara the wolf didn't just growl. Lyra lost it. The forced moon acted like a bellows on her rage.
"What did you do to him?" Elara screamed. Her voice was distorted and layered with a guttural animalistic snarl. "What did you do to my mate?"
"Your mate?" Valerius hissed and clicked his teeth in annoyance. He slammed his hand down and used shadow magic to pin her to the dirt. He leaned in and touched her silver hair with a mocking gentleness.
"The Lycan King is too weak for you," Valerius said. His eyes were wide and frantic. He had lost the poised elegance he showed in the Council. "He doesn't deserve you. He would waste your potential. Only we understand what you are. The Pale Mother has blessed you. You are her masterwork."
He made a move to shove her into the rift but Elara’s head snapped back. Her eyes locked onto the bleeding red moon above.
Lyra went silent. The screaming in Elara’s head vanished into a terrifying void. Her silver eyes turned completely black like two holes punched into the world.
With a sound like snapping iron she shattered the shadow cage. She lunged at Valerius before he could blink. The impact sent both of them crashing to the stone. Elara pinned him to the ground and sat over his chest. A primal thirst for blood and a wolf's hunger for meat merged into a single jagged need.
Valerius didn't look afraid. He laughed crazily and reached up for her. "Yes! Vessel of the Pale Mother! Yes! Give in to the hunger!"
He didn't get to finish his sentence. Rough fangs exploded from Elara’s gums. Her claws grew into obsidian talons and her ears tapered into sharp points. She went straight for his throat. She didn't just bite. She tore.
The blood was cold and tasted of ancient secrets. She drained him in seconds. As his life force left him his skin turned to grey ash and his body shriveled like a dead leaf.
The Nosferu shadow-weavers who had come with him felt the shift. The killing intent radiating from Elara was a physical weight that made the air vibrate. They screeched in terror and launched a blind desperate attack.
Elara met them with a roar. She didn't use spells. She used herself. She moved through the shadows like a ghost and ripped them apart with her bare hands. One vampire tried to flee but she caught him mid-air and snapped his spine before tossing him aside like trash.
When the last of them was a pile of dust on the academy floor Elara stood alone under the red light. She didn't look back at the palace. She didn't look back at the dying Aris. She turned and bolted into the woods. She was a feral streak of black lightning heading for the deepest shadows of the forest.
Back in the tunnel, Ronan felt the world go silent.
The moment the Red Moon reached its zenith, Fenrir let out one final, whimpering howl and went dark. It wasn't just a mindlink breaking; it was as if a part of Ronan’s soul had been put into a deep, frozen sleep.
"Fenrir?" Ronan gasped, falling to his knees.
“He cannot hear you, little King.”
The voice didn't come from his mind. It came from his shadow. It was deep, resonant, and carried the chill of a thousand winters.
Ronan looked down. His shadow was no longer attached to his feet. It was standing up, a towering figure of absolute darkness that mirrored his own height. The golden aura that usually surrounded Ronan was being eaten by a creeping, oily blackness.
"The Shadow King," Ronan rasped, his eyes turning a dead, matte black.
“The Nosferu were clever,” the shadow whispered, its voice vibrating in Ronan's very marrow. “They forced the moon to wake me early. Your wolf is too weak for this light. But I? I am the light’s ancient enemy.”
Ronan clutched his chest, feeling the seal on his heart cracking. "Where is she? Where is Elara?"
“She has gone feral. A beautiful, bloody mess. She is currently tearing her way through the northern ravine, pursued by things far worse than the ones she just slaughtered.” The Shadow King leaned in, his formless face inches from Ronan’s. “You cannot track her. Your senses are tied to a wolf that is currently cowering in the dark. But I can see her. I can lead you to her before the Pale Mother’s tithe is collected.”
"What do you want?" Ronan demanded, his voice cracking.
The shadow laughed, a sound like grinding stone. “A simple trade, Ronan. You are a King; you know the price of power. In exchange for her location and the strength to reach her through the Red Moon’s madness... I want one-third of your soul. Permanently.”