Chapter 90 An Old Rival
LUCA
We flew to the Moonborne lands by magical transport, one of the few benefits of having powerful magic users on our side. The journey that normally took hours took minutes.
The temple was already under siege when we arrived.
Dark magic swirled around the Moonwell chamber, a visible vortex of corruption that made my skin crawl. Warriors fought desperately to push through the barrier, but the magic repelled them.
“Status!” I demanded of the commander on site.
“We can’t penetrate the barrier, Your Majesty. Every attempt results in severe magical backlash. We’ve lost three warriors already to the dark magic’s defense mechanisms.”
“Where’s Bardon?”
“Preparing a counter-ritual, but he says it’ll take at least an hour to—”
An explosion from the Moonwell chamber cut him off. The barrier flickered, and through the gap I saw someone standing at the spring’s edge.
Cyrus Ashford.
And he wasn’t alone. A dozen robed figures surrounded him, chanting in an ancient language I didn’t recognize.
“There!” Arya pointed. “We need to get in there before they complete whatever they’re doing!”
“The barrier—”
“I can break it. But I’ll need your power through the bond.”
“Channel it.”
She placed her hands against the barrier, and I felt the pull through our connection. My power flowed into her. She channeled it, shaped it, used it to force a crack in the dark magic.
“Now!” she shouted.
We rushed through the gap, Sage and Ryker right behind us. The chamber was thick with darkness, making breathing difficult.
“Stop!” Arya commanded, her voice resonating with Moonborne authority.
Cyrus turned, and I saw madness in his eyes. “Too late, Luna. The ritual is nearly complete. Soon, the Moonwell will serve a new master.”
“What master? Theron’s dead!”
“Theron was a fool. A blunt instrument who understood nothing of real power.” Cyrus gestured to the spring, which was already darkening. “I serve something older. Something that’s been waiting centuries for the Moonwell to be cleansed so it could be properly claimed.”
“You planned this,” Arya breathed. “From the beginning. You wanted me to cleanse the corruption because you couldn’t claim it while it was tainted by Theron’s ancestor’s blood magic.”
“Very good. Yes, I needed it pure before I could bind it to my master.” Cyrus smiled. “Thank you, by the way. You did exactly what we needed.”
“Who’s your master?”
“You’ll meet him soon enough. Once the binding is complete, he’ll arrive personally to claim his prize.” Cyrus turned back to the ritual. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The binding requires Moonborne blood to break, and I very much doubt you’re willing to—”
“Shut up,” I said, and shot him.
The blessed silver bullet took him in the shoulder, spinning him around. He screamed, clutching the wound.
“You can’t—that’s not—you cheated!”
“Cheated?” I advanced on him, gun still raised. “You’re performing dark magic to steal a sacred spring, and you’re accusing me of cheating?”
“This is a matter of magic! You can’t just shoot people!” he actually had the gall to sound offended.
“Watch me.” I aimed again. “Call off the ritual or the next one goes through your skull.”
“You wouldn’t dare. You’re supposed to be civilized.”
“I’m supposed to be a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I am.” I glanced at the robed figures, who’d stopped chanting in confusion. “All of you, hands where I can see them. Now.”
They complied, clearly not having expected bullets in a magic fight.
“Arya, can you stop the ritual?”
She was already moving toward the Moonwell, her hands glowing with power. “Working on it. Keep them occupied.”
“With pleasure.”
Cyrus tried to run. Sage stopped him, sending him crashing to the ground.
“Going somewhere?” She planted her boot on his chest. “I don’t think so.”
The robed figures tried to resume chanting. I shot the floor near their feet. “I said hands visible. Next person who moves gets a bullet.”
“You can’t threaten us!” one of them protested. “We have rights!”
“You’re performing dark magic in a sacred site. Your rights include jack and shit.” I kept the gun trained on them. “Anyone else want to argue legal theory?”
No one spoke.
“That’s what I thought.”
Arya was locked in a battle of wills with the corruption. Her power blazed, burning away the darkness inch by inch. But it was fighting back, trying to pull her in.
“Arya!” I started toward her, but Ryker caught my arm.
“She needs to focus. Moving might distract her.”
“She’s in danger—”
“And she knows what she’s doing. Trust her.”
Trust. It always came back to trust.
I watched, helpless, as Arya fought a battle I couldn’t join. Her face was strained, sweat pouring down her forehead, but she didn’t stop or waver for even a second.
“Come on,” I whispered. “You can do this. I know you can.”
It killed me to not be there or be able to offer support in any way.
The corruption surged, trying one last time to overwhelm her. For a moment, I thought it would succeed. Then Arya’s power exploded outward in a wave of pure light.
The darkness screamed, so loud and sharp, like nails on glass, before it flickered and burned away to nothing. The Moonwell’s water cleared, returning to crystal purity.
“Arya.” i screamed and ran toward her as she collapsed.
I was there in an instant, catching her before she hit the ground. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
“Did it work?” she gasped.
“It worked. The Moonwell is clean.”
“Good. That’s good.” She looked at Cyrus, who was still pinned under Sage’s boot. “Who’s your master? Who were you trying to bind the spring to?”
Cyrus laughed, blood trickling from his mouth. “You think I’ll tell you? You think threats or promises will make me betray him?”
“No. But this will.” Bardon appeared, having finally made it through the barrier. He placed his hand on Cyrus’s head, and magic flared. “Forced confession spell. I should warn you, it’s not pleasant, but it is effective.”
Cyrus’s eyes went wide with panic. He tried to resist, tried to fight the magic, but Bardon was too strong.
“Speak,” Bardon commanded. “Who is your master?”
“I—can’t—won’t—” Cyrus’s resistance crumbled. “Mordecai. Mordecai Moonborne.”
The name hit like a physical blow.
“That’s impossible,” Arya whispered. “He died centuries ago. My great-great-grandmother killed him.”
“Not killed. Banished and trapped in a void between dimensions.” Cyrus’s voice was strained, the forced confession clearly painful. “But he’s been working to return ever since. Gathering followers. Making deals. Waiting for the Moonwell to be cleansed so he could anchor himself back to this reality.”
“And you were going to help him,” I said. “Let a Moonborne who practiced blood magic and nearly destroyed his own family return to power.”
“He promised me immortality. True immortality, not the conditional kind Lycans have. And power. So much power.” Cyrus laughed again, but it sounded desperate. “But it’s too late. You stopped the binding, but you can’t stop him. He’s already found another anchor. Another way back.”
“What anchor?” Arya demanded.