Chapter 73 The cursed tongue

Chapter 73 The cursed tongue


Present Day — Blackmar Manor

Draven Valios stood in the middle of his manor's grand study, the ancient spell book clutched in his hands, confusion washing over his face like a tide he couldn't hold back.

The pages were spread across the massive oak table before him, covered in symbols that seemed to shift and writhe the longer he stared at them. Some passages he could read spells of binding, corruption, destruction. But the most powerful incantations, the ones that could truly break the Varex, were written in a language that eluded him completely.

"How do I destroy them when I can't even get past this stupid book!" Draven's voice echoed through the empty room, frustration bleeding into fury.

He slammed his fist on the table, making the candles flicker. The spell book remained unmoved, its secrets locked behind symbols he couldn't decipher no matter how many hours he spent trying.

He had been at this for days.

Days of studying. Days of cross-referencing what little ancient texts he had in his library. Days of growing increasingly desperate as the answer continued to slip through his fingers like smoke.

But he wasn't going to stop. Not until he found a way around it.

The Varex had to fall. The Moonborn had to be destroyed. And this book this cursed, impossible book held the key to making it happen.

If only he could understand it.

Draven paced the length of the study, his crimson-black eyes blazing with barely contained rage. He'd looked for someone to decode it, quietly reaching out through his network of informants and scholars. But no one could help him.

Or more accurately, no one would help him.

The language was too old, too dangerous. Those who recognized it wanted nothing to do with it.

Which left him with one option.

Draven stopped pacing, his jaw set with grim determination.

He would pull his last card.

He would summon the council.

Hours later, the council chamber was filled.

Twelve figures sat around the long table, their faces illuminated by flickering torchlight. They were the elders of the Blackmar Coven ancient vampires who had served under Draven's father for centuries.

And now, reluctantly, they served under Draven.

He stood at the head of the table, the spell book positioned prominently before him. His presence commanded the room, but there was tension in the air. These elders hadn't wanted him as their leader. They'd tolerated him out of tradition, out of obligation.

But tolerance wasn't loyalty.

"I've called you here," Draven began, his voice cold and authoritative, "because I need your expertise."

One of the elder vampires, a man named Corvus with silver hair and sharp eyes, leaned forward. "What is this about, Draven? We have territories to manage, conflicts to resolve"

"This is about the Varex," Draven interrupted, placing his hand on the spell book. "And how we're going to destroy them."

Silence fell over the room.

Then, slowly, whispers began. Concerned glances exchanged. Uncomfortable shifts in seats.

"Is that..." another elder, a woman named Vasilia, spoke up, her voice tight. "Is that Morgana's spell book?"

"It is," Draven confirmed.

The whispers grew louder.

"You can't be serious," Corvus said, his expression darkening. "Draven, that book is—"

"Powerful," Draven finished. "Exactly what we need."

"Cursed!" Vasilia stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the stone floor. "That book is cursed magic, Draven. You cannot use it on our lands. It will bring bad fortune to all of us. To the entire coven."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the council.

"She's right," another elder added. "Your father would never have touched that book. He knew better than to"

"My father is dead," Draven said, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

The council fell silent, the weight of those words settling over them like a shroud.

Draven's eyes swept across their faces, cold and unyielding. "I didn't call this council to ask for your permission. I called you here to find me someone who can interpret the language in this book. Someone who can translate the symbols I cannot read."

"You're making a mistake," Corvus warned. "That magic is dangerous, Draven. Even for you."

"I don't need any of you old hags telling me how to run this," Draven snapped, his patience finally breaking. His eyes blazed crimson. "I'm not my father. And I never will be."

He leaned forward, his hands pressed against the table, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"I make the decisions around here. And that's final."

The council members exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them spoke. The power dynamic had shifted, and they all felt it. Draven wasn't asking for guidance. He wasn't seeking approval.

He was commanding. And defying him now would have consequences.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, one of the elder vampires stood slowly. His name was Theron, an ancient scholar who rarely spoke during council meetings.

"I know of someone," Theron said quietly, his voice gravelly with age. "Someone who can help translate this."

Draven's eyes locked onto him immediately. "Who?"

"A rogue witch," Theron replied. "She lives in the outer territories. Practices old magic. Dangerous magic. She's been exiled from most covens because of her... methods."

"I don't care about her methods," Draven said. "Can she read this language?"

Theron nodded slowly. "If anyone can, it's her. But she won't come willingly. And she'll demand payment."

"Whatever she wants, she'll get it," Draven said without hesitation. "As long as she can decode this book."

Theron hesitated, then nodded. "Very well."

"Good." Draven straightened, his expression hard. "I want her here before dark falls."

"That's less than three hours," Corvus protested. "It's not possible"

"Make it possible," Draven interrupted, his voice like ice. "Or I'll find someone who can."

The threat hung in the air.

Theron bowed slightly. "It will be done."

The council members sat in tense silence, their disapproval evident but unspoken. They weren't in support of this. They thought Draven was playing with fire, courting disaster.

But he had made it clear: his decision was now the law.

And they would obey, whether they liked it or not.

Draven looked down at the spell book, his jaw set with grim determination.

By nightfall, he would have his translator.

And then, finally, the Varex would have nowhere left to hide.