Chapter 28 Whispers of Dracum
The first sign came with the screams.
They tore through the cathedral halls at dusk, sharp and wrong — the kind of screams that didn’t come from pain, but from something inside trying to get out.
Seraphina was at the window when she heard the first one. Her body froze for half a second before instinct took over. She ran down the narrow corridor, her boots echoing off the stone walls, the torchlight flickering as if the air itself recoiled from what was coming.
Lucen met her halfway, his face pale. “It’s started.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, though part of her already knew.
He didn’t answer — just led her through the door into the main hall.
What she saw stopped her cold.
Two of her witches were on the ground, convulsing. Their eyes had turned black, their veins pulsing with a dark, smoky light. Their voices were no longer their own — deep, layered, like a hundred whispers fighting to speak through one throat.
Lucen stepped forward, blade drawn. “They’re possessed.”
“By who?” Seraphina asked, though the air had already changed enough to give her the answer.
Dracum.
The name itself seemed to pulse inside her skull. His presence filled the room — invisible but heavy, like breathing in smoke.
One of the possessed witches turned its head toward her. “You can’t stop him,” it said, voice low and doubled. “You opened the door when you touched the veil. You made the way.”
Seraphina’s heart twisted, but her face stayed calm. “You’re wrong,” she said, stepping closer. “He’s not through yet.”
The witch laughed — a wet, broken sound. “He doesn’t need to be. He’s already in you.”
The words sliced deeper than any blade. Before she could react, the witch lunged. Lucen caught her mid-strike, his sword flashing silver through the air. The body fell still, then disintegrated into ash that smelled of rot and burned roses.
The other witch screamed once and burst into shadow, vanishing before their eyes.
Lucen cursed softly. “They were the fifth and sixth today. It’s spreading, Sera. The darkness — it’s moving through the camp like fire.”
Seraphina knelt where the ashes had fallen. The air above them still shimmered faintly. She touched it, feeling the cold echo of dark magic. It wasn’t possession through blood — it was through will. Dracum was whispering into their minds, bending the weak until they broke.
“He’s feeding on fear,” she murmured. “On despair.”
Lucen nodded grimly. “Then half this camp is already at risk.”
Seraphina stood, her expression hardening. “Then I need to protect the other half.”
She went to her study — the old prayer room beneath the cathedral that now held her codex, a massive leather-bound relic filled with spells so old they had outlived their own creators. The pages were fragile, inked in languages only witches of the Vale could still decipher.
Lucen followed, though he kept his distance. “You think the answer’s in there?”
“It always is,” she said quietly.
She spread the book open on the altar, the candlelight trembling over the gold-lined script. The words glowed faintly, reacting to her touch. Her mother’s teachings echoed in her mind — every spell has a cost, every protection demands something equal in return.
Her eyes scanned the page until one phrase caught her breath:
“Sanguis Vinctum — The Blood Ward.”
A spell of protection. Temporary. Ancient. Dangerous.
It would shield her people from possession, but it demanded power from the caster — not just strength, but memory, pieces of the soul that anchored the mind to the body. If she used it, she’d lose fragments of herself every time it was cast.
Lucen must have seen the shift in her face. “You found something,” he said carefully.
She hesitated, then nodded. “A ward. It can stop Dracum’s essence from taking them.”
“But there’s a cost,” he guessed.
Her silence was enough of an answer.
“Sera, don’t—”
She cut him off. “If I don’t, we lose them all. I’d rather lose pieces of myself than watch my people become his.”
Lucen’s eyes softened. “And what happens when there’s nothing left of you to protect them?”
She smiled faintly. “Then I hope they remember enough to fight.”
He didn’t argue — just stood beside her as she drew her knife and cut her palm. The blood spilled onto the codex, and the pages came alive. The runes lit up like fire, wrapping around her hands in burning gold. The air grew heavy, vibrating with power.
Seraphina began to chant.
The magic surged outward in waves, spiraling through the cathedral like a storm. Every wall, every window glowed with the same golden sigils. The witches who still lived gasped as the warmth hit them — the protective seal stitching itself over their hearts, guarding their minds from Dracum’s whispers.
For a few seconds, everything was blinding.
Then the light dimmed.
Seraphina staggered, her body trembling. Lucen caught her before she fell.
“Easy,” he said. “You did it.”
She blinked up at him, disoriented. “For how long?”
“A day, maybe two,” she whispered, her voice weak. “After that… it’ll need to be renewed.”
Lucen frowned. “At that cost?”
She gave a tired smile. “What’s left of me won’t matter if the world’s gone.”
He looked at her for a long moment, something unspoken in his gaze. “You always talk about sacrifice like it’s easy.”
“It’s not,” she said softly. “It’s necessary.”
Outside, the night had turned darker. The wind howled through the broken windows, carrying faint, distant whispers — not words, but hunger.
Dracum was close. Closer than ever.
Seraphina tightened her grip on Lucen’s arm, steadying herself. “We buy time,” she said. “That’s all we can do now.”
Lucen nodded. “And when the time runs out?”
Seraphina’s eyes glowed faintly gold in the dark. “Then we stop running.”