The blood of prophecy is never spilled in vain;
It stains generations until the curse completes its circle.
~Thalor Veyne, Chronicler of the Nine Bloodlines, 6the Era
***
Years ago, she dreamt of her sister, dreamt of the terrors of her imagination but it happened once in a blue moon.
Occasionally, she found the worst of it buried within the depths of her mind revealing itself as a dream. It was foggy and unusual, but at the same time, she never knew what exactly happened except for the knowledge of why she died.
The tension between them suddenly turned palpable and it was Jemima's voice that cut through its viscosity.
"That was different, Ravenna, and you know it," She said, staring deep into those ocean-blue eyes glistening with emotions, ones she couldn't begin to pinpoint. "Right now, this is different," The emphasis was laced in a whisper.
Ravenna sighed, forcing the weight of her thoughts behind. It was true. But the truth scared her, just as it had always done.
And at this point, those mon-creatures—The image of scars and fangs materialized and she silently obscured it with a stiff spine—weren't just after her. They were after her brother.
Suddenly, she thought of something, and a crease formed at her forehead when she asked, "How possible is it for a creature to tap into the source of Illusion?"
It was Jemima's turn for her forehead to crease when she asked. "Illusion?" she repeated, frowning next, perhaps at the knowledge or the sudden drive into history. "It's almost impossible, considering that ability was long wiped away with Liches in possession of the Black Stone. Why do you ask?"
That was what she thought. "Are you aware that a Mage was caught some years back?" She asked instead, avoiding her question with another, the memory of the little boy clouding her vision for a moment until Jemima's voice came in.
With a nod, "I heard something like that once or twice at the market square. You know folks with gossip," She said, holding questions in her gaze as she stared at her, perhaps to proceed with whatever was going on in her mind.
"It's just that, I thought I might have seen something. Something… really confusing," Jemima gave her a look when she hesitated and continued, lowering her voice. "I thought it was Alaric."
She arched her brow in surprise. "Alaric?"
"When the Mage was arrested, it was a little boy. The same height, the same body figure, and the replica of how he walks. And not just that, he was with the bracelet I'd given Alaric on his fifth birthday."
The valid explanation for what Ravenna thought was either two things; someone tapped into a forbidden magic using Alaric's vessel and her sanity as its source or whatever they caught wasn't a Mage but a Lich. The thought of it sent another wave of adrenaline rushing into her, and as expected, there was a sudden tension radiating from Jemima.
They both shared the same thought and the weight of it was profound enough to change the atmosphere. "Are you sure about what you saw?" She asked rather and Ravenna nodded without any faintest doubt, although she skipped the part about the red-eyed creature from her window.
Her silence next was enough proof that something wasn't right. But all Ravenna could think of was the people after her to get hold of him.
"But why me?" She asked, turning to look at her. It didn't make any sense if she was of no use. Had no ability, like all these years anything would change the fact that she was just an entity without a vessel. "I don't get it. I'm just a human with a supposed entity…"
"Alaric's power is influencing your essence," Jemima cut in and Ravenna's eyes met hers. "Which is why the more he gets stronger, the more you get weaker. Your abilities are yet to be uncovered but deep down, you're no ordinary human."
A wrecked sigh escaped her lips.
"You've seen what his powers can do. No ordinary human can withstand this long. I've seen it. I've witnessed it."
It was raining when a passerby walked past the manor of House Vale. With an umbrella shielding himself, he looked ahead as always, crossing paths with the protruding street, until his eyes fell on the deserted and gothic structure of the manor once more.
Lightning flashed across the sky releasing a heart-wrenching thunder and he jerked, frightened by both the intensity and his thought.
He heard the traitor's daughter always returned late at night leaving the house empty and vulnerable. Maybe it was time to confirm if the rumors were true.
Could Fallen House Vale possess powers? Wealth? Magic? Death was among them, but at that moment, the first three clouded his sanity.
With a lopsided grin, he veered around, sauntering towards the manor. Pushing open the gate that welcomed him with a loud creak, he peeked his head, taking note of the empty area before walking inside.
The wind bellowed, smacking his figure and he shivered, firmly adding a grip to his umbrella as he proceeded towards the main house.
"Not bad," he muttered, folding his umbrella and placing it at the side of the entrance, his eyes scanning the almost grand hall, the burnt tapestries, flamed frames, and firm walls.
The floorboards creaked as his feet inched forward, pausing halfway to monitor the silence cautiously.
The manor was really big that if he began to dig through for anything of worth, it would take almost an hour. But his avarice had already made a decision.
There was no way flames licked up the whole gold. If the House were rumored to have survived the flames, certainly the Vale's secured more than enough gold.
Perhaps the council was voracious enough to secure the most expensive ownerships but forgot the ones buried right before them.
Foolish Highborns.
"While we beg for food and shelter, they snatched the little ones we harbor and impede an abandoned building for the wind to wear down," he huffed in disgust. "Perhaps, this might be of worth," he said, taking off the tapestry.
Lightning flashed across the sky, casting an illumination on the intruder. Taking a close look at him, he had short greasy blonde hair, thick eyebrows, and deep-set eyes bright with greed. His blotchy skin color complemented his full moustache at his upper lip, and a stern appearance as grime coated almost all his face.
He started from the gallery, to the almost huge medieval-looking kitchen, to a few more beautifully-dispersed rooms at his beck and call.
The rumors were true. Fallen House Vale was wrapped in flames yet nothing was scorched to ashes rather left with the reminders of its horrendous encounter.
But no one mentioned it looked… bizarre?
"It feels suffocating in here," and he breathed what was supposed to be fresh air and seized the vase. There was something different here.
He snatched another before proceeding. It took another turn to confirm his thought. It seemed like some barricade in the air, clogging both his sense of vision and the air in his lungs, and he coughed, grasping his chest. "What in Christ's name is thi- Cough! Cough!"
He coughed and whizzed for air which unknown to him, his lips slowly transformed into glacier blue and his face almost white as chalk, and he coughed again, gasping a breath.
He waved a hand, fanning the darkness that felt like a siege. He had just stumbled upon a room emitting some kind of vicious force that wrapped the air in a tornado.
The atmosphere suddenly felt like the source was right in front of him. Lightning flashed and disappeared, compelling the window's reflection on how ghastly his appearance was.
Not until he encountered hell from another dimension, stretching his eyes to infinity.
"What in the holy's name-!" he cursed, encountering the terror before him like a whip of flame. The atmosphere added leverage, as darkness licked into and beyond the ambiance.
He grasped his chest harder this time, and as both eyes stretched, he staggered backwards. But the effect of its viciousness only caused the poor man's feet to the basis.
"Ah," he whined and gasped, pushing his weight to his feet however it only shoved him back. The longer he stayed, the more air abruptly seemed like steel and he wheezed in, grasping his chest tighter.
No rumors added this, something he couldn't even explain. But all he smelled was death and magic. A vicious one-
Abruptly, his vision granted him the sight of something in between the tonardo made of darkness, air, lightning, and death. Or was it… someone?
With a hand barricading his vision, and the other supporting his chest, his blurry vision caught an ambiguous picture of… red eyes?… gazing ahead in a trance, and he gasped. It took all his willpower to get himself to pivot, and instead of walking away, he struggled forward.
Red Gemstone, he thought.
"Cough! Cough! Ah," he moaned in despair at his sore throat, rubbing a hand on his neck before proceeding to struggle ahead with his avariciousness. However, as he brought an arm forward, he took notice of the blood in his palm.
Bewildered yet surprised, he withdrew the arm, bringing his hand close to his face, due to his slight fuzzy vision, and noticed the blood on closer look.
Something trailed from his nostrils, trickling down and he wiped it off, staring at his palm. Still blood.
His eyes widened in shock.
Unknown to him, his vision wasn't clear due to his blood clogging it and he blinked, whizzing before returning his gaze ahead, struggling with the arms dragging his slow pace.
His previous black irises had transformed to sick-ashen color, his eye outline almost as red as blood on his pale face.
Stretching out a trembling hand with every breath labored, he slammed it to the ground, before dragging his weight upwards like someone climbing towards an impossible mountain.
Every struggle, every push, every movement, felt like a hot dagger plunged into his body. And he coughed again, throwing his weight to the ground.
He wouldn't make it… He moaned in pain, breathing slowly like someone who was sick.
Shaking his head, he struggled to lift his weight but the toil spreading all over him made it impossible to draw even a breath.
Lifting his cranium, he pictured the Gemstone still at a far distance and he coughed again. He wasn't halfway close to retrieving it, and he sighed, still struggling to move his stiff body.
Taking a glimpse behind, his vision was so blurry that he could only picture a bag lying uselessly on the floor, one hijacked for all the things he stole.
He could do with that- and he coughed, his throat burning. He moved his futile weight against the floorboard, but the stiffness earned a groan.
But it was already too late to return to Earth.
Something moved beside him and he whipped his head with all might, catching the sight of something bizarre moving amongst the air.
B-bat? However, when it morphed into something with four feet, his eyes stretched to infinity.
Whatever it was, it was assertive enough to cause the poor petrified figure to pee on his pants, trembling.
But what he mistook for feet were just wings.
Instantly, he pushed his stiffness against the floorboard, retreating hastily. "Urgh," he groaned, the pain eating his bones deep, yet he labored to get away.
Air whizzed and smacked his figure however he pushed on. A sudden hiss rechoed in the room and he froze, eyes almost falling out of his sockets.
Slowly, he pushed his fear aside and trembled, turning behind to find the gemstone, this time, staring directly at him, and he screamed.
Unfortunately, his voice never left the room before he turned into ashes, the air throwing away his essence as those eyes became the last thing he saw before exiting the world.
Ravenna remembered the encounter like a fairytale read to her every night with the only difference that it wasn't deprived of a fairy. It was from her brother.
Later that night, she returned home to discover a heap of ashes in front of his room. It took a dreadful amount of time to learn someone slipped into her home when he was training his powers.
Luckily for her, Jemima got there before something worse happened.
That was the first time she witnessed his powers murder someone at an early age.
Ravenna wondered what would've become of her if anyone had figured out her brother's appearance. It wasn't only a threat but a ticket to Vladoryn's taste for power and experiments.
A shiver ran down her spine at the awful thought.
"Your sister's fate was tragic, Ravenna. No one expected it. We all thought she could fight it, but it was too strong. But yours… It's special." she said, earning Ravenna's attention.
Was it the good kind or the bad? She wanted to ask, but her mind was too drained to argue further.
Jemima tells her she might be a Witch, but somewhere inside, Ravenna had doubts. Her sister, Ianthe Vale, who died when she was 12, was a Witch, but her powers became disastrous enough that prophecy risked her powers for danger.
It was destined that the Vale's children would carry the three most powerful bloodlines— Dragons, Mages, and Nephmir— but Ianthe took the most abominable, and for that, had to die.
Her parents, Edwald and Isolde Vale were convinced that when her sister reached the age, she might be able to control her powers, but they were wrong. Ianthe became more unpredictable, more dangerous, and with that, they figured out a way to take away her powers without killing her as prophecy demanded.
At least, that was what she was told.
The rituals took her life in the process, and at the end, prophecy couldn't be denied. It was a strong will. Neither could it be repudiated or damned.
Ravenna hasn't shown any sign of abilities since she was born, but her strength to remain immune to Alaric's powers without combustion was enough proof that it lingered within her. Ianthe had such abilities to retain inhuman forces… but it wasn't long enough until she became destructive.
But with hers, it turned her weaker, exactly as prophecy deemed fit. With a sigh, "I need to rest,"
Translation: I don't want to talk about it.
Jemima gave her one last look before rising, arranging her dress properly. "I'll leave you to it then but after you eat something. You must be hungry,"
She didn't wait for any response and left, shutting the door quietly behind her. At the sound of her retreating steps, a lone tear escaped from an eye and she blinked, dragging a breath.
The candlelight cast a shadow on the wall before her, and her eyes fell on it, giving it a hard stare.
Somehow, even shadows terrified her.
***