Chapter 70: The Price of A Forbidden Ritual

Chapter 70: Chapter 70: The Price of A Forbidden Ritual

The room went completely silent.

Seraphina’s words hung in the air like a blade suspended above their heads. The faint crackle of the hearth faded into near nothingness. Even the distant night wind against the balcony shutters seemed to pause.

{ I opened my eyes again... and saw the body of my beloved, Cryvathar . }

Theon stared at her. For several seconds he could not find the words to speak. The weight of what she had just revealed pressed against his chest, heavy and cold. A faint metallic taste rose at the back of his throat. Then his expression hardened, the earlier shock giving way to something sharper.

"What?"

His voice came out lower than before, rough around the edges, as though the words themselves scraped against his throat.

"Why would they bring his body there?"

Seraphina lowered her eyes. The crimson strands of her hair fell forward, partially hiding her face. A soft tremor passed through her shoulders.

"They needed him."

Theon frowned. The muscles along his jaw tightened. "Needed him for what?"

She drew a slow breath. The air in the room felt colder with every word she prepared to speak.

"For the ritual."

Cryvathar expression darkened. The ancient being stood motionless, yet the temperature around him seemed to drop. A faint pressure settled over the chamber, like the quiet before a storm.

Seraphina continued, her voice steady only through sheer force of will. Each syllable carried the dry rasp of long-buried pain.

"The ritual they performed was not meant simply to harm me. It was designed to take the power contained within NIVARETH and divide it."

Theon glanced down at the sword resting at his side. The leather wrapping felt warmer than it should under his palm. The blade looked quiet now, almost ordinary, yet he felt the faint pulse of something vast and ancient beneath its surface.. like a heartbeat that did not belong to him.

"Divide it?"

"Yes." She nodded once. The motion was small, controlled. "The ancient forbidden ritual required two things. The blood of the sword’s wielder... and the blood of the person most deeply connected to that wielder."

Theon slowly turned toward [Cryvatha]. Understanding settled over him like a shadow. The hair along his arms rose.

"His blood..."

Seraphina nodded. "And mine."

Theon’s hand tightened into a fist at his side. The knuckles whitened. He could feel the dull ache of pressure in his palm.

"So they used both of you."

"They did."

Her voice remained calm, but a slight tremor betrayed the memories buried underneath. The pain was old, yet it still cut. The scent of old ash from the hearth suddenly felt sharper in the air.

"They believed that by combining our blood with the sword’s origin, they could reproduce its power."

Theon stared at her. Disgust and anger warred across his face. His breathing had grown shallower.

"That’s cruel."

His gaze shifted toward the little wolf sitting on the floor. The creature’s ears were already lowered, as though it sensed what was coming. A faint, nervous twitch ran through its small body.

"And you actually allowed that to happen to your own daughter?"

The little wolf’s ears dropped further. For once, there was no joke, no bravado. Its voice came out thin, almost fragile against the heavy quiet.

"It was necessary."

Theon’s eyes narrowed. The candlelight along the walls seemed to flicker in time with the tightness in his chest. "Necessary?"

The little wolf looked away, unable to meet his stare. Its claws scraped faintly against the wooden floor.

"If we had not done it, the sword would have remained beyond our reach."

Theon stepped forward. The soft sound of his boot against the floor seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room. The boards creaked beneath his weight.

"You sacrificed your own daughter for a sword."

The little wolf’s body stiffened. A visible shiver ran down its spine. "I did what I believed was necessary."

"That’s not an answer."

Theon’s voice was sharper now, edged with real anger. The words left a bitter taste on his tongue. He turned back to Seraphina.

"What happened next?"

Seraphina looked at him. Her eyes held no tears, only the quiet exhaustion of someone who had carried this memory for far too long. The candlelight caught the faint redness at the corners of her eyes.

"They tore [Cryvathar’s] body apart."

The room fell silent again. Even Lyra, who had been sleeping weakly nearby after exhausting herself in the battle, shifted slightly on the bed. A soft, unconscious sound escaped her lips, as though the words had reached her even in sleep.

"They drained his blood," Seraphina continued. Her voice had grown quieter, almost brittle. "Every drop they could obtain."

Theon swallowed. The image formed too clearly in his mind. A cold sensation slid down the back of his neck.

"They poured it onto the sword."

Seraphina nodded. "Then they took mine."

Her hands slowly curled into fists in her lap. The fabric of her clothing creased under the pressure of her fingers.

"They drained some of my blood as well and poured it over NIVARETH."

Theon looked at the sword again. Suddenly he understood why Seraphina had been so desperate to keep it away from them. The blade had been baptized in the blood of the two people who loved each other most in the world... and who had suffered most because of it. The metal seemed to drink the dim light of the room.

"What happened after that?"

"They began the ritual."

Her voice became quieter still, almost fragile. The sound of it made the air feel thinner.

"Ancient words filled the chamber. Magic circles appeared beneath my feet. The entire mountain shook."

She paused, gathering the next part of the memory. A faint tremor passed through her hands.

"The sword began to glow."

Theon’s eyes widened. He could almost feel the residual heat of that remembered light against his skin. "Did it respond?"

"Yes."

Seraphina looked directly at NIVARETH, her gaze lingering on the familiar edge. The blade reflected the candle flames in thin, shifting lines.

"In that moment I understood why everyone feared that sword."

The blade seemed almost ordinary now. But Theon knew better. He had felt its weight, its hunger, its quiet power. A low, almost inaudible hum seemed to linger at the edge of hearing.

"Light began pouring from it," she continued. "Not ordinary light. It was as if the sword itself was resisting them."

Theon remained silent, listening. The crackle of the hearth returned faintly, as though the room itself was holding its breath with him.

"They continued the ritual anyway."

Seraphina’s breathing became heavier. The memory was pulling her under again. A fine sheen of sweat had appeared at her temples.

"Their spell became stronger and my body became weaker. Cryvathar blood was absorbed into the magic circle."

Her eyes lowered. The crimson of her hair framed a face that had gone pale.

"And then..."

She stopped. The silence stretched. Somewhere outside, the wind brushed against the balcony rail with a soft, restless sound.

Theon waited, unwilling to rush her. His own breathing had slowed to match the heavy quiet.

"The sword split."

A faint expression of disbelief crossed Theon’s face. "Split?"

"Not physically." Seraphina shook her head. The motion was small, controlled, yet the weight behind it was immense. "The power inside it split."

She raised two fingers. The candlelight caught the faint scars along her knuckles.

"One stream of power separated from the original. It condensed into another blade."

Theon stared at her. "They cloned it."

"Not perfectly." She shook her head again. "They could only reproduce part of its original power. The ritual was incomplete."

"So there were two?"

"Yes."

Theon frowned. The muscles along his brow drew tight. "Where did the second one go?"

Seraphina’s eyes hardened. The softness of grief gave way to something colder. The air around her seemed to sharpen.

"Before I lost consciousness, I heard them say that one of the swords would be given to the human king."

Theon froze. The words landed with physical force. "The human king?"

"Yes."

"But..." His gaze moved around the room, taking in the walls of the academy that had become so familiar. The stone seemed older now, heavier. "If one sword went to the human kingdom, then wouldn’t that territory have become a battlefield?"

Seraphina shook her head. "No."

"Why?"

"Because the humans had already surrendered that territory."

Theon blinked. A cold realization settled behind his ribs. "What?"

"The mountain and the surrounding land belonged to the ancient elves." She looked toward the walls, as though she could still see the land as it had been in that distant age. "Long before this academy was built, the humans gave that entire territory to our people."

Theon slowly looked around the chamber. The implications settled heavily. The familiar walls suddenly felt like the remnants of something far older and far bloodier.

"So..."

"Yes." Seraphina nodded. "This academy was eventually built on the same territory."

Theon rubbed his chin, thoughts turning. The faint scent of old wood and stone filled his lungs more strongly than before. "That explains something."

"What?"

"I’ve always felt something strange about this place." His eyes narrowed. "The aura around the academy isn’t normal."

Cryvathar looked toward him. The ancient figure gaze was steady, measuring. "You noticed?"

"Of course." Theon shrugged, though there was no humor in the gesture. The motion pulled faintly at the tension in his shoulders. "Something about this entire mountain has always felt... old."

Cryvathar expression became unreadable. "Now you understand why."

Theon remained silent. The history of the academy suddenly felt much heavier. It was not simply a school. It had been built upon land carrying the remnants of an ancient war. A war involving primordial beings. Two forbidden swords. And a ritual that should never have existed. The very air seemed to carry the faint, residual weight of that history.

Seraphina continued, her voice softer now. The words came like the last embers of a long fire.

"After the sword was split, I lost consciousness."

She drew another slow breath. The rise and fall of her chest was measured, careful.

"When I woke again, the chamber was empty."

Theon stared at her. "And Cryvathar?"

Seraphina looked toward the transparent figure who still stood among them, very much alive. "He was gone."

Cryvathar expression remained calm, but his eyes carried something deeper. Pain. Anger. Regret. All of it carefully controlled, yet visible to anyone who looked long enough. A faint shadow seemed to cling to the edges of his presence.

Theon finally understood. For thousands of years, these two had carried the weight of that night. The betrayal. The blood. The incomplete ritual that had torn something irreplaceable from both of them. The silence that followed felt thicker than before.

He slowly exhaled. The breath left him in a quiet, controlled stream. "Now I understand."

His voice was quiet. "I really do."

Silver lowered her head. The soft rustle of her clothing was the only sound. Lazaria remained silent as well. There was no teasing. No jokes. No playful arguments. Only silence.

Lyra was still unconscious, her breathing soft and steady. The rise and fall of the blanket over her chest was the only gentle movement in the room. She had exhausted herself completely after transforming into the Flame Empress. The little wolf remained on the floor, small and suddenly very alone. Its fur looked duller under the candlelight.

Then Cryvathar turned toward him.

His expression changed. The controlled calm fractured, revealing the cold fury that had been waiting beneath. The temperature in the room seemed to drop another degree.

"I am glad you understand."

The little wolf raised its head. A nervous flicker of movement ran through its ears.

Cryvathar eyes became cold. "But now..."

He took a step forward. The floorboards creaked under his weight, the sound sharp in the heavy quiet.

"I want to kill him."

Theon moved instantly. "Wait."

Cryvathar continued toward the little wolf, each step deliberate. The air around him thickened with restrained power.

"Cryvathar."

The ancient human stopped. The faint pressure of his presence pressed against Theon’s skin like a physical weight.

Theon stepped between them, placing himself squarely in the path. The heat of the hearth against his back felt suddenly distant.

"Killing him would be too easy."

Cryvathar stared at him. The intensity of that gaze was almost physical. "What do you mean?"

Theon glanced at the little wolf. The creature was trembling now, ears flat against its head. A soft, almost inaudible whimper escaped its throat.

"Leave him like this."

The little wolf’s ears immediately shot upward. "What?"

Theon ignored him. His voice stayed level, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable. "Leave him with me."

Cryvathar narrowed his eyes. The candle flames nearest to him flickered. "I’ll make sure he suffers more than what you two went through."

The little wolf stared at Theon in disbelief. Its voice cracked. "Wait! What does that mean?"

Theon smiled faintly, though there was no kindness in it. The expression did not reach his eyes. "You’ll find out soon enough."

"Boy—"

Cryvathar raised his hand. Power gathered around his fingers, a faint distortion of the air that made the candlelight bend.

Theon immediately stepped closer. The heat of that gathering power brushed against his skin. "Please."

Cryvathar stopped. Theon’s expression was serious, stripped of every usual layer of sarcasm. The quiet plea carried more weight than any shout could have.

"I know you have every reason to hate him." His voice softened. The words left a faint roughness in his throat. "But killing him won’t undo what happened."

Cryvathar fist slowly tightened. The leather of his glove creaked under the pressure. "You speak as though you understand."

"I don’t." Theon shook his head. The motion was small, honest. "I wasn’t there." He glanced at Seraphina. Her face was still pale in the candlelight. "I didn’t see what they did to you." Then he looked back at Cryvathar. "But I’ve seen enough."

Cryvathar stared at him. For a long moment, neither spoke. The air between them felt charged, fragile. The distant wind against the shutters was the only sound that remained.

Finally, Cryvathar lowered his hand. The gathered power faded, leaving only the ordinary chill of the night air.

"Fine."

Theon released a breath he had not realized he was holding. The relief was physical, a loosening of the tightness in his chest. "Thank you."

Cryvathar sat down. His eyes remained fixed on the little wolf with cold, unblinking intensity. The wooden chair creaked softly under his weight.

The little wolf immediately moved farther away, pressing itself against the wall. Its small claws scraped against the stone with a frantic, uneven sound.

Theon noticed. He almost laughed. The sound stayed trapped in his throat. So this guy can actually be scared.

Then Cryvathar looked at him.

"You really have a kind heart, don’t you?"

Theon frowned. The question landed strangely. "What do you mean?"

Cryvathar sighed. The sound was long and tired. "Nothing." A faint smile touched his face, brief and almost sad. "You’ll understand eventually."

Seraphina suddenly looked toward Cryvathar. The movement of her head was sharp, purposeful. "Aren’t you going to tell him?"

Theon turned. "Tell me what?"

Silver raised her head. The soft rustle of fabric accompanied the motion. "Tell him what?"

Cryvathar said nothing. He simply stood. His body began fading. The invisible form he had been using returned, leaving only the faint distortion of his presence in the air. The candle flames nearest to him flickered once, then steadied.

Theon frowned. A cold sensation slid along the back of his neck. "What are you doing?"

Cryvathar looked toward him. Then he spoke, his voice strangely calm. The words carried through the room with unusual clarity.

"Hey, boy."

Theon waited. The silence around the fading figure felt deeper than before.

Cryvathar ’s voice remained level, almost gentle.

"What if I told you..."

He paused. The faint outline of his form wavered.

"...there is a way to restore your lost years?"

Theon’s expression changed instantly. The carefully built walls of sarcasm and deflection cracked. A sharp, almost painful hope rose in his chest, so sudden it left him momentarily breathless.

"Really?"

The word escaped his lips almost as a whisper. The single syllable seemed to hang in the air longer than it should have.

Cryvathar faint smile remained.

And the room fell silent once more. The only sounds left were the soft breathing of the unconscious, the distant wind, and the quiet, steady pulse of the sword at Theon’s side.