Zaire's POV
The wards had not merely cracked; they bled. The process was slow and painful, resembling a wound that refused to close. I sensed it as a slight ache in my teeth, resonating with the ancient magic woven into the very fabric of this wild forest.
Dusken was always sensible, the first to observe a physical sign: a thin layer of silver residue on a gnarled tree trunk, spiralling in glyphs readable only by those trained, or the cursed, to perceive them. The residue pulsed faintly, offering a pale imitation of life.
I crouched beside the tree, the damp earth cold beneath my knees, my fingers hovering just above the shimmering residue. I refrained from touching it. That was no longer an option.
"It looks like this was not cast recently," I murmured, my voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. "Yet something has reawakened it deliberately."
Sylen, characteristically impatient, kicked a stone into the underbrush. The sound echoed unnaturally in the crushing silence. With arms crossed, he shifted his weight. "Someone certainly tried to use it last night. My ribs are still aching from the backlash." He had borne the brunt when the wards flared.
Dusken grunted, his eyes still faintly glowing from the residual magic he had absorbed earlier. "It was cloaked in blood-magic. Crude, yet effective, bound to the land. However, there is something older beneath it."
A sense of dread tightened in my stomach. "An anchor?" I asked, referring to a focal point that could amplify the spell and keep it rooted.
"Umm...Perhaps," Dusken replied, sniffing the air. Since he was a part hound and part mage, scent was as much a language to him as chants were to me. "But it looks corrupted. And we are close to it."
We proceeded deeper into the woods. The air became thick and heavy, pressing down like a shroud. The trees twisted toward us, their branches gnarled and skeletal, as if attempting to reveal secrets not meant for us. The ground pulsed beneath our boots, a slow, rhythmic hum indicative of a distant heartbeat. I felt a disturbingly familiar pull.
The sensation caused a deep ache in my bones, evoking memories of forgotten rituals and broken oaths.
Sylen halted at a fallen tree, its decaying bark carved with sigils that shimmered occasionally, illusions layered upon enchantments. "This is not a typical summoning circle," he observed, his usual levity absent.
"No," I replied, focusing on the complicated carvings. "This was intended to contain something, like to trap or guard it, but not as a gateway."
Dusken tilted his head, scanning the forest floor. Suddenly, he knelt and brushed aside wet leaves and decaying foliage, revealing a half-buried stone disc.
It was a circle, cracked in several places, the fissures filled with a dark, viscous fluid. The stone was ancient, worn smooth by centuries of neglect.
"I found it," Dusken stated, his tone flat. "Or remains of it."
I stepped closer, my heart pounding. My breath caught in my throat.
Beneath the moss and grime, the inscriptions were not merely magical; they were ancestral. The patterns matched those etched into the walls of the Castellan family crypt, symbols of power, protection, and sacrifice.
My blood, my lineage, and my past were exposed in this forgotten place.
Sylen whistled softly and stepped back. "Zaire, this is yours, isn't it? Your family's?"
I did not respond immediately. My jaw was clenched, and the muscles in my neck were tense. The weight of generations settled upon me, bringing a profound sense of responsibility and regret.
"I do not know how," I said at last, forcing the words out. "But yes. This circle originates from the Castellan archives. It is tied to our bloodline. It shouldn't be here. Not in this manner."
Dusken glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Then someone brought it here. Someone who understood its significance."
"And they knew you would come," Sylen added, his eyes narrowing as his hand moved instinctively to his sword.
A sudden gust of wind swept through the woods, tearing at our cloaks and whipping our hair. It carried whispers in an ancient tongue I had not heard since childhood, during forbidden rituals held in the dead of night.
Dusken stood first, his body tense, magic crackling around him. "Step back. It's activating and drawing more power towards it."
I remained in place, my gaze fixed on the circle, my breathing shallow. "Wait. Something is amiss, I recognise that voice."
The symbols flared with unnatural light, and then the wind ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Everything became still.
Sylen exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing. "Either we have broken it, or it is deciding what to do with us."
Dusken looked at me intently. "What now, Zaire? What is our next step?"
I stared at the glowing stone, the ancestral symbols swirling before me. The familiar voice echoed in my mind, carrying a sense of betrayal and despair. My own voice became a quiet whisper, heavy with the weight of history.
"Now, we must discover who else understands my bloodline better than I do, and what they intend to release."
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