Crown of Frost & shadows

Chapter 16 - The lost bloodline

Alarielle's blood ran cold, and she felt the weight of the wraith's gaze settle on her like a freezing grip. All eyes shifted to her, the forest suddenly feeling even more suffocating. Alarielle's heart pounded, the wraith's words echoing in her head.

Zār's voice cut through the tension, calm but insistent. "What are they talking about? What are you?" His tone was unwavering, but the look in his eyes showed that he was just as caught off guard as she was, searching for answers in the chaos.

"I... I..." Alarielle stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. How could she explain a lineage that had always been a mystery to her, murky and tangled? What little Illiana had told her still felt too surreal, too impossible to fully accept. The idea that she might be some kind of link between two worlds—a queen—was overwhelming, a reality she hadn't allowed herself to truly consider.

The wraiths hovered closer, their presence like a dark, suffocating cloud, their voices echoing around her. "The blood of Fae… the blood of demons… in her veins," they hissed, their tones layered, resonant, as if spoken by many voices at once. "A union… long broken… now to be reborn. The queen to rise… if she survives the dark."

Alarielle's pulse quickened, panic tightening in her chest. Hearing the wraiths speak of her as if she were some kind of key, some bridge between two worlds—a queen—was too much. She had never thought of herself that way, never imagined a role so vast, so impossible. A war is coming, Illiana's voice echoed in her mind, a chilling reminder of the dark future that awaited.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice trembling, barely holding back her fear. "I'm not... I'm not a queen. I'm not... anything like that."

The wraith's hollow eyes gleamed, and their whispers grew louder, surrounding her, as if circling prey. "You are… kin of Drakon… kin of the Fae. Blood that binds… blood that frees. The choice will come… and the court will be yours to make."

Alarielle's breath hitched, her hands shaking as she clutched the reins, her gaze darting around at the others, seeking some kind of reassurance, some explanation. But there was only stunned silence, the revelation hanging heavy in the cold, still air. Everyone seemed frozen, trying to process what the wraiths had just said, but no one moved to deny it, no one spoke to argue against it.

"I... I'm not going to be a queen," she stammered, her voice breaking, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. The thought was terrifying, impossible. She was just trying to survive, to find a place she could be safe—how could she be something so... significant?

The wraiths shifted, their forms flickering like shadows in the dark, as if amused by her denial. "The crown does not ask… it claims. The blood runs deep, and it will call. You cannot run from what you are… kin of two bloods… kin of kings."

Zār's gaze flicked to her, his eyes searching, trying to understand what this all meant, and in that moment, she felt more exposed than ever. She wasn't ready for this, wasn't ready to be anything more than she had been forced to be. But the wraiths' words had changed everything, and she could feel the weight of their dark prophecy pressing down on her, threatening to swallow her whole.

"Just make the f*****g oath before we become wraith food," Thalorin's voice cut through the tension, sharp and impatient, snapping Alarielle out of her thoughts.

Panic gripped her, and she could feel the heat of the tattoo from her necklace spreading across her skin, a warmth that contrasted sharply with the cold air around her. She was trembling, overwhelmed by everything—cryptic warnings, confusing revelations, and now, a demand to make an impossible choice. Illiana had told her about her blood, had warned her of a war, but the details were always shrouded in riddles. What war? How could she stop it? And now the wraiths were declaring she was to be a queen.

All she had ever wanted was to avenge her mother, to find some semblance of peace. She had spent her life being treated as an outsider, sneered at and mistrusted. How could she be a queen? How could anyone expect her to lead when she barely understood who she was?

Her breathing grew uneven, her vision blurring with fear and uncertainty. She felt like she was suffocating, trapped by the weight of expectations she hadn't asked for. As the warmth of the tattoo intensified, a voice resonated through her mind, calm but commanding, cutting through the haze of her panic.

Let me speak to them

Promideus. The voice was firm, leaving no room for hesitation. And in her weakness, her moment of vulnerability, she let it.

A strange sensation washed over her, as if she were being pushed aside, and she felt her own consciousness pull back, replaced by something stronger, more assured. The wraiths seemed to sense the shift, their dark forms pausing, watching intently.

When Alarielle's mouth opened to speak, it was no longer her voice that came out, but one deeper, richer, carrying an authority that silenced even the wraiths. "You seek an oath," Promideus spoke through her, voice steady and resonant, echoing in the stillness. "But do you understand what you ask for? Do you know the weight of the choice you demand?"

The wraiths wavered, their forms flickering like shadows caught in a gust of wind. "We know... and we wait… for the blood to rise," they replied, their tones cautious, uncertain. "Promise… and the path opens."

Promideus's voice was cold, almost mocking. "You wish to bind her, to claim what she does not yet understand. But she will not be bound by your demands, nor by your hunger. The bloodline you seek to control has its own will, and it will not be used by those who twist in the dark."

The wraiths recoiled slightly, as if the words had stung them, and their hisses grew louder, more frantic. "Who speaks? What power hides behind the kin?"

"She is protected," Promideus continued, the voice firm, unyielding. "And you will not touch her. If you desire a promise, then it will be on her terms, not yours."

Alarielle could feel herself trembling, half-aware of what was happening, half-lost within the power of the presence that had taken over. Promideus was speaking for her, shielding her, but she didn't know how or why. The wraiths hesitated, and for the first time, she saw something almost like fear flicker in their hollow eyes.

"Choose wisely," Promideus said, the voice softening but still carrying a weight that echoed through the forest. "For the path you demand may lead to your own end."

The wraiths were silent for a moment, their dark forms rippling as if in debate. Then, finally, they spoke, their voices subdued, almost reverent. "The blood has spoken… we will wait… for the promise… the queen to rise."

With that, they began to withdraw, their presence fading, leaving the air around them slightly less cold, slightly less suffocating. Alarielle felt herself regain control, her consciousness pushing back to the surface, her own voice returning. But she was left reeling, trying to process what had just happened, and the weight of what Promideus had said.

Her hands shook as she looked around, catching Zār's gaze, seeing the confusion and anger mirrored in his eyes. She had no idea how to explain what had just occurred, but she knew one thing for certain—the wraiths were not gone, only waiting. And whatever they wanted from her, she would have to face it, one way or another.

As the wraiths faded away, the oppressive chill that had gripped the forest began to lift. Slowly, warmth seeped back into the air, and the forest, once eerily silent, seemed to breathe again. But the return of the warmth did little to ease the tension that hung over the group.

All eyes were on Alarielle, and she felt their stares like daggers. She could see the confusion, the mistrust, even fear etched onto their faces. It was as if they were looking at a three-headed serpent, something strange and dangerous they didn't quite understand. Even Ravareth, who had been a source of warmth and support for her, looked at her now with a mix of bewilderment and wariness. The connection they had felt before seemed to fray, replaced by an unspoken question he wasn't sure he wanted to ask.

No one spoke as they continued their journey, a heavy silence enveloping them. The tension was palpable, and every attempt Alarielle made to meet someone's gaze was met with averted eyes, as if they were afraid of what they might see. It was a long, uncomfortable ride, and by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the forest in shadow, they were all too eager to stop.

They set up camp in a small clearing, the flicker of their campfire the only light in the darkening woods. As the fire crackled and the sky turned to dusk, the group settled around it, each person lost in their own thoughts, the earlier camaraderie shattered by what had happened.

Alarielle found herself sitting next to Malrek, who had silently taken a spot beside her, his small presence a tiny comfort in the growing uncertainty. But even he seemed quieter than usual, his wide eyes filled with unspoken questions.

Zār's gaze never left her. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but firm, cutting through the quiet. "Explain," he said, the words leaving no room for evasion, "before I decide to get explanations myself."

Alarielle's heart raced, and she could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on her, waiting for her to answer. She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn't come. How could she explain Promideus? How could she make them understand something she barely understood herself?

"I... I don't know how to explain it," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's... complicated.. I.. my mother.. was..."

Zār's eyes narrowed, and he sat up straighter, his posture rigid. She could see the tension coiled within him, the way his jaw clenched. "That's not good enough," he said, his voice colder now. "If you can't explain it, then I'll find out myself."

Before Alarielle could react, she felt something shift. Shadows began to flow out of Zār's body, dark and wispy, curling around him like tendrils of smoke. Her breath hitched as the shadows moved toward her, creeping closer until they enveloped her entirely, like a dark mist seeping into her skin. She could feel them pushing against her mind, cold and invasive, searching for something, seeking answers she couldn't give.

A sharp pain shot through her head, and she gasped, the world around her blurring. She could feel Promideus stir within her, his presence flaring to life, angry and indignant at the intrusion. "How dare he—" the voice rumbled, but Zār's shadows pressed harder, refusing to relent.

The sensation was overwhelming, like two forces colliding within her mind, one trying to pry open her thoughts and the other trying to shield them. Alarielle could barely think, barely breathe, caught between the pressure of Zār's shadows and Promideus's resistance. It was like a storm raging inside her, threatening to tear her apart.

"Stop… please..." she managed to whisper, but her voice was lost beneath the pressure, her plea drowned out by the shadows and Promideus's furious growl. She felt herself slipping, her consciousness blurring at the edges, the pain growing sharper as the struggle continued.

Zār's eyes were cold, unyielding, his face set in a mask of determination. "I won't stop until I understand," he said, his voice resonating through the shadows, echoing in her mind. "You will not keep this from me."

The words were like a command, and Alarielle felt herself being pulled deeper into the dark, her own thoughts scattering as Promideus's anger surged, a fierce, protective force. "If you dare to pry further, demon, you will regret it," Promideus's voice echoed, louder now, a dark warning that reverberated through Alarielle's mind.

But Zār's shadows only pressed on, undeterred. "Try me," he said, his voice low, a challenge that sent a chill through her.

The clash of wills was unbearable, a force that felt like it would tear her apart.

The clash of wills was unbearable, tearing through Alarielle's mind with a force that felt like it would rip her apart. Her memories unfurled one after another—her mother's face, the guards, Raener, Alina—all blurring together in a chaotic, painful torrent. Her breathing grew erratic, shallow gasps escaping her lips as Promideus's power surged, wrapping around her mind like a protective shield, pushing back against Zār's invasive shadows.

Then, it happened. A burst of light exploded from her, blinding and powerful, throwing Zār back. He hit the ground hard, his nose bleeding, dark spots dancing in his vision as he struggled to focus. The shadows around him dissipated, retreating as the force of Promideus's power repelled them.

Alarielle felt like her head was splitting open, a pounding pain reverberating through her skull. Her vision blurred, and she could barely keep herself upright as her magic, wild and untamed, raged inside her. Everything she touched began to freeze, the ice spreading out from her fingertips, creeping across the ground like a spider's web.

"Ellie!" Malrek yelped, darting back as the ice snaked toward him, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.

Ravareth quickly stepped between them, his expression a mix of shock and concern as he placed himself protectively in front of Malrek. "Stop!" he shouted, his voice sharp and commanding, though there was an edge of desperation to it. "Enough, both of you!"

But Alarielle couldn't stop it. She could feel the magic coursing through her, fierce and unyielding, freezing everything it touched. She clutched her head, trying to push it back, trying to regain control, but it was like trying to hold back a flood with her bare hands. Promideus's presence pulsed within her, powerful and protective, but it wasn't enough to quell the storm raging inside.

Zār staggered to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose, but he wasn't done. Despite the burst of light that had repelled him, his eyes were hard, unyielding, and filled with a grim determination. Without a word, shadows began to coil around him again, darker, denser, swirling like a storm gathering strength.

Alarielle's head pounded, her vision blurring as she struggled to stay conscious, but she saw him moving toward her, felt the shadows pressing in, and her heart clenched. She tried to pull back, to push Promideus's power forward, but the presence was scattered, as if drained from the initial clash. She had no time to react before Zār's shadows surged forward, crashing into her mind like a wave, drowning her in darkness.

She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as the world around her faded away, her consciousness pulled into the abyss of her own mind. It was suffocating, overwhelming, and she felt herself slipping, lost in the chaos that Zār's shadows brought with them, tearing through her thoughts, her memories, her very sense of self.

Then, something shifted. Deep within the darkness, she felt a spark, a flicker of power that wasn't hers but was connected to her, intertwined with the shadows invading her mind. Desperate, grasping for anything to anchor herself, she reached out and grabbed onto it, pulling with all her might.

The world around her changed. She was no longer in the cold, dark forest but in a small, dimly lit room. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of herbs and something bitter, like sickness. In the center of the room was a bed, and on it lay a man, his skin pale, his breathing shallow and labored. Next to the bed, sitting on a small stool, was a little boy, no older than eight or nine, his dark hair messy, his eyes wide and filled with tears he refused to let fall.

Alarielle recognized him. It was Zār, but younger, a child with a face not yet hardened by the weight of the world. She felt a pang of confusion and pain, seeing him like this, vulnerable and afraid. The man on the bed reached out a trembling hand, his eyes soft but filled with sorrow.

The scene was raw, intimate, a memory that was never meant to be seen by anyone else, and Alarielle realized too late that she had intruded on something deeply personal. She tried to pull back, to retreat from the vision, but she couldn't—something held her there, forcing her to watch as the man whispered something to the boy, his voice so faint she couldn't make out the words.

Then, everything shattered. The vision tore apart, and Alarielle felt herself being violently pushed, yanked back through the darkness. A snarl echoed through her mind, low and furious, and she felt a force slam into her, throwing her out of the memory with such force that she was sent flying backward.

Her head hit the trunk of a tree with a sickening thud, pain exploding at the back of her skull. She crumpled to the ground, her vision blurring, dark spots dancing at the edges of her sight. She heard a low, guttural growl, and it took her a moment to realize it was coming from Zār, his face twisted in rage, his shadows swirling wildly around him, lashing out at the air like serpents.

Alarielle's body trembled, her hands clenching in the dirt as she tried to push herself up, but she couldn't. The ice surged out from her again, spreading across the ground, creeping up the tree trunks, enveloping everything it touched. It wrapped around her legs, her arms, encasing her in a cocoon of cold, sharp as needles.

Promideus's voice roared in her mind, no longer a calm, steady presence but a storm, raging out of control. "You dare pry into what is not yours, demon! You will suffer for this!" The power exploded outward, a wave of pure, raw energy that crackled and burned, pushing against the shadows, shattering the ice as it lashed out.

Ravareth was forced to step back, his eyes wide as he watched the scene unfold, unsure of what to do, his protective stance in front of Malrek faltering. "Alarielle!" he shouted, but his voice barely reached her. The ice continued to spread, creeping closer, jagged and relentless, as if reflecting the turmoil within her.

Zār's shadows recoiled, but they did not retreat. He stood firm, his eyes dark and unreadable, but there was a flicker of something else there—pain, maybe even regret. "Enough," he said, his voice sharp, cutting through the chaos. "You will not control her. I will find the truth, even if I have to tear it from you."

But Promideus was beyond reason, beyond control. "You will not take her!" the voice bellowed, and another pulse of light burst forth, brighter, stronger, forcing Zār's shadows to shatter like glass, the pieces scattering and dissolving into nothingness.

Alarielle screamed as the power surged through her, searing and cold, and then everything went white, the world disappearing in a blinding flash of light.

When the light finally faded, she was left gasping, her body slumped against the tree, her limbs encased in a thick shell of ice. Her vision swam, and she could barely see Zār through the haze, but she could hear him, his breathing ragged, his eyes locked on her, still searching, still demanding answers.

The clearing was deathly silent, the cold air heavy with tension. Alarielle's vision blurred, and she could barely make out the figures standing around her, all frozen in place, their faces filled with shock and confusion.

Ravareth stood protectively in front of Malrek, who peeked out from behind him, his small hands gripping the back of Ravareth's cloak tightly. Every muscle in Ravareth's body was tensed, ready to spring into action, his eyes darting between Alarielle and Zār, trying to gauge the situation.

Thalorin, Magra, and Ralkov were all in defensive stances, their expressions wary, as if expecting a fight to break out at any moment. No one seemed to know what to do, or what had just happened. Alarielle's eyes found Malrek's, and her heart clenched when she saw the tears brimming in his wide, frightened eyes. "Ellie…" he whispered, his voice trembling, barely audible, but it carried across the stillness, cutting through the cold like a knife. The sound of his voice, so small and scared, made her heart ache, but she couldn't move, couldn't speak, trapped in the ice that had grown from her own power.

Zār took a step forward, his eyes never leaving her, dark and unreadable, his breathing still ragged from the struggle. Without a word, he reached down and grabbed her upper arm, his grip firm, almost bruising. "Get up," he ordered, his voice low, but there was an edge to it, a command that brooked no argument. Alarielle struggled to stand, but her legs felt weak, unsteady.

She barely managed to rise before he was pulling her, dragging her out of the clearing and into the woods. "Zār, wait—" Ravareth started, but Zār didn't even glance back. "Nobody follows," he snapped over his shoulder, his tone sharp, final.

The others hesitated, but they didn't dare move, the authority in his voice freezing them in place just as surely as the ice had encased Alarielle. The shadows wrapped around them, swirling like dark mist, and in a blink, the forest around them shifted, the camp and the others vanishing.

Alarielle felt a disorienting sensation, like being pulled through a tunnel, and then suddenly, they were standing by the edge of a secluded lake. The air was still, and the water was dark, reflecting the faint light of the moon. Zār released her arm, and she fell to the ground in a heap, her knees giving out beneath her. Her body was wracked with tremors, and a wave of nausea hit her, violent and unrelenting. She turned to the side and retched, her stomach heaving until she was left gasping, shivering in the cold.

Zār stood over her, his silhouette dark against the moonlit water, his expression unreadable, but there was a coldness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "If you want to live," he said, his voice low and tight, each word enunciated with barely restrained fury, "you are going to tell me everything, starting from the power inside you that seems to have a mind of its own."

Alarielle looked up at him, her vision still hazy, and she could see the anger, the demand in his gaze, but also something else—something that looked almost like desperation. She tried to speak, but her throat was raw, and the words caught, strangled in her chest. She didn't know how to explain Promideus, didn't know how to make sense of the power that had always felt like a part of her, yet separate, an entity that had a will of its own. She hugged her knees to her chest, "I... I can't—" she started, her voice barely more than a whisper, but Zār cut her off, his eyes narrowing.

"You can, and you will," he said, stepping closer, his shadow falling over her. "Because if you don't, you are not just a danger to yourself, but to everyone around you. And I won't let that happen. So talk, Alarielle."

She swallowed, trying to gather her thoughts, but everything felt fractured, broken. The lake, the cold, the darkness, all of it felt like it was closing in on her, suffocating her. "It's... a presence," she managed, her voice trembling. "it's... always been there. It... it speaks to me, protects me... I didn't mean for it to hurt anyone. only recently it started speaking to me,"

Zār's expression hardened, but he didn't interrupt, waiting, expecting more.

The silence stretched, suffocating, and she could feel the pressure building, knowing that he was losing patience. She had to say something, had to give him something, but she was terrified of what would happen if she did.

"The power I received from my mother," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Someone once called it a Seraphael, And it... it doesn't like to be controlled."

Zār's eyes burned with a mix of anger and confusion, but he kept himself steady, still demanding more. "Then what was that dark power you controlled? How did you make shadow fire?"

Alarielle hesitated, but she knew there was no point in hiding it now. "I… have another power," she said, her voice trembling. "It looks like a black strand, with silver intertwined. Promideus—my other magic—doesn't like it. It's from… I think… Drakon's bloodline."

Zār's expression tightened, his arms crossing as he listened, his posture rigid. He was waiting for more, expecting her to piece together the puzzle he couldn't see.

"When I almost died the other night…" Alarielle began, her voice growing softer as the memory surfaced, "I went to this place, a lake just like this one. There, I met a woman. She had the same name as my mother, and she looked almost the same. She told me she was my ancestor, a long-lost grandmother. She was the daughter of Drakon and Deliah."

Zār's eyes widened, his guarded demeanor slipping for the first time. "Was her name... Illiana?" he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if he were afraid to hope for the answer.

Alarielle nodded, her hands shaking. "Yes, same as my mother."

Zār's face contorted with a mix of shock, realization, and something else—something almost like fear. The night air around them seemed to thicken, the lake's still surface mirroring their tension. "Illiana," he repeated, the name almost reverent. "The daughter of Drakon and Deliah… the lost bloodline."

Alarielle looked at him, searching his eyes for some kind of explanation, but there was only a storm of emotions swirling there, none of which she could read.