Chapter 25Born to Wield
25
Born to Wield
“Oh no,” Elowyn whispered, her body tense, fists clenched as she peered over the stands. Her silver gaze remained fixed on her sister’s kneeling form. Though only moments had passed since the Bloodweaver candidate cast his legacy feat upon her, Elyria remained unmoving and her aura was muted, now quieted beneath the spell. “Come on, Elyria,” Elowyn murmured in desperation.
This Vitus unfolded unlike anything Elowyn had anticipated. The scene before her was entirely unusual, diverging from the customary practices of the ritual. She, along with the entire arena, was taken aback when the Bloodweaver candidate revealed himself as a legacy. By disclosing his status, Sylas established his potential to alter the outcome of the Vitus entirely.
In Neramyr, legacies were revered as much as they were rare. Elowyn knew it had been decades since a fey born outside of the royal bloodline possessed a legacy status. Not even her mother, the queen of Eriden, inherited this distinction .
The realization unsettled Elowyn’s aura.
At the onset of the Vitus , she had held an unwavering confidence in her sister. But with the emergence of another legacy in the ritual, there was no telling what the Moon Goddess would make of it.
Elowyn couldn’t recall if two legacies had ever competed in the same Vitus before. Nonetheless, an irking voice in her mind reminded her that when her turn came to participate, she would face six legacies—six royal candidates. She shook her head, attempting to banish the thought, and redirected her attention to the arena as she released a flustered breath. Arms drawn tightly to her chest, she watched as the other divine competitors battled the foul creature summoned by the Blackbane candidate.
Elowyn’s gaze anxiously shifted to Elyria, still ensnared under the Bloodweaver feat, kneeling on a raft with her head bowed low. She bit her lip nervously. If anyone can overcome a legacy feat, it’s you, Elyria. Elowyn’s attention then darted to the Driftmoor candidate as he and Sylas orchestrated a calculated assault on the sea creature. A small gasp escaped Elowyn’s lips as she observed the sapphire-haired warlock from House Driftmoor summon a towering wave with a sweep of his forearm and hurl it towards the sea creature.
The summoned wave crashed into the creature, engulfing it completely just as Sylas cast another spell upon it. The waters surrounding the blood-eyed eel began to churn, thickening with viscosity. The creature’s frantic movements slowed as it thrashed against the treacherous tide, now formed semi-solid. Sylas’ arms extended powerfully, his fingers laced in a cage-like fist. The beast writhed within Sylas’ grasp and Elowyn sensed the unmistakable sensation of a great deal of magic being channeled.
Elowyn speculated on the source, initially fixating on Sylas, but quickly realized her assumption was incorrect. Her eyes snapped to Elyria’s form, and Elowyn released the breath hitched in her lungs. Before anyone else in the audience could comprehend what was unfolding, Elowyn witnessed her sister’s vacant expression morph into one of malevolence. Elyria did it. In awe, Elowyn watched as Elyria overcame the Bloodweaver feat and counter spelled each of the other candidates. Though there was a cryptic exchange between Elyria and Sylas, she effortlessly asserted control over all six of their minds. Elyria compelled them to kneel in submission before her, assuming the position from which she had just freed herself.
Beside Elowyn, Finnor released a low whistle at the sight, impressed by Elyria’s actions and the message they conveyed.
Next, Elowyn sensed conflicting auras rippling across the audience. She worked to stifle the pleased expression that was blooming across her face, but her sense of satisfaction halted when she observed Elyria pause. She recognized that look. Her sister was grappling with something within herself. You’ve got this, Elyria. Almost as if hearing Elowyn’s silent encouragement, Elyria finally raised her gaze to the midnight sky. With focused intent, her moonless palms turned upward as she began summoning a powerful sum of magic that rattled the arena.
Breathtaking pillars of ivory flames erupted from Elyria’s upturned palms, and Elowyn’s mouth fell agape. She had witnessed those ominous white flames only once before. A blend of fear and awe enveloped her. Moonfire. Elowyn couldn’t discern if the word escaped her own lips or was murmured by another member of the audience, but the word began to ripple across the arena with the force of a raging river. Elowyn watched as the flames springing from her sister’s hands began to morph, taking on the form of magnificent, winged silhouettes—moonfire firedrakes.
“By the Goddess,” Finnor whispered under his breath, reclining back in his seat. “That’s incredible.”
Elowyn knew he was right. To wield moonfire was a formidable feat in itself; to manipulate moonfire to this extent was unimaginable.
As the white flames danced before Elowyn’s eyes in the arena, an unfamiliar memory ensnared her.
Suddenly, she found herself transported back home, standing in her father’s study. The king of Eriden stood before the crackling flames of the hearth, while Elowyn lingered behind him silently, hesitant to speak unless spoken to.
“Elowyn, you are destined to be the future queen of our realm. Do you understand the weight of this responsibility?”
Elowyn blinked and shook her head. Her father sighed. “Come, stand beside me.” He gestured for Elowyn to join him, and as she moved closer, he knelt to her level. “At this moment, you have celebrated five namedays. You are still a feyling, but soon you will be called before Caena. The Moon Goddess has chosen to Mark you at birth, and when you reach candidacy age, she will demand you to prove yourself worthy of this blessing.”
Elowyn winced at the thought.
King Eamon chuckled softly and placed both of his hands gently on her shoulders. “Worry not, Elowyn. As my daughter, you are destined for greatness. You are the sole blood-heir to the Fanged Throne. As the heir, you have inherited the gift bestowed upon House Fangwright by King Elmyr. Do you know what this gift is?”
Elowyn shook her head once again.
“Many moons ago, during the dawn of the New Age, the Moon Goddess granted each of the founding monarchs of Neramyr a unique gift—a legacy to be passed down to the future guardians of the feylands. These seven gifts are exalted, meant to be wielded by only those with noble intent and just cause.”
Elowyn’s eyes grew curious as her father continued. “The first king of Eriden was granted the gift of wielding a special form of magic from the Moon Goddess: moonfire. Moonfire is one of the primary forms of magic the Moon Goddess used to vanquish the creatures of the Old Age.”
King Eamon guided Elowyn to an arched window in the study and together they gazed at the night sky. He closed his eyes and drew a measured breath. “Close your eyes, Elowyn. Can you feel the moonlight touching your skin? Do you sense its divine essence?” Elowyn furrowed her brows for a moment, concentrating, before nodding in affirmation. He continued, “Mastering the ability to harness moonfire fully is said to take years, but I managed it in mere months. And just as I did, you too will master moonfire swiftly. Would you like to give it a try?”
At the proposition, Elowyn paled. King Eamon chuckled once more. “It’s quite all right if you’re afraid, Elowyn. Such power should never be underestimated; understanding the gravity of the magic you wield will make you a finer sorceress than most.”
He turned back to her. “Watch my hand.”
Elowyn studied her father’s upturned palm, noticing the intricate moon inked dragon scales adorning his fingers, hand, and exposed forearm. Soon, she felt the pull of potent magic as it gathered in her father’s palm. At the center, a small flame flickered to life, its glow as white as snow. Elowyn gasped, taken aback by the sensation. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a chill. “Father, the fire—it’s white! And so cold.”
A hint of amusement graced King Eamon’s expression. “This is moonfire, Elowyn. The white flames are born of the moon’s energy at its coldest point. This magic can only be wielded when the moon surfaces the night sky; the fuller the moon, the more potent the moonfire. During my reign, only two living fey have demonstrated the ability to harness moonfire. It is indeed a rare gift to inherit.”
Elowyn furrowed her brows once more as she looked up at her father. “Is it you and mother?”
King Eamon shook his head. “It is me and your Uncle Edwyn. Soon, a third moonfire wielder in this kingdom will emerge. My true-born daughter, you shall carry on the Fangwright legacy.” He tenderly pressed a finger against Elowyn’s heart.
Elowyn glanced down at her father’s candid touch. “What about Elyria? Does that mean she gets to wield moonfire, too?”
At her inquiry, her father’s expression darkened, and his jaw tightened. “No, never.”
Elowyn clamped her mouth shut, instantly regretting her words. Quickly, her father’s darkened demeanor dissipated, and he cleared his throat. “Mastering moonfire is incredibly challenging, but once you have mastered wielding it, the moonfire will respond to your touch. Moonfire is lethal, but in the hands of a skilled warlock or sorceress, it becomes merely another form of magic.”
King Eamon curved his wrist, and the moonfire within his palm swelled, morphing into a miniature firedrake. The tiny flame dragon rested comfortably in his hand. Elowyn’s eyes brightened at the sight. “It looks like Stryx!”
Her father then slightly curled his fingers, and the moonfire dragon spread its wings, lifting itself into the air. With a gentle bend of King Eamon’s wrist, the moonfire dragon soared upward and gracefully arced back down, descending until it landed in the center of his palm. Upon contact, the moonfire dragon dissipated, leaving behind only a passive ember in its stead. “I am going to pass this flame to you, Elowyn. Though you may not yet have the capability to summon moonfire on your own, you were born with the capacity to wield it.”
The king extended his palm to her slowly. “When you receive this flame, Elowyn, you must be cautious. The sensation of moonfire may be overwhelming. It is the most potent magic you have encountered thus far—you must not let it overwhelm you. You are both the vessel and the conductor of the moonfire. Allow it to flow through you freely. Do not be intimidated by its power; instead, guide the white flames to your will. For now, do not concern yourself with shaping the moonfire. Simply hold it within your grasp and let it burn gently.” Her father nudged his palm toward her once more.
The chilling touch of the moonfire made Elowyn shiver, but she dared not disobey her father.
As Elowyn’s hesitant hands reached for the white flame, her father’s warning echoed in her ears. “Be careful, Elowyn. Take control of it slowly, and never let it overpower you. Even if it becomes too much, do not succumb to it.” King Eamon brought the tranquil flame to Elowyn’s waiting palms, meeting her gaze with seriousness. “Are you prepared?”
Elowyn’s heart urged her to refuse, but a feeble “yes” escaped her lips. Her father nodded and carefully transferred the white flame into her cupped hands.
The instant the moonfire made contact with her skin, Elowyn screamed.
The flame erupted into a violent pillar within her grasp. Elowyn collapsed to her knees, tears streaming from her silver eyes in a frenzied stream. She struggled to draw breath, to speak, to do anything beyond endure the unbearable agony of the consuming white flames as they swallowed her whole. She feared they would devour her entirely, leaving nothing of her behind. The raw, icy burn of the moonfire surpassed any pain she had ever known.
“Elowyn, listen to me! You must control the moonfire! You must contain its power before it overwhelms you. Focus on guiding its path, don’t resist the flames, direct them! Command the moonfire to dwindle and wane!” Elowyn remained frozen, save for her trembling hands clasping the searing white flames. Bent over in agony, she tried to speak, but her lips formed no words.
“Elowyn, extinguish the flames! You’ve let the moonfire run rampant through you, drawing on your native magic.” King Eamon swiftly gathered her trembling form, pulling her away from the moonlit window. With urgency, he clasped her hands in his, dispelling the moonfire. “I can halt the flame, but I can’t halt the flood of moonfire already coursing within you. You must sever it from your magic before it’s too late.” Holding Elowyn’s tear-stained face in his hands, he implored her to focus. Though terror filled her eyes, she managed to meet his gaze. “Concentrate, Elowyn!” But she could only shake her head, silent sobs choking her throat. Her father cursed under his breath, his eyes reflecting his anguish.
For a moment, disquiet washed over him before he closed his eyes, calling upon his divine magic.
Gently cradling Elowyn’s hunched figure, he whispered into her snow-white hair, “Goddess, forgive me.”
A forceful rise of magic erupted from the king, ancient and powerful, wrapping Elowyn in a shimmering cocoon. Like vines, the magic entwined around her aura, binding it in place. He had severed her connection to her own native magic, extinguishing the moonfire within her bones. As her magical aura stilled, Elowyn’s body slackened, her eyelids drooping shut.
With trembling hands, the king laid Elowyn by the hearth, her head resting on his lap as he surveyed the damage. His touch grazed her mangled, contracted fingers, now a deep plum hue. Her once soft lips were cracked and chapped, her sun-kissed skin drained of color, replaced by pallor and ash. He held out his palms, tendrils of moonlight coiled around them, casting a soft glow.
As he reached for Elowyn’s marred hands, the door to his study burst open and the queen of Eriden appeared like a windstorm, wild and full of fury.
As Eddra’s gaze fell upon Elowyn, she let out a horrified scream, her voice trembling with hysteria. “Eamon, what have you done?” The queen rushed to her daughter’s side, her hands hovering uncertainly, torn between the urge to heal and the fear of causing more harm.
Meanwhile, the king, his palms still illuminated with restorative magic, muttered mutedly, “I’ve stilled her native magic, but not before the frost of the moonfire settled within her. I am capable of correcting this.”
Turning to her husband with a mix of disbelief and wrath, the queen exclaimed, “Have you lost your senses, Eamon? Allowing her to wield moonfire at such a young age?” She forcefully pushed his hand away from Elowyn. “Don’t you dare touch her.” Her voice carried a dangerous edge. “You will do no such thing. You know as well as I do that the damage extends far beyond her hands. You’ve already done enough.”
Ora’s stout figure appeared in the partially open doorway, alerted by the screams. “Your Majesties! What’s happened?” Her eyes widened in shock as they landed on Elowyn, her hand instinctively covering her mouth to stifle a gasp.
With a grave expression, the queen’s voice quivered as she issued commands. “Ora, fetch the royal healers immediately. Bring only those trained exclusively at the Healer’s Keep. Quickly, now!” She emphasized the urgency with a firm nod. “Go!”
Elowyn snapped back to reality, to the arena, as confusion clouded her thoughts while she tried to piece together the fragments of the memory. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t grasp the full scope of what happened. The sight of moonfire had reignited a forgotten memory, but there were gaps in her recollection, leaving her bewildered by the newfound revelations. She remembered her father showing her moonfire for the first time, yet the details of what followed remained elusive, shrouded in mystery.
She glanced down at her hands, flexing and extending her fingers. How had she forgotten the pain of healing from the frost burn? It must have been agonizing, even with the aid of Prymont’s finest healers. Perhaps the ordeal had been so unbearable during her youth that she had subconsciously blocked out the memory.
Elowyn could have pondered this further, but the arena fell into a deathly silence, punctuated only by the sharp echo of creaking. She turned her gaze towards the frozen arena, where the blood-eyed eel was now unmistakably encased in jagged shards of ice. The creature teetered, its slanted form inching closer to the frozen ground. Then, with a deafening crash, it finally succumbed, shattering into thousands of icy fragments upon impact.
Beside her, Elowyn heard the High Priestess’ voice ringing out, carrying across the entire arena. “The Goddess has severed the divine tether between our realms, signaling the conclusion of the ritual of the Sixth Day. The Moon Goddess has cast her judgment upon these seven divine candidates, and her ruling will be announced tomorrow during the Crossing of Kin. Let us commend our candidates for their completion of the Vitus !”
The arena fell into a hushed silence following the High Priestess’ proclamation of the Vitus’ conclusion. Amidst this quietude, Elyria’s gaze rose, seemingly directed towards Elowyn.
Or so Elowyn initially thought.
However, tracing the trajectory of Elyria’s stare, Elowyn realized that her older sister’s true target was their father.
Elowyn observed her father’s unbreakable composure. His face was devoid of emotion, giving nothing away. Yet, where his hands rested upon the seat’s armrest, a hairline fissure had appeared in the stone that was not there before. Elowyn only felt the darkness of his aura as he leveled Elyria’s stare with one of his own.
Her eyes then widened as she watched Elyria bow boldly before their father, her older sister’s contemptuous glare just as unrelenting as his.
Elowyn looked between her father and Elyria with unease.
In the moment where Elowyn believed she would be cheering for her older sister, she instead feared for her.