Chapter 8 CHAPTER
The heavy wooden doors groaned as they swung open, and the long stone table stretched before us like a cold river under the flickering light of the chandeliers. The air smelled of old books and burning cedarwood. Every chair creaked as the members took their seats, robes whispering against the floor.
No one spoke for a long time.
We all just stared at one another, knowing that tonight was not like other meetings. Tonight, we were here because of her.
“She has arrived,” whispered Ealdred, his voice raspy and broken like dry leaves in winter.
“They say she teaches the young,” added Maela, glancing around sharply. “As if her bloodline will not seep into them, unnoticed.”
I shifted in my chair, feeling the unease spreading between us. It slithered through the cracks in the ancient stone walls, curling around the dim torches.
“How long do we have?” asked Old Jareth, running a hand through his silver beard.
“Until the full moon,” answered Corvan darkly. “Maybe less.”
Voices rose at once, all of them clashing together.
“She is dangerous.”
“She is untrained.”
“She is unaware!”
“She must be removed.”
I pounded my fist on the table, the sound echoing in the room.
“Enough. One at a time.”
Silence fell again, but it was the tight, heavy kind that pressed down on your chest.
“We do not even know if she is the one,” argued Aldith, her eyes darting nervously. “We cannot kill an innocent. We need proof first.”
“She is the one,” muttered Maela. “The signs match too closely. The dreams. The disturbances in the Grove have been observed. The stirring of the old magics.”
I leaned forward, folding my hands. My knuckles turned white.
“And Vladimir?”
“He knows.”
Jareth let out a soft curse under his breath.
“Then he must make his choice,” I said. “Us or her.”
For a moment, I thought someone would object. No one did. They all sat there, grim faces pale in the candlelight, the weight of history pressing down.
A low rumble of thunder growled outside, shaking the windows.
“She may not even survive her awakening,” said Corvan. “She could burn herself alive before she even realizes what she is.”
“Or,” Maela said with a sharp smile, “she could destroy everything we built.”
A pause. A breath. There was a silent agreement in the air.
“We must prepare,” I said.
He slid a parchment across the table, the ink still wet, the letters sharp and final.
“If she shows any signs—any at all—we strike before the full moon.”
“And if Vladimir stands in our way?” Jareth’s voice was low.
I looked each of them in the eye, feeling the burn of old oaths stir in my chest.
“Then he falls with her.”
The council murmured, a sound like the rustling of dead trees.
I could feel the decision settle into the room— hard and cold. There would be no turning back now.
A bell chimed somewhere deep in the castle, the sound distant but clear.
“She will not come willingly,” said Aldith, voice shaking slightly.
“No,” I agreed, standing slowly. “But she will come.”
The council rose together, our robes hissing like snakes on the floor.
As we moved toward the secret passage that led into the lower halls, I heard Jareth mutter something under his breath.
“A shame,” he said. “She might have been one of the greatest among us.”
I did not answer. I did not have the heart.
Down in the catacombs, the sacred weapons waited. For a century, no one had touched them.
Until now.
The door at the bottom of the stairs groaned as we pushed it open, revealing a room filled with relics of war, sealed under the old magic.
Corvan moved first, his hand hovering over the iron blades.
Aldith touched the golden circlet that once crowned the first Luna.
Jareth stared long at the broken staff of the Seer who foresaw the first bloodline’s fall.
And Maela... Maela lifted the dagger, allegedly carved from a god's bone.
“She will come,” I repeated, more to myself than anyone else.
“And when she does,” Maela said, her eyes gleaming, “we will be ready.”
We made the final preparations in silence.
Above us, the storm raged louder.
Rain hammered the windows.
Wind screamed through the cracks.
The torches flickered and threatened to go out.
None of us spoke of what would happen if Vladimir chose her over us.
We all hesitated to discuss the potential consequences of her survival.
As the night deepened, I found myself wandering back to the old texts. These texts were kept secret, even from the council.
By candlelight, I read the prophecy again.
When the MoonLit One awakens, the blood of the old world will run like rivers.
She shall bear the mark of both the hunter and the hunted.
She shall bring salvation or doom.
There is no third path.
I closed the book with a heavy heart, the words burning into my mind.
I contemplated her, a girl oblivious to the turmoil she harbored within herself.
Would she be salvation?
Or would she be our end?
Footsteps approached behind me, soft and hesitant.
“It is time,” Maela said.
I nodded, blowing out the candle.
The darkness closed in around us.
When we rejoined the council, everyone stood ready.
Weapons sheathed.
We have the orders in hand.
Souls burdened.
“We will not act unless we must,” I said, though the words tasted like lies.
“Until the full moon,” Aldith whispered.
We dispersed into the shadows, leaving behind the safety of our council hall for the dangerous uncertainty ahead.
I paused at the threshold, one last glance at the room we might never return to.
Was this how it had to be?
Had fate already decided?
Could she alter the text?
The cold wind answered with a howl that rattled the windows.
I pulled my cloak tighter around me.
As I stepped out into the storm, a single thought echoed louder than the thunder.
Would Vladimir choose his mate over his kind?