Once Betrayed Never Forgotten

Chapter 94: Echoes of Angel Fire

As Pyra speaks of the angels and their forgotten lore, the chamber door swings open quietly. My gaze shifts, catching the entrance of the Blood Scribe, her formy framed by the flickering candlelight. She steps into the room, her pale, ghostly figure a stark contrast against the deep blue robes of the priestesses who assist her. The reverence in the room thickens like the air before a storm; even Blondbane lowers his head in a silent bow.

The Blood Scribe, with a voice as soft as the rustle of leaves, instructs, “Rise, my children.” Her smile is gentle, the creases around her eyes deepening with warmth. “Good, you are already assembled, drawn here as if by fate itself.”

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Laboriously, she kneels before the golden statue, her old knees protesting with a soft groan. The priestesses at her sides lend their strength, easing descent. Up close, the Blood Scribe appears even more fragile, her skin like thin parchment stretched over brittle bones. The stark white of her hair, marked by that vivid streak of red, seems almost luminescent against her pallor. She looks as ancient as the legends themselves, her energy seemingly spent from days of secluded contemplation.

Suddenly, she begins to chant in a tongue that crackles and hisses like fire. Lifting her hands skyward, a thin thread of blood–bright and startling against the dim light–emerges from beneath her robes, snaking through the air with a life of its own. It finds the statue’s chest, where the heart would be, and burrows into the stone,

The chamber holds its breath. The Blood Scribe sways gently, her eyes closed, connected to the statue by that singular, pulsing line of blood.

Then, something miraculous occurs. The angel statue stirs, its ruby eyes brightening to an intense glow that forces me to squint. With a grace that belies its stony form, the angel turns its head, its gaze sweeping over us. When it speaks, the sound is otherworldly, resonant like a choir of metallic trumpets–an echo of divinity.

Simultaneously, the Blood Scribe’s lips move, her voice melding with the angel’s in a harmonious duet. “This statue is but a vessel through which I can communicate,” the angel explains. “It was crafted for this very purpose–to serve as a bridge between my slumbering essence and the realms I watch

Over

She continues, revealing her resting place: “Deep within the heart of Mount Pyrocardia, the Volcano of Blood and Fire, I slumber. There, in my hand, lies the key you seek—a key that transcends the boundaries of worlds.”

A hush falls over us, the weight of her words settling like ash. You must joumey to Pyrocardia, she intones. “Retrieve the key from my grasp, and you, Arianna, will have the means to return to your realm, to your family, and to the man you love.”

The angel’s instructions hang in the air, as tangible as the heat from the flames that once animated her depiction on the tapestry. Bloodbane’s expression is one of resolve, but his eyes flicker to mine, searching for any sign of hesitation.

“No journey is too perilous if it leads home,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. The thought of seeing Aleksandr again, of feeling the sun of my own world on my face, strengthens my resolve.

“We will set out at dawn,” Bloodbane decides, his voice firm. Pyra nods in agreement, her face set with the determination of a warrior.

As we prepare to leave the chamber, the Blood Scribe calls out softly, her voice still echoing the angel’s metallic timbre. “Go with the blessings of the guardians,” she says. “May the flames of Fontaine light your path, and the blood of the realms protect you.”

Stepping out into the cool night air, the temple behind us and the journey ahead, I feel a mix of fear and exhilaration. The road to Mount Pyrocardia will be fraught with danger, but the promise of a key–a chance to return to my life–fuels my courage. In the depths of a volcano, amidst fire and ash, lies my path home.

Later, I lie awake in my chambers, unable to sleep. Every nerve of my body feels like it’s on fire, racing with excitement to set off on our journey in the morning and maybe, hopefully, be reunited with Aleksandr.

Still, Tatiana’s words ring through my mind, casting doubt and worry.

She said that she’s the real winner, because Aleksandr would be horrified when he sees what I’ve become. It’s possible that she was just saying that to taunt me, to hurt me but it’s also possible that she’s telling the truth.

Is there some reason that vampires and Blood Wraiths can’t be together? Are they mortal enemies, like the Blood Wraiths and Fire Wraiths? Or just Incompatible in some other way?

Chapter 94: Echoes of Angel Fire

No, that can’t be it. Tatiana seemed to be keeping Bloodhane as a sort of sex slave, and she’s a vampire, so there’s got to be some other explanation Maybe Aleksandr has a personal reason for not liking Blood Wraiths. Whatever it is, I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Our bond is stronger than Tatiana knows.

Or at least, I hope it is.

With that final thought, I fall into a dreamless, fitful sleep.

The next morning, the dawn sky blushes in soft pinks and vibrant oranges, a canvas that stretches infinitely above as we prepare for our arduous journey. The air is cool and crisp, carrying the promise of the day’s heat. I adjust my traveling clothes, lightweight yet durable, designed to withstand the rigors of our quest. My tunic is a deep, blood red, blending with Bloodbane’s darker, almost maroon ensemble. Pyra wears a vibrant blue cloak that flutters like a flame caught in a breeze, a stark contrast against the morning sky. Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Our supplies are minimal but essential–water skins, some dried food, and small personal items that hold sentimental value more than practical. We re equipped for speed and stealth rather than comfort. Each of us also carries a satchel that will reappear with us as we shift forms, thanks to the magical properties infused by the Blood Scribe.

As dawn breaks fully, casting long shadows on the temple steps, the Blood Scribe steps forward. Her ancient face is solemn yet kind, her white hair streaked with a vibrant red, much like the streak in my own blonde hair, catching the first light of day. She places an amulet around each of our necks, her gnarled fingers gentle but firm

“To Bloodbane,” she begins, handing him an amulet shaped like a drop of blood, crafted from a dark, almost black ruby. “This will shield your essence, protecting your soul from being ensnared again. It represents freedom and strength.”

For Pyra, she holds up a brilliant sapphire pendant that flickers with an inner light. “This amulet will enhance your control over fire, allowing you to call upon its power without succumbing to its wrath. It is a symbol of mastery and balance.”

Lastly, she turns to me, presenting a pendant made of intertwined gold and silver, a small emerald set at its heart. “For Arianna, this amulet will guide you through the realms. It seeks the paths between worlds, a beacon to light your way home. It signifies hope and guidance.”

With blessings whispered and our amulets secured, we step away from the temple. The horizon now is a spectacle of light and color, the sun a fiery orb ascending into the morning sky. We transform into our elemental forms–Bloodbane and I into swirling clouds of red mist, Pyra into a radiant fireball and set off towards the horizon. Our forms blend and weave through the air, swift and nearly weightless, each solidification a brief pause to check our bearings and gather our strength.

The journey is silent but for the rustle of the wind and our occasional murmurs of coordination. The landscape beneath us shifts from the scorched reds and deep blacks of the volcanic terrain to the lush greens and browns as we pass over forested areas. Each time we rematerialize, it’s a rush of senses returning, the world snapping back into focus

As the first day wears on, the excitement of the journey melds with the weariness of constant vigilance. By the time we camp for the night, under the shelter of ancient, towering trees, the real weight of our quest settles in. Around us, the world seems to hold its breath, the crackling of our small fire a comforting, familiar sound in the vast silence of the wilderness.

The Blood Scribe’s amulets feel warm against our skin, a constant reminder of our purpose and the protections we carry. As the fire dies down and the stars blanket the sky, we rest, our bodies and spirits preparing for the challenges of the days ahead.

Chapter Commenta

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Im not complaining, because this has ultimately been a great read, but The books description said it starts off as a slow burn then gets hot and heavy as things heats up. I’m still wondering where the hot in heavy la? Being as I just finished chapter 94, I would of thoug

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