Page 35 of Haunted Crowns
Kareon exhaled sharply and dragged a hand through his hair. “Of course you will.” It was not a question. It was not even frustration anymore. Just resignation.
Eris met his gaze, unshaken. “I want to hear them.”
Kaelioth let out a satisfied sigh. “Then the path is set.”
Behind them, the first drums began to beat.
The campfire blazed higher, casting shifting light across the warriors preparing for the ritual.
Eris stepped forward. She wore Lycan garb—leather straps clinging to her form, a fur-lined cloak draped across her shoulders, her skin marked with curling, intricate symbols. In the polished metal of a nearby blade, she caught her reflection. A stranger stared back. Yet something about that face felt true.
Behind her, the warriors gathered, their murmurs low beneath the crackling flame. The air thickened with the scent of burning herbs. At the fire’s edge, Taric and Varis exchanged glances.
Taric grinned. “Damn. If I’d known you’d look this good in Lycan gear, I would’ve recruited you myself.”
Varis, mock-serious, added, “She looks like she’s been one of us all along.”
Eris smiled faintly, but her gaze searched for one person.
Kareon stood apart, arms crossed, watching her. His face was unreadable, but in his eyes, something burned hotter than the fire.
Kaelioth stepped into the glow. The flames rose with a low sigh, as if listening. He lifted his arms and spoke in a voice that fell into something older than language, something shaped by the bones of the world.
“Karef kalturium, akh'tavaron. Ruhten kel’tan. Vorr kosh’ta.”
Eris did not understand the words, but she felt them, heavy and alive, as though a door were unlocking deep within her. They carried both a summons and a warning.
A bowl carved of black stone passed through the circle. One by one, the warriors drank. When it reached Eris, she paused. Across the fire, Kareon’s jaw was rigid. He said nothing, but shefelt the weight of his stare as though it were a hand pressed to her back. She held his gaze. Then drank.
For a single moment, the world held its breath.
Then came the pain.
It carved through her veins like molten stone. The fire danced, shifting with her pulse. The ground trembled beneath her, as if the earth had awakened. She gasped. Heat and cold surged together beneath her skin. Firelight broke apart in jagged shards.
Kareon’s hands gripped her shoulders. “Eris, breathe. Look at me!”
Her lungs fought to pull air. She clawed at his arm. “What…have you done to me?” Her voice fractured.
Her knees gave way. Kareon caught her before she could fall.
“Kaelioth!” Kareon shouted through the smoke. “Help her!”
But Kaelioth remained still. His voice was calm and cold. “There is nothing I can do now.”
Kareon carried her through the camp, heart pounding. Warriors stepped aside, faces taut with shock, eyes wide with fear.
Inside his tent, he laid her gently on the bed and brushed damp strands of hair from her face.
Her breath was shallow, uneven. She burned. Kaelioth entered, arms folded.
Kareon turned, tension bristling through every muscle. “Why is this happening? What have you done to her?” His voice shook with barely restrained fury.
Kaelioth met his gaze, unshaken. His reply was weighty. “It is not what I have done, nor the potion. The potion is only a bridge. What happens now is because of what waited on the other side.”
Kareon’s jaw clenched. His eyes flicked to Eris’s pale, motionless form.
Kaelioth continued, voice darkening. “The shadows in her blood have risen to challenge her. She faces more than spirits. She faces herself—her fears, her fate. If she overcomes them, she will return stronger. If she fails…she will be lost.”
