Page 16 of Broken Vow

Drystan offered no response, feeling no sense of service, only the heavy weight of a choice that would break both Liora and himself.

Morrigwen turned to the altar, quietly humming a low, ancient melody as she arranged her materials upon a dark cloth near the brazier. Drystan kept his eyes averted, unwilling to study the specific components she had gathered for the ritual. He had agreed to the containment, leaving the execution to her.

Instead, his gaze brushed past the shadowy walls of the chamber, where preserved specimens and aged hides hung in the dim green light, before settling on the items laid across the stone.

At the edge of the cloth lay a precise arrangement of small, delicate bones, paired with a bundled fan of dark feathers tied with black thread. Beside them rested a small, coarse sack, its ties drawn tight around a compact, motionless form. The outline beneath the fabric was unmistakable.

Morrigwen paused her quiet humming, noticing his focus.

“The process is simple,” she said, her tone measured and calm. “I will speak the binding. The bones and feathers enter the fire first to prepare the channel. Then, the vessel is introduced, the physical anchor required to hold the soul.”

She indicated the small sack upon the stone.

“What is required of me?” Drystan asked.

“Your presence,” she answered. “An Aurelian sovereign must stand at the altar to witness the act. Your bloodline provides the anchor that seals the magic. You need only remain where you are.”

“Then begin,” he said.

She raised her hands and began the incantation.

The words belonged to an ancient, forgotten tongue, unfamiliar to Drystan and long vanished from the spoken world. As her voice rose, the green flames within the brazier flared higher, casting a deeper warmth across the circular room.

Morrigwen gathered the small bones in her palm, continuing the chant as she cast them into the fire. The flames consumed them instantly without a trace of smoke, leaving the air thick and heavy.

She then took the dark feathers and dropped them into the brazier. They vanished into the heat just as quickly, the pressure in the room settling over Drystan’s chest like a physical weight.

Finally, her hand reached toward the small sack.

Drystan stared at the dark outline of the creature within, an animal associated only with pestilence, grain loss, and ruin. It was the absolute opposite of everything Liora represented. A sudden, sharp revulsion seized him. He questioned how he had allowed the ritual to reach this point, and why he had permitted such a vessel to be chosen for the woman he loved.

As Morrigwen’s fingers touched the cord securing the cloth, the reality of the act struck him with absolute clarity. The vessel was about to be sealed.

Liora was to be bound to that form.

The realization moved him before his mind could construct a reasoned thought. Reaching past the altar, his hand met the wall behind Morrigwen, his fingers closing around the first material they touched.

It was a soft, pale pelt, lightweight and thick with silver-grey fur. The shade mirrored the colour of Liora’s hair. In a single, fluid motion, he swept the pelt off the wall, tossed it directly into the brazier, and knocked the small sack from Morrigwen’s reach.

The green fire surged as it took the fur.

“What have you done?” Morrigwen demanded, her voice sharp and ringing through the stone chamber.

The flames erupted upward, climbing to the height of Drystan’s face as he stepped back from the hearth. Morrigwen stood her ground, her hand extended toward the fire as the green light reflected in her eyes.

“You do not grasp the magnitude of your interference,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, cold register.

The sudden flare subsided, the fire settling back into the basin as the green hue shifted to a deep, natural orange. The silver-grey pelt was gone, fully consumed by the flames. The magic had accepted the substitute, locking onto the new material as the anchor for the binding.

Morrigwen slowly lowered her hand, her composure returning as she studied him with a look of quiet, incredulous focus.

“What is done is done,” she said softly. “We shall see what this choice produces.”

Drystan remained silent, his breath uneven as he looked down at the empty floor. He knew only that he could not allow her to be bound to the vessel in the sack. He had rejected it, forcing the magic to take the silver fur instead. Liora would still be transformed, but her vessel would be whatever creature that pelt had belonged to.

Morrigwen retrieved the fallen sack from the floor and set it aside. Waving her hand over the fabric, the creature within began to move, its sharp teeth tearing through the weave until it slipped out, scurrying into the dark shadows of the stone floor and vanishing into the foundation walls.

She turned back to Drystan.