Chapter 10
1372 Words
The silence in Devlin Manor wasn’t just stillness. It was anticipation. As if the ancient halls themselves waited—held breathless at the cusp of something terrible.
Calla stood alone in the northern wing library, where the fire crackled with an eerie golden hue, as though even the flames were afraid to burn too brightly in her presence now. Her reflection in the window was no longer familiar. She traced the faint glow under her skin, the runes that had appeared on her collarbone like whispers from another life. The curse had not simply nested inside her—it had awakened something ancient, something with a voice of its own.
Ares hadn’t spoken to her since the vision. Since she told him she saw the end of everything.
And Cain—he lingered too closely now, watching her like a scientist marveling at a beast he could no longer control.
She reached for a leather-bound tome resting on the high shelf. It hummed at her touch. Not metaphorically—truly, it hummed. Vibrating against her skin like it recognized her blood. The Book of Veils, sealed until the vessel of the curse was reborn.
Her fingers unlatched the cover. A gust of wind surged from its pages.
“You will either become the savior of the bloodline or its executioner.”
The words weren’t written—they whispered. Spoken directly into her mind.
She turned the page. Images unfolded—runes, prophecies, names she didn’t recognize but felt rooted in her bones. And then a drawing.
A woman wreathed in fire.
Céleste. Her first self. Her original sin.
The door behind her creaked open, slow and deliberate.
Ares.
He looked exhausted. More like a ghost than a god, shoulders heavy with something he hadn’t yet spoken aloud.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said.
“I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again,” Calla replied.
His eyes traced her arms, where faint runes pulsed like veins of moonlight.
“You’re changing.”
“I already have.”
A beat of silence. Then:
“I saw your painting,” he said.
She tilted her head. “Then you know what I’ll become.”
“I know what the curse wants you to become,” he said, stepping closer, “but I also know you, Calla. You’re not the girl in that throne.”
She shut the book slowly. “You don’t know me. Not anymore.”
Ares frowned, jaw tight. “Don’t say that.”
“I saw the future, Ares. I burn everything. I saw your body broken at my feet. You think love is enough to stop that?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “If it’s ours, yes.”
Her breath hitched.
But she turned away. “We leave at dawn.”
“Where?”
“To the Ash Vale. There’s one final piece we need before I can end this.”
He moved beside her. “The Mirror of Morwen.”
She nodded. “It shows the soul’s truth.”
“And you’re hoping it’ll show you a way to change fate?”
“No. I’m hoping it’ll confirm what I already suspect—” Her voice turned cold. “That this curse was never about bloodlines. It’s about power. About choosing who controls it.”
He studied her carefully. “And who do you think deserves that power?”
Calla met his gaze, and her eyes gleamed with something unearthly.
“Someone who remembers what it means to bleed.”
---
The journey to Ash Vale was treacherous.
Black pines towered over the landscape, their roots twisted like serpents beneath the soil. The forest had been untouched for centuries, held back by wards that no longer recognized Devlin blood.
But Calla’s presence shattered them like glass.
Each step closer made her heartbeat sync with the pulse of the earth. It was like the Vale knew her. Welcomed her.
They traveled in silence for hours until they reached the threshold: a hollowed glade where time itself seemed to bend. Floating stones circled a pedestal of obsidian. The Mirror of Morwen waited.
“Stay back,” she told Ares.
He hesitated. “Calla—”
“Please.”
She stepped forward alone.
The moment she touched the mirror’s edge, her reflection vanished. Darkness poured in, flooding her senses.
And then—
She was inside the memory of her very first life.
Céleste stood atop a burning tower, her white gown stained crimson. Behind her, the first Ares knelt—dying, betrayed.
Cain approached with a crown of bone.
“You could have ruled,” he whispered.
“I chose love,” Céleste said, voice shaking.
“And love chose death.”
Céleste stepped backward—and flung herself from the tower.
Calla screamed.
The memory shattered.
She fell to her knees, trembling.
Ares caught her before she collapsed entirely. “What did you see?”
“I was her,” she whispered. “I felt the moment I died.”
He held her tighter. “You don’t have to follow her path.”
She looked up, tears streaking her cheeks. “No... but I do have to end it.”
From the shadows, Cain emerged again.
“You saw it then?” he asked. “How devotion always leads to ruin?”
Calla rose slowly. “No. I saw how love is stronger than power.”
Cain’s smile faltered.
Calla raised her hand—and the curse responded.
Not just a glow now. Fire erupted from her palms, runes flaring. The air around them bent with heat and magic.
“She’s not bound anymore,” Cain breathed.
“No,” Calla said. “I’m free.”
Ares stepped beside her. “Then it’s time to break the Devlin legacy.”
Cain’s face twisted. “You’d destroy everything your ancestors built?”
Calla stared him down.
“I’d rather tear down a dynasty than let it own another soul.”
With that, she raised both hands—and fire consumed the pedestal. The Mirror cracked, then exploded in shards of light. The wind screamed. The ground split.
Cain shouted a spell—but it fizzled uselessly against her.
She turned to him.
“Run.”
Cain, for the first time in centuries, obeyed.
---
That night, back at the manor, the storm came.
Calla stood in the great hall, lightning flashing through stained glass. Her blood felt hot. Electric. The curse had bent to her will—but it still wanted to feed.
She couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t calm.
Ares entered her room quietly. No words. Just presence.
She walked to him slowly, her white nightgown clinging to her like a second skin. His eyes tracked every movement, conflicted—desire warred with fear.
She reached up, brushing his jaw.
“I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“You’re mine,” he said.
And then their mouths collided.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t delicate.
It was desperate.
His hands gripped her waist, lifted her, spun them onto the bed. The storm outside roared as if echoing the fire between their bodies.
Her nightgown tore away.
His shirt hit the floor.
Skin against skin. Mark against mark.
She arched under him, breathless. Power crackled around them, but he anchored her. Grounded her.
“I’ve wanted this since every version of you,” he whispered into her neck.
“Then take me through every life,” she gasped.
And he did.
Their souls danced that night—twisting through lifetimes of longing, pain, and fate. Magic surged with every cry, every kiss. Runes lit up on the walls. The entire manor trembled.
When they collapsed in the aftermath, sweaty and tangled, Ares kissed her shoulder softly.
“You were always worth the ruin,” he whispered.
She turned, breath still catching.
“Then help me build something from the ashes.”
He nodded.
And outside, the storm finally passed.
But far below, in the crypts, something else awakened—stirred by Calla’s defiance, by their bond.
An ancient eye opened in the dark.
The Devlin curse was not the end.
It was merely the beginning of something far more dangerous.
Far more powerful.
And it was coming for them all.
- Writer
