BLOOD OATH OF ELARIS

CHAPTER 5

The Grandmother’s Warning

The evening rain came early to Elaris, drifting down in fine silver threads that turned the air soft and blurred the world into watercolor. Lanternlight shimmered through the mist, halos bending and breaking across the wet cobblestones. The town had quieted early, the usual laughter from the square dulled by the weather.

Liora had just finished securing the shutters of her shop, the iron latch clicking into place, when the knock came. Slow. Deliberate. Three beats steady, unhurried as though the visitor wasn’t simply announcing themselves but marking a pattern, a ritual.

She froze. The hour was far too late for customers, and the rain made unplanned callers rarer still.

Then, again, knock… knock… knock. The exact same rhythm.

Liora’s pulse quickened.

She unlatched the door, letting in a breath of damp night air, and found a figure standing on the threshold, cloaked in deep indigo. The shawl hung heavy with rain, droplets tracing thin rivers to the floor. For a heartbeat, the figure seemed faceless beneath the shadowed hood. Then the lamplight caught her features, and recognition struck.

Edda Darrin.

Kaelen’s grandmother.

Her hair, white as frost, was braided into an intricate crown that gleamed faintly in the lantern’s glow. Her eyes were a pale, unclouded grey, not dimmed by age but sharpened, cutting through the mist and straight into Liora. For a long moment, she simply looked at her, the silence as weighted as the rain pressing against the roof.

“I won’t stay long,” Edda said at last, her voice low and gravel-edged, carrying a weight that felt older than her years. She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, moving with the quiet authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed. Her shawl left a glistening arc of rainwater on the floor as she claimed the chair nearest the hearth.

Liora closed the door quickly, shutting out the hiss of the rain.

Edda didn’t care to warm her hands or glance toward the fire. Instead, she fixed her gaze on Liora, unblinking, deliberate.

“You’ve been asking questions,” she said.

It wasn't a guess.

It was a statement.

Liora kept her voice careful. “I’ve only heard whispers.”

“Whispers have teeth,” Edda replied. She set a small cloth bundle on the table, her fingers lingering on it. “I’m here to make sure they don’t bite you.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the gentle crackle of the fire, the flames shifting and snapping in the hearth. Shadows trembled across the walls, flickering over Edda’s lined face. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her gaze locking Liora in place like a pin through silk.

“What do you know of the Morning Rite?” she asked, her voice low but edged with something sharp.

“That it’s a blessing,” Liora began cautiously.

Edda’s mouth curved, not into a smile, nor a frown, but something caught between the two, as if the word itself offended her. “A blessing.” She let the word hang for a breath, then spat it out like it was bitter on her tongue. “Child, the Rite was never about blessing. It’s about hunting.”

Liora’s heart stumbled. “Hunting?”

“Blood,” Edda said flatly. “It searches for blood that is… marked. Our blood.” She tapped the inside of her wrist with one gnarled finger, the sound soft but carrying the weight of a verdict. “Long before the temple’s stones were laid, before these walls rose around Elaris, our family refused the Oath.”

“The Oath! of the First Light? Liora’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

Edda nodded once, slowly, the movement deliberate, as though speaking the truth aloud was an act of defiance in itself. “When the gods came demanding fealty, they asked for more than worship. They demanded our freedom, our choice to live outside their chains. Our first ancestors refused. For that defiance, the First Light’s priests named us Oathbreakers and cursed our line. They said our love would bear no fruit, our vows would draw the shadow close, our homes would know no lasting joy. And so, they built the Rite to find us.”

The room seemed to tighten around Liora, the air thick with the weight of the words. “But the curse… is it real?”

Edda’s eyes, pale as moonlit frost, dropped to the bundle she had set on the table. She reached for it with hands that moved slowly. The fabric was worn and soft with age, tied with a fraying cord. She loosened it, fold by fold, until something white, once white lay exposed. A bridal ribbon, its silk dulled with years, blotched and streaked with the deep brown of old, dried blood.

“This belonged to my sister,” Edda said quietly, her voice like a door closing on a memory. “She stood where all brides stand, and gave her drop of blood into the basin. The High Priestess looked into it, and the red turned black before her eyes. They took her from the temple before the vows could be spoken. I never saw her again.”

The fire popped sharply in the silence that followed, the sound making Liora flinch. The ribbon lay between them like a relic or a warning.

A chill crept up Liora’s spine. “What happened to her?”

No one says, Edda replied. “No one dares ask. The curse may be a lie, or it may be the truth, but either way, the Rite is the executioner.

Liora’s throat tightened. “And Kaelen? Does he know?”

Edda’s eyes softened, but her voice stayed steady. He knows the name we carry. He does not know the depth of it. I kept it from him. His father kept it from him. The fewer questions he asks, the longer he lives.”

The fire popped, sending a brief spray of sparks upward.

“Liora,” Edda said, her voice suddenly urgent, “if you love him, truly love him you must not stand with him in that temple. You must not give them the chance to test you both.”

Liora swallowed hard. “You’re telling me to leave him.”

“I’m telling you to live,” Edda said. “Because if the Rite finds his blood in yours, they will not let either of you leave that altar.”

The weight of the words pressed against Liora’s chest, making it hard to breathe. She thought of Kaelen’s smile, the warmth in his voice when he spoke her name, the way his hand fit around hers. And she thought of the basin in the temple, the strange dark flicker she’d seen in Mariel’s blood.

Edda rose, wrapping the ribbon back in its cloth. I have spoken more than what I came to say. The rest is for you to decide.”

At the door, she paused and looked back. The gods may not be watching every soul in this town. But the priestess watches every single drop of blood. Remember that.”

Then she stepped out into the rain, leaving Liora alone with the hiss of the hearth and the pounding of her own heart.

She didn’t move for a long time. Outside, the storm gathered, rolling in from the forest. It felt, somehow, like a warning.