The Spellcaster’s Curse
774 Words
Chapter 14
The silence after the battle was heavier than any scream.
Kain sat on the edge of the ruined cliff, staring at the smoldering canyon below. His arms were marked with glowing sigils now, ancient, evolving, pulsing like veins of light under his skin. The magic was no longer dormant. It moved in him, alive and aware.
But it didn’t feel like his power anymore.
It felt borrowed… or stolen.
He touched the mark and winced. Every moment it stayed burned a little deeper into him.
You used too much, Lyra said, crouching beside him. Her voice was calm, but her eyes held something else, hesitation, maybe even fear.
I had to, Kain said, voice low. They would’ve taken us. Taken me.
And next time? she asked. What happens when you lose yourself to it completely?
Kain didn’t answer.
Because he already knew.
They moved on before sunrise. The Hollow Crescent was no longer safe, it was fractured by Kain’s outburst, and strange echoes had begun to stir within its depths. Whispers. Shadows. Unseen things clawing their way into this world.
By midmorning, the terrain shifted from rock to blackened forest. The trees here were scorched and twisted, their bark cracked and weeping ash. This was The Witherwood, once part of the Spellcaster’s personal sanctum, now cursed and forgotten.
It was here he cast his final spell, Lyra explained, as they walked. When the Empire began to fall, he opened a rift. Not to escape but to bury something.
Kain narrowed his eyes. What?
His heart. Seris scoffed. He buried his heart?
Not literally, Lyra replied. The Spellcaster had forged a part of his soul into a relic, one of the last spellstones. He couldn’t destroy it. So, he hid it here, at the center of the forest.
And now you want me to find it, Kain muttered. Lyra stopped and looked him dead in the eye. You need to.
Kain looked away. Why? So I can burn down more of the world?
Lyra didn’t respond.
Because she wasn’t sure of the answer anymore.
They found the temple just before dusk.
It was a jagged structure, half-swallowed by black roots and crawling with pale moss. A spire rose at its center, cracked but intact. Faint glyphs glowed along its base, pulsing in response to Kain’s presence.
This is it, Lyra whispered.
Kain felt a hum in his bones as he stepped closer. The temple knew him.
The stone doors opened on their own.
Inside, the chamber was hollow, and cold. A single pedestal stood in the center, upon it a shard of obsidian the size of a heart. It hovered in mid-air, spinning slowly, whispering in a language Kain didn’t know but understood.
It called to him.
He took a step forward and Seris grabbed his arm.
Don’t. He looked at her. Why?
There’s something wrong with it, she said. “You feel that, right? It’s not just magic, it’s… alive.
Kain nodded slowly. I have to do this.
You don’t.
I do.
He stepped forward. As his hand reached the shard, the room pulsed with sudden force. Glyphs flashed violently across the walls. The air grew sharp, humming like a blade drawn from a sheath.
Then his fingers touched the spellstone.
And the world broke.
Flashes. Visions. Memories not his own.
A kingdom drowned in light.
Thousands kneeling before a man with silver eyes. A woman screaming as her magic was torn from her chest.
And then… a voice. You are not the first. You are only the last.
Kain screamed as the shard drove its energy into him, searing his veins, branding his heart.
He dropped to his knees, eyes wide, gasping for air.
And then he heard it:
The Curse is awake.
The shard exploded into dust.
Kain collapsed, trembling. But he wasn’t alone. Something had come with him.
Something ancient.
Something inside him.
Lyra and Seris rushed to his side, but froze as his body began to levitate, his eyes glowing pitch black.
Kain! Seris shouted.
He didn’t respond.
A different voice came from his mouth. Cold. Regal. Terrifying.
Finally… after centuries… I return.
Lyra stepped back. No.
Seris drew her blade. That’s not Kain.
Kain’s body dropped to the floor with a thud.
And he opened his eyes, his real eyes. Terrified. Shaking.
I…I saw him, he gasped. The Spellcaster. The original one. He… he used me.
Lyra stared at him, white with shock. Then the curse is true.
What curse? Kain demanded.
She looked at him with something close to pity.
You were never meant to wield the magic, Kain. You were meant to be the vessel.
- Writer
