Keepers Of The Coven

Chapter 1:The Beginning

Year 109 — The Old Era

The air was thick with ash and the scent of scorched earth. Smoke rose from the crumbling remains of what had once been the sacred grounds of the Crescent Coven. Magic surged through the air—raw, volatile, and unbound—rippling the sky in waves of violet and gold.

Screams echoed in the distance. The battlefield stretched across the hills beyond the forest, once lush and green, now blackened and stained with blood and shadow. Witches and soldiers clashed, steel against spell, desperation against prophecy.

At the heart of it all stood the Goddess Keeper.

Clad in silver-lined robes torn by battle, her golden hair matted with sweat and blood, she raised her hands high, summoning a wall of blinding light that shattered a volley of cursed arrows midair. Her eyes—piercing, ancient, aglow with power—scanned the field with both fury and sorrow.

"Fall back!" she cried to her sisters, voice carrying like thunder. "Regroup at the circle! We must finish the seal!"

The witches obeyed, retreating toward the sacred circle etched into the earth behind the last standing spire of the coven’s sanctuary. Protective glyphs flared to life as they crossed the perimeter, shields crackling like wildfire.

From the opposing ridge, the Church’s High Commander raised a banner marked with the sigil of the Purge. Behind him, hundreds of soldiers advanced, their weapons alight with anti-magic enchantments.

The Keeper turned to her council—seven high witches, each a master of their craft, each bloodied and weary. "Begin the final rite. I will hold them."

One of them, a red-haired woman with trembling hands, stepped forward. "But you’ll be—"

"It must be me," the Keeper said, firm but gentle. "The seal requires sacrifice. You all know this."

They nodded, tears burning in their eyes, but they obeyed. The circle began to glow, ancient words whispered into the air, weaving together into a binding spell meant to bury the truth of their powers—to conceal it until the world could hold it again.

The Keeper stepped outside the circle, facing the incoming army. Her staff pulsed with energy, drawing power from the very ley lines beneath her feet. Magic—pure, unfiltered—surged upward like lightning.

She cast no shield. She did not run.

When the army struck, she met them with fire and wind, with light and storm. Her magic tore through their ranks, a force of nature too vast to be contained. Yet for every soldier she felled, more rose to take their place.

Arrow. Blade. Curse. Strike.

She stumbled.

A spear found its mark.

The light around her flickered.

She fell to one knee, gasping, the staff slipping from her fingers.

And in her final breath, as the soldiers surged forward, she whispered a final word—one known only to the Keepers.

The seal activated.

A blinding wave of white light exploded from the ritual circle, engulfing the coven, the field, the sky itself. Time seemed to stop.

When the light faded, the witches were gone. The magic—vanished. Only the scorched earth remained, and the fallen body of the Goddess Keeper. The soldiers took her, and burned her.

She had won, yet she had lost.

And the world would never be the same.

The classroom smelled faintly of sage and aged parchment, the kind of comforting scent that reminded Elara Thorne of her childhood—of candlelit study nights, whispered spells, and her great-grandmother’s voice reading ancient stories beside a fire. Now, she stood at the front of her own classroom, sunlight pouring through tall arched windows and dancing across the floating sigils etched into the blackboard behind her.

"And so," Elara said, pacing slowly in front of her seated students, "the battle ended not with victory—but with sacrifice."

The room was silent, save for the hum of magical wards protecting the academy. Her students, a mix of witches and magically-aware humans, leaned forward, utterly entranced.

"The Goddess Keeper," she continued, voice softer now, "gave her life to stop the corruption spreading from within the Coven. Her final act was not a spell, not a curse, but a seal—one that bound away the ancient magics to protect the future."

She turned to the glowing image on the board: an old sketch of the Goddess herself, her face blurred by age, her stance defiant.

"Some say she failed. Others believe she succeeded in ways we still don't understand. What do you think her final thoughts were, in those last moments?"

Several hands started to rise—just as the chime of the academy bell echoed through the halls.

A chorus of groans and disappointed sighs filled the room.

"That’s your cue," Elara said with a warm smile. "Write your thoughts in your journals for tomorrow. We'll discuss your theories next class."

Chairs scraped the floor as students gathered their belongings, chatting excitedly. As the last few filtered out, Elara turned back to the blackboard and touched the glowing sigil. It flickered, dimmed, and vanished.

She was still lost in thought when a knock rapped gently on her classroom door.

Elara looked up. "Come in."

The door creaked open, revealing Louis Wren—her best friend and fellow instructor. He stepped in with that familiar half-smile, hands tucked in the pockets of his worn gray coat.

"History class getting dramatic again?" he asked.

Elara laughed softly. "Only as dramatic as the truth."

Louis crossed the room and leaned against the edge of her desk. "You looked like you were about to ask them something important."

She nodded slowly, her eyes drifting back to the now-blank board. "I wanted to know what they think about the Goddess’s choice. About sacrifice and the cost of sealing magic. But... maybe it’s better they didn’t answer yet."

Louis tilted his head, studying her. "You’ve been spending a lot of time on that era lately. The War of 109. Even for you."

"I don't know what's happening to me lately. I just feel something strange... I don't know as well, why am I so invested with this story."

"Maybe you need a break from all the school work and get a vacation."

"I can't, I have a lot of things to do."

Louis’s gaze softened. "Then why? What are you looking for, Elara?"

"Answers," she whispered. "Or maybe... memories. That’s not all, there are spells, visions, warnings on my dreams. And something about a ritual. One that opens a doorway between then and now."