Keepers Of The Coven

Chapter 2: Blood and Truth

Darkness, silence, then flame.

Elara stood in a battlefield of memory. Ash rained from a sunless sky, and in the distance, the war drums of the Purge beat like the pulse of a dying heart. She moved through smoke, her steps weightless, like a ghost drifting through time.

She saw her. The Goddess Keeper. Standing atop a hill, her golden hair wild in the wind, her silver robes tattered and soaked with blood. But this time, she wasn’t alone. The High Witches circled her, chanting, hands raised toward the stars as they began the Rite of Sealing.

Then something changed.

Elara saw herself.

Not the Goddess. Not the ancestor. Herself—as she was now. Standing among the circle, watching.

The Keeper turned to her, eyes locking. Eyes the same shape and stormy color as her own.

"You should not be here," the Keeper whispered.

"I had to know," Elara replied. "I needed to see."

A pause. A moment suspended.

Then the Goddess reached out, her bloodied hand brushing Elara’s cheek.

"Then remember."

Elara woke with a gasp, heart hammering in her chest, drenched in sweat. Her bedroom was dark, the only sound the distant ticking of the wall clock and the faint rustle of leaves outside her window.

She sat up, rubbing her arms, her fingers trembling.

It wasn’t just a dream. It couldn’t be. The detail—the feeling—was too vivid. Too real.

The image of the Goddess’s eyes lingered in her mind, the way she reached out, the word she spoke.

Remember.

Elara threw the covers aside and stood, her bare feet silent against the wooden floor. She grabbed a shawl from her chair, wrapped it around her shoulders, and left her room, moving quickly and quietly through the halls of her home.

The house creaked in protest, as if warning her to turn back, but she didn’t stop until she reached the narrow door at the end of the corridor. It was old—ancient, even—with carvings faded by time and paint that peeled in curled flakes. It's still dark outside but the sun will rise soon.

Her mother had sealed it years ago. Claimed it was dangerous. Forbidden.

Elara placed her hand against the wooden surface and whispered a spell she’d found in her great-grandmother’s journal.

The sigils glowed briefly.

Then the lock clicked.

She pushed the door open and descended the spiral staircase into darkness, her fingers lighting a small orb of witchlight to guide her path. The air grew cooler as she moved downward, the scent of dust and forgotten herbs thickening with every step.

The basement workshop was exactly as she remembered from childhood—before it had been sealed away. Crystals and vials cluttered the shelves, dried bundles of spell ingredients hung from the rafters, and at the far end of the room, beneath a black velvet cloth, sat an altar of old stone.

She approached it.

Beneath the cloth was the book—the same one from her desk. But now, in the quiet of this sacred space, it felt different. Heavier. Older. Almost... aware.

She opened the cover.

A page fluttered open on its own. Not a spell, but a portrait. A black-and-white portrait, the ink used was a mix of ashes and oil, slightly burned at the edges. Her heart skipped.

The woman in the photo.

She had Elara’s face.

The same bone structure, same fierce gaze. She wore robes embroidered with sigils. She saw another image but this time it's a photograph a younger woman, who also looked like her—Elara’s great-grandmother, confirmed by the signature on the back.

"Lunara the Keeper, 109" stated at the portrait, but the name on the other photograph where her grandmother is, "Luna Era Thorne, year 1995, the reincarnation of Lunara."

Elara stared.

Her great-grandmother... was the reincarnated Goddess?

She turned the page.

More sketches, diagrams of magical seals, ritual circles, warnings scrawled in red ink. There were maps, visions, fragments of dreams written like prophecies. At the center of it all, the phrase:

"She will return when the world forgets magic, and her blood calls her home."

Elara took a trembling breath. She wasn’t just descended from the Goddess Keeper.

She was her.

And the world had forgotten magic.

But now, it was waking up.

There was no warmth in her chest. Only questions. Only the image of her—the woman in the photo. The woman who was her.

The book sat closed on her desk now, wrapped tightly in silk. Bound. Just like the truth had been.

She descended the stairs slowly, each creak of the wood echoing in her skull like a heartbeat.

Her mother was in the kitchen, as always, tea already steeped, hands busy with morning ritual. Selene didn’t look up when Elara entered.

“You were in the cellar,” she said quietly.

Elara froze.

“You knew?”

Selene nodded once, stirring her tea with the slow precision of someone stalling for time. “I felt the wards break. I always would.”

“Then you also knew what I’d find.” Elara stepped into the light. “Why didn’t you tell me about Lunara? About Luna Era? About me?”

Now Selene looked up.

And Elara almost faltered.

Her mother’s eyes were not angry, but tired. Grief sat behind them like a storm waiting to break.

“I swore I would never tell you,” Selene whispered. “Because if I did… I’d lose you. Just like we lost her.”

"But mother, you should have told me,"

“Elara,” she said, rising slowly from the table, “I watched my grandmother go mad trying to awaken the old power. I saw her burn her own soul trying to bring magic back. I buried her with the ashes of the last rite. That is what I wanted to protect you from.”

Elara’s hands trembled. “You lied to me. You sealed the truth—about who I was, about what I am.”

Selene moved to her, placing her hands gently on her daughter’s shoulders. “You are Elara Thorne. That is all I ever wanted you to be. Just Elara.”

“But I’m not just Elara.” Her voice cracked. “I’ve seen the dreams. The battlefield. I’ve been her.”

A silence fell between them.

"Oh my child."

Then Selene pulled away and went to the drawer beneath the hearth. She retrieved a worn box, unlocked it, and removed a small vial—black glass, etched with the Thorne crest. She held it out.

“This belonged to the Goddess. It’s the last sealed memory. Luna era protected it with bloodbinding magic. I kept it hidden… because once you open it, there’s no turning back.”

Elara stared at the vial. The glass pulsed faintly in her hand, like a heartbeat.

“What’s inside?” she asked.

Selene met her gaze. “I don't know, Elara. My grandma didn't told me as she also didn't know what's inside.”

Elara clutched the vial to her chest, unsure if her legs would hold.

And then, soft footsteps behind her.

“Elara?” Louis’s voice was hesitant. He stood in the hallway, coat still on, eyes wide. “The door was open. Wait, are you okay?"

His gaze flicked from her face, to Selene’s, then to the vial in her hand.

“What… is that?”

Elara swallowed hard, turning to him. “The truth.”

Louis stepped closer, reaching for her. “Elara… if you open that—”

“I have to.”

She turned back to her mother. “You said once that the world forgot magic.”

Selene’s voice shook. “It forgot because we made it forget.”

Elara’s grip on the vial tightened.

“Then maybe it’s time the world remembered.”