Chapter 12: Ritual Interference
941 Words
Rain trickled down the stained-glass windows of the herbalist study hall, the kind of soft, rhythmic drizzle that made the world feel like it was whispering secrets. Luna stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her thoughts had been a storm ever since the dream of the silver-armored woman. Ever since the scar on her palm began glowing.
She hadn’t told anyone—not even Mila, her closest friend.
She was too afraid.
Afraid that the scar meant she was cursed. Afraid it meant she wasn’t human. Afraid it confirmed everything strange about her that she’d tried to bury for years.
But Mila, ever the curious and clever one, had noticed something was off.
“You’ve barely spoken today,” Mila said gently, approaching with a bundle of herbs in one hand. Her short dark curls were pulled back with a lavender ribbon, and her eyes sparkled with concern.
“I’m just tired,” Luna muttered.
Mila raised a brow. “You’ve said that every day this week. And you keep zoning out like you’re seeing ghosts.”
Luna hesitated. “What if… something’s happening to me? Something I can’t explain?”
Mila set down the herbs and stepped closer, her voice lowering. “Then it’s a good thing I know someone who might help.”
Luna blinked. “Who?”
“There’s a ritual circle on the edge of campus. Off the map. Mostly old students and witches from the town. They don’t usually let outsiders in, but I know one of them. Professor Mira Drey. She’s ex-Council—retired before the wars.”
Luna’s heart skipped. “Council?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry. She doesn’t report to them anymore. She helps people who’ve… changed.” Mila’s gaze was cautious but hopeful. “If you’re marked, she might know what it means. Or at least protect you from whatever’s coming.”
Luna stared at her friend. She hadn’t expected that.
“You really believe something’s coming?” she asked.
Mila nodded. “I feel it. Like the forest’s holding its breath.”
Luna’s pulse raced. Every instinct screamed not to trust anyone. But the memory of her dream still lingered—my blood flows in you—and she couldn’t deny the strange pulse of power beneath her skin anymore.
“Okay,” Luna whispered. “Let’s go.”
The path to the ritual circle wound through the forest like a serpent, lined with trees that leaned in as if eavesdropping. Mila led the way with a flickering lantern, her cloak flapping around her ankles. Luna followed close behind, heart thundering.
At the edge of a clearing stood five figures robed in gray and violet, gathered around a chalk-drawn sigil glowing faintly in the earth. Candles floated midair, their flames dancing in unnatural patterns.
Mira Drey stood at the head, tall and hawk-eyed, with silver streaks in her long braid. She turned as they entered, her gaze narrowing on Luna.
“You brought her,” Mira said, more statement than question.
“She needs protection,” Mila said quietly. “She’s marked.”
Mira studied Luna, then nodded once. “Step into the circle, girl. Don’t speak unless told.”
Luna hesitated, but the scar on her palm ached with a heat she couldn’t ignore. She stepped into the center of the circle, heart pounding. The moment she crossed the boundary, the wind shifted, howling through the trees like a distant cry.
The witches around her began to chant.
Words in old tongues filled the air, thick with meaning Luna couldn’t grasp. The candles burned brighter, the sigils pulsed. Mira sprinkled crushed moonstone into the flames, causing them to blaze silver-blue.
Luna’s breath caught.
The power thrumming through the circle wasn’t just magic.
It was ancient.
Older than the Council. Older than the moon itself.
Her skin prickled with energy. Her mark pulsed beneath her skin like it had a heartbeat of its own. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, but the moment she did—
A rush of wind tore through the clearing.
The flames hissed.
The chanting faltered.
Luna gasped as something unseen slammed into her chest—like a thousand voices trying to speak through her at once. Her knees buckled, and she dropped to the ground, hands clutching her temples.
The sigils in the dirt began to glow brighter—too bright.
The witches stepped back in alarm.
“She’s channeling something—STOP the ritual!” Mira shouted.
But it was too late.
Luna screamed—not from pain, but from the overwhelming surge of knowledge that wasn’t hers. Memories not her own. Languages she didn’t speak. Faces of women with silver eyes and crowns of bone. Wolves with wings. Temples beneath the sea. Blood. Fire. Stars falling.
And then—darkness.
When she opened her eyes, they glowed white.
Pure, blinding white.
Everyone in the circle froze. Even the flames seemed to bow.
Her voice rang out, layered with tones not her own. The language was unearthly, ancient, and terrifyingly calm:
“The Hollow stirs. The Queen’s vessel breathes.
The seal is broken.
The blood will awaken.”
Then—
Everything went still.
Luna collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
The flames died in unison. The sigils vanished. The wind stopped.
Mira rushed forward, kneeling beside Luna, pressing her fingers to the girl’s wrist.
“She’s alive,” she whispered, stunned. “But that… that wasn’t a simple protection ritual.”
“No,” Mila said shakily, stepping back. “That was a prophecy.”
Mira’s eyes met hers. “And she just fulfilled it.”
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