Episode 12
1221 Words
THE PACT OF EMBERS
The flames in the hearth sputtered low, casting long shadows across the stone walls of Lira’s chamber. The crimson tome, The Blood Accord, rested on her writing desk like a sleeping beast. Even sealed, its aura leaked into the room—magic that whispered in forgotten tongues and stirred the air like a breath on her neck.
Lira Vale didn’t sleep that night.
She studied the contents until dawn's first light filtered through the frost-glazed windows. The book was no mere grimoire. It was a ledger of sins—a record of every pact House Vale had made for power, wealth, and dominion. From the ancestors who first laid claim to their mountain keep, to the father who’d sold his lineage for influence, each name was etched in blood. And beneath those names: consequences.
Each pact came with a price. Madness. War. Stillbirths. Betrayals. Curses that fed on their bearers. It was not fate that had taken Lira’s mother or corrupted her sister—it was the debt of legacy.
And now she was its heir.
By midday, the estate buzzed with scandal. Lord Gravon, still recovering from his sudden collapse, claimed to have been poisoned, but no trace of toxin had been found. Elowen worked tirelessly to redirect attention from the event, spinning tales of his failing health and overeating.
"He’s always been dramatic," Elowen told a circle of nobles with a wry smile, her tone dismissive. "Honestly, he embarrassed himself more than anything."
But Lira watched closely. For all her sister’s practiced charm, there was tension in her posture, subtle sharpness in her gaze. She knew something had gone awry.
By evening, the whispers had shifted from Gravon’s outburst to Lira’s unexpected reappearance. Invitations flooded in. Courting requests. Curiosity masquerading as concern. And among them, a single sealed letter from someone who should have been dead.
"The bloodline owes me. I’m calling in my due. Midnight. Ashmere Crypt."
No name. Just the sigil of House Thorne—the house destroyed in a scandal ten years ago. The house her father claimed had vanished into disgrace.
She burned the letter. But not the invitation.
Ashmere Crypt sat beyond the estate grounds, nestled in the frostbitten ravines where only snow and silence kept company. Lira donned a black cloak and braved the icy terrain, Eland trailing in her shadow.
"House Thorne was obliterated," he muttered. "Your father accused them of blood treachery. Their lands were seized, their name erased."
"Which means their survival is... inconvenient," Lira replied. "And valuable."
They found the crypt sealed with iron, runes carved into the archway. She whispered the incantation she’d learned from The Blood Accord. The runes hissed and blinked out, the door creaking open into cold, dust-choked dark.
Inside, amidst shattered coffins and broken heraldry, stood a man.
He was tall, silver-haired, with eyes like burning coals and a smile carved from steel. He looked untouched by time.
"Lady Vale," he drawled. "Or should I say... Lady Revenant."
"You sent the letter."
"I did. My name is Maerin Thorne. And I died once, just as you did."
Her breath stilled.
"You remember?" she asked.
"Every scream. Every betrayal. Every moment beneath the blade. Like you, I was reborn with the curse of clarity."
He stepped closer. "And now, I offer you a proposal: vengeance allied. You and I—two revenants. Together, we can end the bloodline that bled us dry."
Lira studied him. There was power in his voice, but also pain. And madness.
"You want war," she said.
"I want balance," Maerin countered. "And I’ll have it—with or without you. But you, Lira, could be the keystone. You’ve walked their halls. You’ve won their trust."
"I’ve won their surveillance," she corrected.
He smiled. "Even better. They’re watching you. But they’ve already forgotten me."
He handed her a shard of obsidian, its edges glowing faintly.
"Break this when you’ve made your choice. But know this: every day you wait, another innocent will pay the debt your ancestors incurred."
She left him in the crypt, the shard heavy in her palm.
Back at the estate, she paced her chambers like a caged storm. Eland sat by the hearth, silent. He didn’t need to ask what happened.
"Would you follow me," she finally asked, "if I chose war?"
Eland looked up. "I follow you, not your vengeance. But if this path leads you into fire, I’ll walk it barefoot."
She exhaled. "Then we begin phase two. We dismantle House Vale from the inside. We expose Father’s pact. And if Elowen tries to stop us—"
"We cut her from the legacy," he finished.
Lira moved to her desk and opened The Blood Accord. She flipped to the passage Maerin had shown her—a forgotten clause that gave power of annulment to a blood heir who could prove breach of sacred trust. If she gathered enough evidence, she could invoke it.
She wouldn’t need to kill Elowen. Not yet. She would erase her.
But to do that, she needed allies.
The following day, Lira sent a sealed note to the archives of the Royal Scriptorium, requesting an audience with one Scholar Venya Oriel—an eccentric, exiled historian who had once tried to warn the nobles of ancient blood pacts and had been laughed out of court. Her writings had been banned. Her name scrubbed. But Lira knew better.
Venya responded with a single sentence: "Come at dusk, and bring no lies."
Lira arrived alone. The scriptorium was a hollow cathedral of knowledge, where books outnumbered candles and dust coated wisdom like a forgotten grave.
Venya was old, sharp-eyed, and wrapped in saffron robes stitched with ink-stains.
"You want the truth?" she rasped. "The truth costs."
"I have blood," Lira said. "And memory."
Venya studied her for a long time before nodding.
"Then listen. The Blood Accord wasn’t a curse. It was protection—twisted by greed. Its purpose was to guard against shadow-magic. But your ancestors repurposed it. And they paid. Now, only one thing can cleanse the debt."
"What?"
"Restoration. Balance. An heir who chooses restoration over domination."
Lira was quiet. Her whole life had been shaped by betrayal. Was healing even possible?
"And if I choose vengeance instead?"
Venya’s gaze sharpened. "Then the curse will continue—through you, and after you. You may kill your enemies, but their sins will haunt your children."
Lira left the scriptorium with her mind in chaos.
War. Restoration. Power. Peace.
She wanted to burn them all.
And yet...
Back in her room, she held the obsidian shard Maerin had given her. Her thumb hovered over its edge.
But instead of breaking it, she set it aside. For now.
There was still a path unchosen. Still a game to play.
Lira Vale would not be rushed. She would decide when the war began. And when it did, it would begin not with fire, but with a whisper.
One that promised: the heart reborn will not forgive.
Only then did she pick up her pen, and begin drafting a letter—to the one person left who might have loved her in her first life.
"Dear Caelum,
If you remember me, then you remember silence. This time, I will not be silent. I have returned, and I need your truth..."
- Writer
