Makaela averted her eyes from the stuffed griffin's head mounted on the wall ahead of her.
Griffins were the sacred animals of the House Lumai but having the head of one was a bit crude. The dead creature's glossy, black eyes stared back at her. It made her skin itch.
They were beautiful creatures, though. Regal and magnificent, with their massive wings and feline bodies. As a child, she dreamed of becoming a beast tamer just so she could hunt griffins all day. That dream was dead now—along with all the others.
Now all she dreamed about was surviving.
To her right, Xander sat on the edge of the windowsill. He stroked his long, gray beard as he stared at the darkening clouds.
"A storm is coming," he muttered, mostly to himself.
Olivier sat behind the wooden desk in the center of the study, his fingers clasped together as he stared at the two young magicians before him.
No one said anything for a few moments. Makaela shifted in her seat. The anxiety building inside her was starting to become unbearable. She chewed on the insides of her cheeks as she waited for her uncle to speak. Eventually, she broke the silence first.
"Are you going to say something or are you just going to keep staring at us?" She crossed her arms.
He finally nodded. "I've been keeping something from you."
"Yeah, no kidding."
He rubbed his temples before continuing. "Thorian, the Order...the purge wasn't random. It was a calculated effort designed to steal something from us."
Her face scrunched together. "Steal what?"
Olivier looked to Xander. "Do you mind?"
"Of course." The old man waddled over to a cabinet on the other side of the room. He retrieved a small, ornate box guarded by a heavy lock and decorated with glossy, gold paint from inside. Then he handed it to Olivier.
Makaela stared at the box. Her stomach churned as she watched her uncle perform an unlocking spell on the padlock. It clattered onto his desk, the noise echoing around the silent room.
Olivier dipped his hand inside the container. Seconds later, it resurfaced with a ring.
Makaela's entire body tensed at the sight of it.
"That was my father's."
"It was." Olivier nodded. "And our fathers before him." He gazed at the golden gemstone sitting atop the ivory band. Glowing inscriptions in the ancient language of their people were inscribed into the band. "It's called the Illumio. It belongs to the head of our house, whoever that may be at the time. Every house has one—"
"The Eldenarian Artifacts!" Remy exclaimed. He let out a giddy laugh. "I thought they were a myth."
"Oh, they're no myth, child," Xander said, his tone grave. "They've existed for millennia, since the first wielders of magic."
Makaela nodded slowly. She vaguely knew what the Eldenarian Artifacts were. They were supposedly seven pieces of the gods gifted to the original creators of magic, the founders of the seven houses. According to the stories, each one granted the user mastery over a certain facet of magic, whether it be battlemagic, shadoweaving, and even shapeshifting. She always thought the ring her father wore was just another piece of jewelry.
"Why does Thorian want it?"
"Years ago, the Eldenarian Council were notified of a prophecy," Olivier explained. "Pierre told me bits and pieces, but essentially, there are eight members of this prophecy. It speaks of a war between our people. An enemy only known as the Black Lotus is slated to collect all seven artifacts and bring about a new world order for magicians and ordinaires."
Prophecy? War? New world.
All the new information was making Makaela's head spin. She closed her eyes and gripped the armrests of her seat.
"Thorian became obsessed with the prophecy and deciphering it," Olivier continued. "Pierre...he tried to get him to drop it, to let fate take its course. Thorian had other plans."
"All he did was fulfill his role in the prophecy," Xander added. "He's the Black Lotus. He revived the Order, which had been defunct for centuries, and has been recruiting Shades to help carry out his quest to collect the artifacts."
Olivier nodded. "The purge of our people began with the attack on our first home. He battled your father for the ring."
Makaela kept her eyes closed. She didn't want to hear anymore.
"How do you have it then?" Remy asked.
"Pierre saw the attack coming," Olivier replied. "He thought he could reason with Thorian, perhaps get him to abandon his quest." Anger flashed across his face for a split second. "My brother was too kind. Too trusting. I never trusted Thorian, even before all of this. He should've snuffed out any threat he posed as soon as he saw what was happening. Thorian may be powerful, but if there was anyone who could defeat him, it was Pierre."
"Then how did he lose that night?" Makaela asked.
"Excuse me?"
"You said my father could beat him." She rose from her seat. "Then how did he lose? He should've won. He should've killed him. Then he would be here right now. None of this would be happening."
Her chest swelled with a poisonous mixture of rage and sadness. Her hands trembled as tears blurred her vision.
"He should've won," she repeated, her voice just above a whisper. "For us. For me."
"Makaela..." Xander gave her a pitiful look. She didn't need his pity. She needed her father and her mother.
But they were gone, and they weren't coming back. Thorian took them from her. He took everything from her. And for what? A stupid artifact. Her eyes settled on the ring in her uncle's hand.
She hated it.
"Why didn't you tell me any of this before? I deserved to know."
"I wanted to," Oliver said. "Believe me, I did. But..." He released a shuddering breath. His fingers raked through his wavy, brown hair. "Makaela, you're also a part of the prophecy. I thought if I kept the truth from you, it would at least delay the future. That I could protect you. But now I know I was just protecting myself."
She shook her head at him, bewildered. "I'm a part of the prophecy? Is this some kind of sick joke?"
"No, it's not, Makaela. Your destiny is intertwined with Thorian's. He's the Black Lotus and you're the Light."
She scoffed.
That prophecy was the reason why Thorian went after her parents. It was the reason why they, and nearly all of House Lumai, was dead. She wanted nothing to do with it—or that stupid ring either.
"Why don't we just destroy the stupid thing? That way no one can get it."
Xander huffed. "Good luck with that."
"Do you know how much vitalae are said to be in those things?" Remy added. "Destroying something like that would unleash enough energy to level an entire country. Imagine what destroying seven of those would do."
Blanching, she sat back down. "I wasn't being serious..." Not completely. Though, destroying would make their problems a lot easier.
Turning to her uncle, she recalled the subject of his conversation with Xander. "You said two more of our housemates died."
Olivier nodded solemnly. "Werewolf attack."
"I got their distress call about an hour or so ago," Xander said.
Remy sneered. "Redfangs?"
"It's likely," Xander conceded. "They're known to frequent the Eastern coast of North America."
Makaela frowned.
The Redfangs weren't like other werewolf clans. Most were civilized, to some extent, and acted on a strong sense of ethics and morals. They abided by the laws created by the Eldenarian Council, which were designed to keep all magical beings hidden from ordinaires, those without magic.
But the Redfangs didn't follow those laws. Neither did the Order of the Black Lotus. Perhaps that was why they worked so well together.
If her housemates had been attacked by them, they never even stood a chance.
She and her small group had been lucky to survive a Redfang attack during the early days of the purge. However, not all of them made it out. They lost Remy's mother that day.
"Can't we go to the rest of the Eldenarian Council for help? What about House Brynjir? House Aegeon?" Makaela groaned. "Someone has to be able to help."
"If they were going to, they would've by now," Olivier said. "We can't depend on the other houses. Besides, Thorian has controlled the council ever since your father died. Any attempt made to contact them will surely be intercepted by his forces."
"Can't we message them some other way?"
"Even if we were able to, no one will act on it. Thorian is smart. None of the attacks carried out by the Order of the Black Lotus can be traced back to him or House Tenebris. We don't have enough concrete evidence to implicate him."
Makaela glared at her shoelaces. She wished she could use them to strangle Thorian.
Makaela fell silent, glaring at her shoes.
"What do we do then? Surely he's on his way here then."
"Yes, we must assume so." Olivier rose from his desk. A sad look dimmed his bright eyes. "I was afraid for this day, but I suppose it had to come." He sighed. "We're leaving. Tonight."
Makaela's face shattered and fell to the ground in a thousand tiny pieces. Leaving? Had she heard him correctly? There was no way they could be leaving. This place was their home now.
She shook her head. They couldn't leave.
She was tired of running. The latter half of her childhood—or lack thereof—was spent in that chateau. Angry tears welled in her eyes. Wiping them away, she scowled at the floor. She wouldn't leave. She couldn't.
This was her home. They needed to fight for it.
Thorian was doing it again. For ten years he had been ripping away everything she loved. Her parents, her housemates, her connection to the rest of the magician community. It needed to end.
"Where are we going?" Remy asked, his voice small. He seemed distraught as well.
They both grew up there. They couldn't just abandon it.
"There's another safe house in Maine," Olivier answered. "We'll travel there, regroup, and assess the situation from there. If they've managed to track us, we'll have to keep moving until they lose our scent."
Great. More running.
Makaela slammed her hand onto Olivier's desk. Everyone jumped, their wide eyes trained on her. She didn't care. They needed to hear her. "This isn't fair."
Surprisingly, her uncle smiled. There was no happiness on his lips. No joy in his eyes. Only sorrow.
"Since when has anything been fair for us?"
"We've been hunted down like animals for years. Years! We can't keep doing this."
Xander stepped toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Your uncle is right, Makaela. If we want to survive, we must retreat."
She shrugged his hand off. "We can fight them." Rising from her chair again, she pointed at the Illumio now sitting on the desk. "If that thing is as powerful as you all say it is, we can use it to end this. Once and for all."
"My word, you are naive," Xander quipped.
She shot him a burning glare, her lips puckered into a pout.
"Enough, Makaela." Olivier sliced his hand through the air. "There is no fighting the Order. We can't beat Thorian. Trust me, I've seen people try. It's only ever ended with their deaths. And that was before he started hunting our people. If we stay here to fight him, we will die." His jaw tightened. "Leaving is is our only option."
"But— "
"No buts. We're done talking about this. We're leaving. Tonight."
Her words died in her throat. Rage coiled around her body like smoke from a fire. It squeezed her, urging her to scream and shout and cry. Her face trembled as her hands curled into fists at her side. With her bright eyes burning with contempt, she scowled at her uncle.
"Coward."
He lifted a brow at her before standing up slowly. "Excuse me?"
"You're a coward." She paused. "Just like my father."
Remy gasped. "Makaela!"
Xander stepped toward her, urging her to watch her tongue. She brushed past him and hurried towards the door. Before leaving, she faced Olivier. He watched her, his expression calm like a still pond. She couldn't gauge what he was thinking. At the moment, she didn't care.
"You're right," he told her. "I am a coward. But if that's what I need to be to keep us all alive, then so be it."
Scoffing, she left the room and slammed the door behind her.
❁
Makaela found herself sitting on the floor of her walk-in closet with her arms wrapped around her legs. Clothes hung from hangers above her, brushing the top of her head whenever she wiped the tears from her eyes.
She hated crying, but there was nothing else she could do to release the anger welling inside of her. Rain had started to pour from the sky outside, meaning she couldn't pummel the training dummies on the dueling platform.
She already tired herself out by screaming into her pillows. Sinking into her own sadness inside her closet was all she could do now.
From the ground, she glared at the charmed duffel bag sitting on her bag. It hadn't been used since the last time they moved. Soon, she would be stuffing her belongings into the bag before she and the others had to depart.
Her jaw tightened.
It wasn't fair. For years, they let Thorian and the Order of the Black Lotus dictate their lives. At this point, she wasn't even living. They were simply surviving. That was no way to live. She would rather die than be a coward. At least that she could see her parents again.
Thorian's ghoulish face broke through the memories like lightning slashing through storm clouds. Her blood boiled at the sight of him. His silver hair, shinier than platinum. His one black eye, darker than the blackest night. His razor-sharp, bird-like features. Everything about him disgusted her. The mere thought of him made her blood boil like a smoking brew in a potionmaster's cauldron.
He was the reason why her life was this way. He was the cause of all the pain in her heart.
The man was a puppeteer, pulling all the strings from his black throne.
She would end his life. She didn't know how, but she would do it. No one else. Her. It had to be. He had taken everything from her. One day she would take everything from him.
Grumbling curses, she got back to her feet and began ripping her clothes from their hangers, letting them fall into a pile at her feet. There weren't many, and most of them barely fit anymore. Her once thin frame had put on more muscle and curves were blossoming in areas that made her blush.
Olivier always said she looked like the spitting image of her mother.
All she had left of the woman was tainted memories.
She unzipped the bag and prepared to stuff her clothes inside. All the air vanished from her body upon seeing what was inside.
It was a book. The dark brown spine was faded and the tweed binding the pages was unraveling in various spots. Inside, the worn and weathered pages were one bad turn away from ripping. Liberis Lumia volume one. Zoran's book of light.
The spellbook once belonged to her father. It was the only tangible thing she had left from him. Well, that and the Illumio. But she wanted nothing to do with the ring. Nothing at all.
She carefully pulled the book out of her bag, examining it like it was a delicate piece of pottery. Smiling, she fell back onto her bed and flipped through the pages. Her father's handwriting adorned the margins. He had made notes on the various lightweaving techniques within, even including a few of his own wherever there was space.
Those pages were her favorites. Pierre Moreau might have been a legendary caster and one of the best leaders the Eldenarian Council ever saw, but he was a scholar at heart. Makaela recalled how her mother teased him about always having his nose in a book. Whenever she read his notes, it made her feel like a part of him was still with her. His memory lived and breathed through those messy scribbles, through his horrible artwork.
It was all she had left of the past.
She committed all of his spells and charms to memory. She found solace in using his teachings even after his departure from their world.
Sighing, she held the book to her chest and closed her eyes. She curled into a ball and cried silently.
She didn't want to pack. She didn't want to leave. She didn't want to do anything. All she wanted was to have a life where her parents were alive. Where her housemates weren't being maimed like stray dogs in the street.
But it appeared that wretched prophecy had other plans for her.
She tried comforting herself with pleasantmemories of the past, but there weren't many she could call on. As thunderedboom outside, with the occasional lightning strike arcing through the sky, shedrifted off. Within seconds, she was fast asleep with her father's spell bookclutched tightly in her arms.