Chapter 8: Blood and Oaths
Ravelle awoke in a cold sweat, the final images of her vision still flickering behind her eyes. She lay in a nest of moon-pale sheets, the starlight through her window catching the sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her hands trembled. Not from fear. From fury.
The vision had shown her a battlefield soaked in blood hers and her lovers'. An eclipse devoured the sky. One by one, they fell. And in the end, she stood alone, shadowfire twisting around her arms, consuming her sigil, her voice, her very soul.
She rose slowly, dressing in a midnight-blue cloak that shimmered faintly. Her bare feet padded silently across the stone floor as she left her room and made her way to the Hall of Vows, a forgotten chamber buried deep beneath the Moonspire.
The others were already waiting.
Titan stood like a monolith, arms folded, watching the door. Marcus leaned against a column, flipping a coin that never seemed to land. Lysander sat in a meditative pose at the altar's base, eyes closed, breathing slow. Kaela sat cross-legged on the steps, sharpening a blade that seemed too ancient for mortal hands. Azrael leaned against the far wall, half-consumed in shadows, watching her with eyes that never missed anything.
The air was thick with unspoken truths.
Ravelle stepped into the circle and spoke. "The Dominion isn't the only threat. Something deeper is stirring beneath the world. A prophecy is moving and we're all bound to it."
Titan's jaw tightened. "You saw it again."
She nodded. "All of you dead. Me alone. A sky torn in half."
"Then we stop it," Marcus said. "Visions can lie."
"No," Lysander corrected, opening his eyes. "Visions show possible futures. They lie only when we do nothing."
Kaela set her blade down. "Then let's stop sitting and start doing."
Ravelle stepped to the center of the altar, laying her palm on the obsidian stone. Light rippled outward, revealing an ancient sigil buried deep in the rock: the Sovereign's Mark.
"We bind ourselves here," she said. "Not to fate. Not to prophecy. To each other."
Azrael finally spoke. "And if the cost is blood?"
Ravelle met his eyes. "Then let it be shared."
One by one, they came forward.
Titan knelt first, placing his hand over hers. "I pledge my strength. My command. My heart."
Lysander followed. "I pledge my wisdom. My magic. My breath."
Marcus grinned and pressed his hand next. "I pledge my chaos. My blade. My damnation."
Kaela placed her hand last. "I pledge my vengeance. My fury. My fire."
They all looked to Azrael.
He stepped forward slowly. "I pledge… my past. My darkness. My redemption."
When he touched the stone, the sigil flared to life, burning with silver and black light. The chamber shook. Old wards snapped awake. From the altar, a second symbol emerged a circle within a crescent within a star. The true sigil of the Moon Queen.
Ravelle pressed her other hand to it. "And I pledge everything."
The lights surged, engulfing them. For a moment, the world fell away and they were bound.
Not by fate.
By choice.
Later, they returned to the upper chambers. The Spire pulsed with energy, old relics waking in response to the vow. Armored statues whispered in the dark. The library opened sections sealed for centuries.
In the war room, maps were unrolled. Reports arrived. Shadow activity was rising in the west. Dominion scouts had crossed the Wyrmscar Pass. A second assassin had been captured on the southern ridge wearing a sigil none of them recognized.
"Who are they?" Titan asked.
"Not Dominion," Kaela muttered. "Not ours either."
Lysander frowned. "They wore a constellation we've never seen."
Ravelle stared at the map. "It's not just our world waking. The Others are stirring."
Azrael looked at her sharply. "You think the Mirror Realms are involved?"
She nodded slowly. "I think this isn't just about me. It's about what I'm becoming."
That night, she dreamed again.
But this time, she wasn't alone.
The field of bodies still stretched around her. But standing beside her was a figure clad in silver flame. Its face was hers. But wrong.
Eyes too dark. A smile too cold.
"Hello, sister," the mirror-Ravelle whispered.
"I'm not your sister."
"Oh, but you are. I am your ending. And your beginning."
She reached out a hand. Ravelle flinched but the mirror-self grabbed her wrist.
A burning pain seared through her.
A new constellation branded itself on her arm.
When she woke, the mark was still there.
The shape was foreign.
And it glowed with both light… and shadow.
The others saw it the moment she emerged from her chambers.
Lysander gasped. "That sigil… it's not from this world."
Titan took a defensive stance. "Is it a curse?"
"No," Azrael murmured, eyes narrowing. "It's an invitation."
Kaela tilted her head. "To where?"
Marcus stepped closer, eyes scanning the shifting symbol. "To whoever sent that mirror version of you. They're calling you."
"To what end?" Ravelle asked.
Nobody answered.
That night, a raven crashed through the Spire's highest window, dead on arrival. Clutched in its claw was a sigil burned into bone. It read:
"The Eclipse Queen comes."
And beneath that, in ancient blood-rune:
"Prepare the Gate."