Rowena Ravenclaw nodded. "Precisely—King Arthur himself!"
Erwin frowned. "That can't be right. From what I've read, all of Arthur's descendants perished in that cataclysm. There shouldn't be any bloodline left."
Ravenclaw shook her head. "That's Muggle history, Erwin. You must grasp one key truth: Arthur and Merlin were inseparable allies. Merlin's guidance forged half of Arthur's legacy. Without him, Camelot might never have risen."
"But it still doesn't add up," Erwin pressed. "If this stems from Pendragon royalty, why the bloodlust? Arthur wasn't a butcher. Even his father, Uther Pendragon, was merciless only to wizards—he doted on his people. And my mother... she was gentle as a lamb. Nothing like this rage in me."
Ravenclaw sighed, her expression grave. "It traces back to an ancient legend. Do you know of Morgana?"
Erwin nodded. "Aye—the elder Pendragon princess, Arthur's half-sister. The most cunning and merciless woman in their line. A dark witch of unparalleled power, even Merlin barely survived her."
"Correct," Ravenclaw affirmed. "Ancient Magic is arcane, forged in pacts with otherworldly forces for immense power. But it demands a price: sacrifices that twist the soul. Morgana's talent for the Dark Arts was prodigious, yet as a Pendragon, formal magic eluded her. Desperate, she bargained for the full forbidden legacy—and offered her soul as tribute. The corruption seeped in, blackening her essence and blood. The gods' taint spread like poison, afflicting every Pendragon heir who followed."
Erwin's brow furrowed deeper. "Then why was my mother spared?"
"Your bloodline's purity," Ravenclaw explained. "It's unprecedented—your Dragon Speaker lineage from Merlin, fused with the Pendragon strain. You've regressed to the ancestors' potency, the strongest since their time. No dilution, no mercy from the curse. Worse, it's the clash between them fueling this. They tolerate each other in you, an uneasy truce, yet Merlin's light wars eternally with Morgana's shadow. You're the battlefield."
She paused, eyes piercing. "To be frank, I can't fathom how they coexist at all. The potions you've taken—Wit-Sharpening draughts—merely hone your focus and curb base urges. They touch nothing deeper. Your blood grows stronger with maturity, and sheer will alone won't hold it back forever."
Erwin fell silent, absorbing the weight of it. His heritage, a powder keg of rival legacies. Enemies wed, birthing him as the unintended fuse. No wonder his control frayed. Still, bitterness toward his parents was absurd—they couldn't have foreseen this tangle.
"And if I fail to suppress it, Founder?" he asked quietly.
Ravenclaw's gaze hardened. "No 'ifs,' Erwin. You must. Your power surges unchecked; I've seen your trajectory. Unbridled, you'd become a specter of slaughter. All around you would fall. When your blood fully awakens, backlash will strike. Resolve it then, and you're safe. Fail, and even Dumbledore might not contain the storm."
Erwin nodded, the gravity sinking in. Others' fates mattered little; his own cage of fury did.
"How do I fix this?" he demanded.
Ravenclaw considered. "I'm no oracle, but possibilities exist. One: sever a lineage. An ally from the Noble Houses could siphon your Dragon Speaker blood, like they did for that girl. But your purity... extraction might kill you outright."
Erwin dismissed it instantly. Death for a gamble? Unthinkable.
"Another path," she continued, "is dominance: master one bloodline to leash the other. A fully awakened Dragon Speaker strain could overpower the Pendragon curse. It won't erase the thirst entirely, but it'd chain it."
Erwin inclined his head. Reliable, at least—the foe was known.
"Could the Dragon Speaker blood suppress the Pendragon side directly?" he probed.
Caution defined him. The Theresas lurked in shadows; he might never root them out. Contingencies mattered.
Ravenclaw nodded. "Feasible, with the right artifact: the Sword in the Stone. It could bind your Pendragon fury—its legend holds such sway."
Erwin leaned forward, mind racing. A relic of kings, now his potential salvation. But relics drew danger, and his blood already simmered. Time pressed; the clash within him echoed louder each day. He had to act—before the war inside spilled outward.
...
Power Stones:[100]/100
5 Star Reviews: [6]/10
WANT 15 BONUS CHAPTERS?
Finish this milestone and they are yours! Hit the Power Stones and Reviews now to trigger the next big drop.
— MrGrim