Chapter Nineteen: The Blood Oath
The woods whispered ancient hymns as twilight deepened into night. Magdalena stood at the edge of the hidden glade, her robes damp with dew and clinging to her skin. Behind her, Lucien moved like a shadow incarnate, silent and composed, his eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight. This place—older than the abbey, older even than Rome—breathed power. It pulsed beneath her feet, vibrating through the air like a heartbeat.
"This is where it began," Lucien said softly, his voice wrapped in reverence and melancholy. "Where the first pact was forged in blood and flame."
"Between who?"
He stepped forward and drew a circle in the dirt with the tip of his boot. "A mortal and one of my kind. Before the fall, before the rebellion. She offered herself freely, not in fear, but in love. In understanding."
Magdalena looked down at the earth, where symbols began to shimmer in the moonlight—ancient glyphs written in no language she knew, yet she felt their meaning like a drumbeat in her ribs.
"Why bring me here?" she asked.
"Because the same choice is before you now. And I won't pretend it comes without cost."
She turned toward him, searching the lines of his face for deception. "You speak in riddles. I need truth."
Lucien's lips parted, and for once, there was no seduction in his gaze—only a rawness that chilled her more than any lie.
"Heaven will not let me go. Their wrath burns hotter than hellfire, and they will not stop until I am ash and you are silenced. Unless you bind yourself to me."
Her heart twisted. "Bind?"
"A blood oath. It will shield us both. You'll gain power the angels cannot strip. But it will change you. You'll see the truth behind the veil—the rot within the order, the lies in the scripture, and the divine war for what it really is."
Magdalena felt the pull again—that ancient tug in her core. A yearning for more than obedience, more than mere piety. A hunger for clarity, for freedom, for him.
She stepped into the circle.
Lucien drew a dagger from beneath his coat, its blade blackened as if forged from night. "If you wish to turn back, do so now. Once your blood mingles with mine, there is no return to the Church you once knew."
"I've already crossed the threshold. There's no going back."
He nodded solemnly. They both cut their palms, and as their blood met, the ground beneath them trembled. The glyphs blazed red, and a sudden wind whipped the trees into a frenzy.
Magdalena's breath caught as fire leapt from the earth, not burning, but illuminating—her skin, her bones, her soul. Visions poured into her mind: angels not of light but of blades, rituals of control masquerading as faith, and a woman in crimson robes casting down a burning sword.
Lucien held her as she shook, whispering in a tongue older than the moon.
When the fire died, they stood changed. His eyes were now deep pools of stormlight, and hers shimmered with golden sigils. They had become bound not only by blood, but by shared truth.
"What now?" she whispered, her voice hoarse with power.
"Now, we prepare for war."
A sound broke through the trees—a horn, low and distant, yet unmistakable. Not earthly. Not mortal.
Lucien's jaw tightened. "They know. They're coming."
Magdalena straightened her spine, feeling strength pulse through her like a new heartbeat. "Then let them come."
The glade darkened again, but this time, they stood not as prey—but as fire.