The Birthright

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Title: Ashes of Inheritance
Part I: Blood Ties and Binding Spells


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The rain hadn’t stopped for three days when Elira Mournshade brought the child back to the old house on Hollowmoor Ridge. The stone manor, blackened with lichen and secrets, stood like a mausoleum above the village—grim and hungry. Elira liked it that way.

She cradled the babe tightly in one arm, her own daughter asleep against her chest in a woven sling. The two girls, born mere hours apart on the Blood Moon, lay quiet—one wrapped in white silk and the other in deep crimson. Opposites, yet mirrors.

“You’ll thank me for this someday,” Elira whispered as she stepped inside, shutting the door with a spell. The iron bolts sealed with a hiss, and the storm retreated to the background, like a sulking ghost.


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Twelve years later, the girls stood side by side in the circle of black salt.

Alexi—Elira’s niece—had grown into a fierce-eyed girl, her dark curls untamed, her magic wild and untrained. She smelled of bonfires and windstorms.

By contrast, Mara—Elira’s own daughter—was composed, blond hair always braided tight, her spells neat and blood-bound. Where Alexi danced with chaos, Mara followed rules. That, Elira had made sure of.

Elira rang the bronze bell three times, summoning the spirits of lineage. Tonight, the Blood Moon would rise again—and with it, the sealing of magical inheritance. One girl would receive the full birthright of their shared bloodline; the other would be left behind, stunted and ordinary.

The girls did not know this yet. Only Elira did.

And she intended for it to be Mara.


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Years ago, when Elira’s sister had died screaming during childbirth, Elira had buried her in the garden—beneath the witchthorn tree. It wasn’t grief that had torn her up for weeks, but rage. Her sister had been chosen. Not her.

The Bloodline of the Ninth Flame was supposed to awaken once every third generation. The last bearer—Sibelle, their grandmother—had passed without naming a successor. But everyone in the coven assumed it would go to Celestine, Elira’s sister.

And it had. Even in death, the power had passed into her daughter: Alexi.

A power Elira would see burned out and reshaped.


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In the quiet hour of dusk, Elira prepared the binding spell—a ritual older than the moon’s name. It required hair from both girls, a mirror bathed in shadow, and a secret spoken backward.

She would siphon the legacy magic from Alexi’s core and redirect it to Mara. Not all at once, no—too dangerous—but piece by piece, like stealing fire from a sleeping hearth.

It would begin tonight.


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Alexi felt it first as a tremor in her bones. She was sketching runes in the soot on her window, whispering to a crow perched just outside, when the ache hit. A hollowing sensation, like a gust of wind sweeping her insides clean.

She doubled over with a gasp.

From the other room, Mara blinked—startled—as a pulse of warmth filled her veins. She smiled faintly.


---

That night, Elira stood at the foot of Alexi’s bed, the shadow-mirror in one hand, her other hand shaking. This magic—this theft—it wasn’t elegant. It was desperate.

But power was everything. And she would not let it slip away from her line again.

As she whispered the final word, the mirror cracked. Alexi stirred.

Her eyes opened—amber, glowing faintly in the moonlight.

“You,” she breathed. “You’re taking it.”

Elira froze. Alexi shouldn’t have known—not yet.

But bloodline magic was awakening.

And it was watching.
********
EKLSR 
#AiHarvest #Witchy # fantasy #fiction
@TaciLynn @MonkeyMan8971 @Witch

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