The Out Come. !!

-



---

PART III: THE RISING

Chapter Nine: Return of the Marked

They emerged from the Root beneath the sacred moon, their skin aglow with the glyphs of trial: gold, silver, and green.

The land around them sighed with recognition.

Rowan felt the shift first—magic moved through her not like a tool, but a rhythm. The air obeyed not commands, but harmony.

Thistle lifted her hands and water from the river danced in spirals. Lira coaxed fire from moss without striking a spark. Maren touched dead soil and flowers erupted in bloom.

They had not returned as rebels.

They had returned as emissaries of the Earth itself.

When they entered the village again, heads turned. The silence was different now—not fear, but awe.

“The Council must listen now,” Rowan said. “We no longer ask for permission.”

They walked together toward the Tower.


---

Chapter Ten: The Fractured Throne

Inside the Tower, the Council stirred.

Elder Morae stood tall, though lines of age had deepened. “You return from judgment. We did not expect your survival.”

“You did not expect the Earth to disagree with you,” Rowan replied, calm but unyielding.

Another elder spoke. “This law was created to protect. Love between witches and mortal men always ends in imbalance.”

“Then your balance is flawed,” said Maren. “The Root showed us. What you call chaos is just nature unshaped.”

Thistle stepped forward, glyphs glowing. “You bound nature to fear. We bring her back to freedom.”

A tremor shook the Tower.

Vines crept up its walls. Water spilled through stone. Flame curled through the ceiling like a halo.

The magic was not cast—it was summoned. The Earth had come to witness.

The Council’s thrones cracked.

And the witches waited.


---

Chapter Eleven: The Circle Reclaimed

The oldest of the elders—Herae, who had once been a lover of a mortal man—stood from her broken seat.

“I remember now,” she said, voice like soft ash. “What it meant to choose. To love not in spite of magic, but with it.”

She walked toward Rowan. “You’ve done what we feared to do. You listened.”

One by one, the other elders stood—not defeated, but humbled.

“This Circle has lost its shape,” Morae admitted. “It must include more voices now.”

Rowan looked around at her sisters. “Then let the Circle expand.”

By sunrise, the Council was no longer a council—but a convocation.

The first act of the new Circle: to lift the ban, and restore the ancient law of Choice.

Balance was not something to preserve by silence. It was something to tend, like a garden that must sometimes be wild.


---

Chapter Twelve: New Moon Rising

That night, beneath a new moon, the witches gathered in the grove once more.

Rowan stood with Ash, hands entwined.

A sacred fire burned in the center, casting light on new faces: young witches, old men, curious children. All drawn by change.

Lira played a song on a bone flute. Maren offered herbs to the wind. Thistle danced in the river with laughter that carried into the stars.

And Rowan? She looked to the sky, feeling both heavy and light.

“Do you regret it?” Ash asked.

“Only that we waited so long,” she said. “But now the world turns toward truth again.”

Above them, the moon pulsed gently—no longer angry, but curious.

The land had chosen balance.

Not the kind written in law.

But the kind that grows, dies, and grows again.
**************%
EKLSR 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Magick Moments

-
Image
mysticalwiles.blogspot.com --- "The Black Candle" The Black Candle burned low, its flame flickering violet and blue like a bruise on the air. It sat upon a pedestal of bone in the heart of the Hollow Chapel, untouched by time or wind, guarded only by silence and the whispers of the dead. And now, it had chosen her. They found her in the Ashen Wood, barefoot, bloodless, and barely breathing. No name, no past—just eyes the color of smoke and a silence that chilled even the crows. The Sisters of the Hollow took her in, out of duty more than mercy. After all, tradition demanded they care for the one marked by the Candle. She was given the name Elira, though she did not ask for it. The other witches avoided her. Animals stared too long. Shadows bent strangely when she passed. And then came the dreams—fragments of fire, screaming voices, the tearing of wings. In the dream’s center stood the Black Candle, always lit, always watching. One evening, as the moon drowned itse...
Read more

Here’s Part 1 of your three-part novella. I’ll set it up with vivid description, dramatic tension, and sensory details (visual and auditory) to immerse the reader in Ashira’s struggle.---The Crown of ShadowsPart I – The Betrayal of AldorethThe wind howled across the cliffs of Aldoreth, carrying with it the brine of the Hytqus Ocean and the whisper of ancient magic. Beneath the endless sweep of stars, the kingdom’s capital—spires and towers of black stone—rose like the bones of some long-dead giant. Ravens circled in the night sky, their cries sharp and foreboding, as though heralding the storm that had come to claim the throne.Ashira stood upon the precipice, the storm-woven cape at her shoulders billowing like a living thing. Sparks of violet fire licked around her armored frame, the remnants of the spell she had cast to reach the battlefield in time. The weight of her sword, an heirloom of her bloodline, vibrated faintly in her hand as though it, too, thirsted for justice.Somewhere beyond the valley, deep within the walls of Aldoreth’s palace, her half-sister Selene sat upon the throne. In her hands rested the Crown of Dabora—forged in the elder days by sorcerers who communed with gods. The crown was no mere ornament. It pulsed with a power that shifted the will of men, bent armies to kneel, and unraveled the heart’s most sacred oaths.Ashira clenched her jaw at the thought. She could still see his face—Kaelen, her beloved—eyes gone cold, voice turned cruel, as though she were a stranger. Selene’s spell had twisted his love into devotion for her. That betrayal burned hotter than any sword wound.---Scene 1 – The Palace at DuskThe bells of the citadel tolled at dusk, their metallic clang echoing across stone streets. Shadows bled from the corners of the city as Selene ascended the throne room dais, her figure draped in crimson silk. Atop her brow, the Crown of Dabora shimmered with an unnatural brilliance, like firelight trapped in jewels that refused to die.“Let them come,” Selene murmured, her voice resonating like two voices layered as one. The guards—eyes glazed with magical thrall—slammed spear butts upon the marble in unison. The sound reverberated like a heartbeat of war.---Scene 2 – The EncampmentAshira’s loyalists gathered on the mist-slick fields beyond the city walls. Torches sputtered, casting wavering light upon banners marked with the sigil of Aldoreth’s true line—a raven in flight, wings outstretched against a crescent moon. The soldiers’ voices were hushed, their whispers carrying unease.Ashira moved among them, the scrape of her armor and the low hum of her magic leaving trails of sound in the dark. She paused by the fire, her hair catching its orange glow. “Tonight, we take back not only a kingdom,” she said, her voice rising above the wind, “but the souls bound in chains of deceit.”The soldiers responded with the rhythmic clash of steel on shield—clang, clang, clang—a defiant chorus that rolled into the night.---Scene 3 – The DreamSleep eluded Ashira, but when it came, it came heavy. In dream, she stood within the palace throne room—Kaelen before her, his eyes glassy and void. He reached for her, lips parting to whisper her name, only for Selene to step between them.“You cannot break the crown’s will,” Selene hissed, her voice like serpent-song. The sound of it coiled in Ashira’s skull, leaving a bitter echo.Kaelen’s voice followed, broken and hollow: “I do not love you, Ashira. I never did.”She woke with a gasp, sweat cold upon her skin. Her sword at her side glowed faintly, as though it too had dreamed the same nightmare.---Ending of Part 1The night waned into violet dawn. Mist clung to the hills, and the city of Aldoreth loomed before her like a fortress of shadow. Ashira tightened her grip upon her blade. The war for crown, kingdom, and love would begin before the sun reached its height.“Selene,” she whispered to the winds.And the winds whispered back, carrying the sound like a dirge: Selene.The ravens screamed overhead, wings black against the newborn light.---👉 Would you like me to keep Part 2 focused on Ashira’s battle to breach the city and confront Selene, or shift into Kaelen’s perspective under Selene’s enchantment, showing the spell’s effects from within?

-
Image
Here’s Part 1 ; ALDORETH UNBOUND  --- The Crown of Shadows Part I – The Betrayal of Aldoreth The wind howled across the cliffs of Aldoreth, carrying with it the brine of the Hytqus Ocean and the whisper of ancient magic. Beneath the endless sweep of stars, the kingdom’s capital—spires and towers of black stone—rose like the bones of some long-dead giant. Ravens circled in the night sky, their cries sharp and foreboding, as though heralding the storm that had come to claim the throne. Ashira stood upon the precipice, the storm-woven cape at her shoulders billowing like a living thing. Sparks of violet fire licked around her armored frame, the remnants of the spell she had cast to reach the battlefield in time. The weight of her sword, an heirloom of her bloodline, vibrated faintly in her hand as though it, too, thirsted for justice. Somewhere beyond the valley, deep within the walls of Aldoreth’s palace, her half-sister Sel...
Read more

SISTER'S BETRAYAL pt 3

-
Image
--- Sister’s Betrayal – Part 3: Ashes in the Garden By Ernest Leonard Sr. The scent of burning sage hung heavy in the garden, though it did little to cleanse the air of its tension. Cracks splintered the sacred circle, the same one where the sisters once danced barefoot under the moonlight, whispering old chants and secrets. Now, the soil bore the scorch of broken oaths. Liora stood still in the center of the ruin, her hands trembling. Her cloak clung to her, damp with sweat and smoke. The High Priestess stared at her with the cold stillness of judgment, her silver circlet catching the firelight. “I never meant for Elowen to be hurt,” Liora whispered, her voice barely rising above the wind. The Priestess’s face hardened. “You invoked blood magic,” she said, her tone sharp as obsidian. “Jealousy is not an excuse, child. You let it poison the rite. You severed the balance.” Behind them, under the sheltering limbs of the old Rowan tree, Elowen lay still. Her aura, once radiant, was now ba...
Read more