Chapter 1439: Fenris: The Pivot of the Ancient Prophecy

The last declaration cut through the room.

One woman inhaled sharply beneath her veil while another straightened so quickly that the pearls at her throat trembled.

The High Sorceress placed one gloved palm firmly upon the Ancient Grimoire and leaned forward:

"Have none of you ever wondered why this is the only divination resides within a tome otherwise entirely for only sorcery and spells? Thousands upon thousands of spells, yet buried amongst them lies a prophecy— One prophecy, preserved where no prophecy had any reason to be!"

Her voice softened, somehow becoming more severe for it. "Only one."

A woman seated toward the far end of the marble table answered carefully. "You believe it concerns her reincarnation."

"I do not believe it, Lady Margaret. I am telling you what has been written before us for generations."

Lady Margaret’s silver veil shifted as she bowed her head. "Of course, High Sorceress."

The older woman’s fingers passed once over the Grimoire’s cover: "We can all already feel the World Essence. There is scarcely purpose in pretending otherwise amongst ourselves. Something changed last night, and whatever occurred possessed enough might that even the old seals of and beneath castle answered to it. Wards laid before our grandmothers’ grandmothers were born stirred without summons. Sealed chambers opened. The white hearths awakened. The castle awakened to something."

That final sentence left the gathering quieter than before.

A noblewoman dressed in rich wine-red silk leaned forward, her pale veil softening the darkness of the gown: "And the Isle? What is it exactly?"

The High Sorceress turned toward her: "Hell’s Paradise Island."

A rustle swept around the table like wind through silk.

Clara’s eyes widened.

Beside her, Evelyn turned so quickly their bonnets nearly collided, and only Clara’s hand tightening around hers prevented the movement from becoming noisy enough to betray them.

Inside, another woman repeated the name in disbelief. "Hell’s Paradise?"

"Indeed."

"But the text names a ’distant, unreachable Isle, a realm devoid of bounds and held only beneath its Three Ancient Beings’."

"Which is precisely why generations of witches searched beyond Earth," the High Sorceress replied. "They believed the words could describe only another Realm because no island upon this world appeared worthy of such fitting and we Neve thought it was always close to us— the Three Ancient Beings are, namely; the lake, forest and the circling river."

A woman near the center of the gathering lowered her voice. "Then the World Essence—"

"We all believe it came from there."

"You cannot know that with certainty."

The High Sorceress slowly turned her veiled face toward the speaker.

Lady Beatrice, who had challenged her, visibly reconsidered the wisdom of continuing before the High Sorceress even answered:

"Lady Beatrice, if you possess knowledge of another island upon this Earth presently with an endless forest, endless lake and circling river and also surviving such much World Essence so much and let it circulate the world’s currents in such abundance that WitchBourne Castle itself awakens in answer— I should be delighted to hear its name."

Lady Beatrice remained very still. "I do not."

"Quite." The High Sorceress returned her attention to the table. "And the island is only our first correspondence. There is another matter which makes coincidence considerably more difficult to defend."

The women waited: "The Price Family."

The name altered the gathering instantly. Clara felt Evelyn’s fingers tighten around hers once more, and this time she returned the pressure without thinking.

The High Sorceress continued. "At this very hour, arrangements remain underway for an upcoming nuptial between WitchBourne House and the Price Legacy Family."

One woman spoke so quietly the name almost vanished beneath the room’s stillness. "Eleanor."

Clara’s stomach tightened.

Another woman breathed, "Good God."

The High Sorceress inclined her head once. "Eleanor WitchBourne."

A murmur travelled through the veiled gathering.

"And the Prices," she continued, allowing every word to settle before the next, "are the direct bloodline of Fenris, the Wolf of Beginning!"

This time there was no murmur.

Silence entered the chamber so suddenly that Clara could hear the faint pulse inside her own ears. The High Sorceress waited until that silence had grown unbearable before asking:

"Shall we continue calling this coincidence?"

One by one, veiled heads moved.

Clara felt something cold settle beneath her ribs.

Evelyn leaned closer until her whisper barely existed. "Fenris. The Wolf of Beginning."

Clara gave the smallest possible nod.

Inside the hall, another noblewoman spoke. "If Eleanor is the reincarnation of the First Witch, then the words concerning the altar—"

The High Sorceress recited them without touching the Grimoire. "’—whilst SHE sitteth upon the altar beneath the gripping paws of Fenris, the Wolf of Beginning.’"

"And the marriage would place her willingly within the Price House— a mutual arranged marriage between the two families alliance for material gains of the WitchBourne family; ’Willingly and unknowing, she shall yield up her Soul unto the material plane!’ it said."

"Precisely."

"Willingly and yet unknowing giving herself away with the sacred ritual."

"Precisely."

A woman dressed in pale-blue lace lifted one hand with careful grace. "Then we must still account for everything preceding it before we allow fear to make our conclusion for us: Genesis. The End. Corruption. Void. Nothingness. The Calamity Lotus. The Cosmic. The dragonic wings. We have identified words that fit our present circumstances, High Sorceress, but fitting fragments are not the same as understanding the whole prophecy— who is the Being being mentioned as her First companion— a dragon, that much we know but whom? whilst her first and only companion attendeth the very rites that seal her doom, himself oblivious to her plight and the crouching demise of her Soul!’ which means he’s going to be there!"

The High Sorceress did not rebuke her.

Another woman seated midway along the table answered instead: "I have heard whispers."

Every veil turned toward her.

She folded her gloved hands neatly over one another. "Not fashionable gossip, nor the nonsense passed between younger heirs whenever Legacy Families quarrel. These I heard through the OTHERS who entertain the affairs of the Legacies. Certain races have been speaking carefully of a Young Dragon presently making life exceedingly unpleasant for two particular Legacy Families."

Someone asked, "Which two?"

"The World Swallowing Serpent and the Angels."

The chamber seemed to contract.

Clara’s attention sharpened despite understanding very little of what those names truly meant.

The woman continued. "It is said the Angel Progenitor’s reincarnation has long stood amongst this Young Dragon’s fiercest enemies, and that whatever exists between them has grown personal enough that neither side bothers disguising the hostility."

A chair shifted sharply against marble.

Another noblewoman leaned forward. "The prophecy says; ’The World shall rejoice as an Angel Progenitor marketh the awakening of Genesis Angel and meeteth their ultimate demise’."

"Just so."

"Demise needn’t mean bodily death," an older voice observed from beneath an ivory veil. "Ancient divinations are rarely kind enough to use such simple language. A demise may be the destruction anything that makes one or a thing what they are, power, their Fate, destiny, name or even the path by which an existence was meant to return."

The High Sorceress turned slightly toward her.

Clara found that possibility strangely chilling without understanding why.

The woman who had spoken of the Young Dragon continued. "If last night’s disturbance occurred during such a conflict ’demise’, then the Angel and Genesis may already have revealed themselves within the same event. More importantly, the Dragon in question is said to be anything but an ordinary dragon descendant."

"What is he?"

A slight hesitation followed, as though the answer itself deserved caution.

Then the woman said: "Cosmic, I heard!"

The gathering erupted.

"Cosmic?"

"Surely not!"

"Upon Earth?!"

"That bloodline still survives?!"

"I was told only one existed"

"So was I!"

The High Sorceress lifted one hand.

The chamber obeyed almost immediately, the whispers dying beneath the motion.

A noblewoman leaned forward before the silence had entirely settled, excitement sharpening the refined restraint of her voice. "Then perhaps the Cosmic shall turn Genesis does not speak of separate existences at all."

The High Sorceress looked toward her.

"The Cosmic is the Dragon," the woman continued. "Genesis is something he becomes."

Several veiled faces turned toward one another.

Another voice followed. "Then the wings—"

"His."

"Corruption and the End?"

"Perhaps his as well?"

"And Beginning."

"Genesis."