Chapter 3 - The White Witch is Summoned

Moments later,

In the Duskbane Manor,

Rina's POV

I was now inside the Duskbane Estate; but it was not a home, it was a cold fortress.

The place was carved from ancient poisonous pride. This Gothic monstrosity sat on obsidian rock. It was all white stone and sharp purple spires. It did not feel built, it felt manifested by malice. The purple lances clawed upward like menacing spears.

Inside, the Grand Hall was a cavern of cold shadow. Theatrical fire burned low. Black marble, polished to an impossible sheen, spread beneath my bare feet. Every detail radiated aggressive,l suffocating wealth. The coiling viper door handles, and heavy black crystal chandeliers felt like a gilded cage designed for a monster.

Now, I was wrapped in Lumira’s heavy black silk robes. The fabric felt cool against my skin. Seraphina, my plumpy eternally worried shadow, sat beside me. She clung to my hand like a lifeline.

Across the hall, Matriarch Evelyn Duskbane sat rigid. She was encased in perpetual mourning. Her silence was a heavier weight than the chandeliers. Mr. Finch, the family retainer, stood near the doors. He clutched a parchment scroll like a weapon.

My mind raced; I was the catastrophic deviation. Lumira was supposed to be a forgotten casualty, but my soul was trapped in her corpse.

I am a corruption... They would kill me for this lie.

The thick nervous hush broke, as Healer Corvin arrived. He was old, but trusted and deadly professional. His pristine white coat was luminous against the gloom. He carried no bag, only a cane tipped with a crystal. The crystal pulsed faintly with a pale steady blue light.

He did not greet me. He moved directly to me, and knelt without preamble.

“Sit perfectly still, young mistress. We need to measure the residual signature,” he murmured.

His hands, cool and steady, hovered above my chest. A soft icy blue glow transferred from his palms to me. Light threads sank beneath my skin. It was a violation. They searched my very veins. My mind screamed, as I fought against being seen. I fought against being known.

Corvin’s brow furrowed. He lowered his hands. The glow receded, replaced by clinical horror.

“Her energy reserves are beyond depleted,” he declared. His voice cut through the hall to the Matriarch.

“The mana channels - the core pathways - have been systematically drained. I detect residues of a desperate and catastrophic internal collapse. Her body’s magic circuits initiated deep metabolic hibernation. That is why she appeared dead.”

“She is critically fragile.” He adjusted his grip on the cane. “The remaining threads of mana are thin as spider silk. Her channels are raw and severely damaged. She must not, under any circumstances, attempt to channel or draw on any magic for at least seventy-two hours. Any strain will cause a catastrophic channel collapse and kill her instantly.”

Kill me instantly?

The diagnosis was a lead weight. It crushed my chest. Seraphina, seated beside me, patted my shoulder instantly. My hands felt useless. The hands I needed to wield power and change the story were glass. I was a figurine, one tremor away from shattering.

“Do you comprehend this warning?” Corvin turned to me. "No magic. Not a spark, nor a thought. Do you fully understand?”

I could only nod. Mute terror swallowed my voice.

“I prescribe absolute rest, perfect silence, and emotional security," he concluded.

"The magical core is hanging by a single fraying thread. That is the best I can advise.”

He then stroded away. His cold words echoed in the vast hall.

The tension broke, as Mr. Finch stepped forward. His voice was thin and shaky.

“Young mistress, an emissary from the Council arrived moments ago. They were relentless. They demanded to see you immediately.”

My stomach plummeted upon hearing this.

The Council?

They did not send messengers for condolences. They sent them to twist the knife. I'm sure they suspect my resurrection was tainted.

Suddenly, the massive Grand Doors groaned. They parted inward, because an unseen malignant force had opened them. An aggressive draft of frigid night air swept through the hall.

Tall and unnaturally straight, the Emissary stood there. They were draped entirely in robes of matte black wool. The figure was a palpable, physical force. A deep hood concealed their entire head. It revealed only a void of restless shadow. Deep within this void, two points of cold, silver glimmer burned. They were pinpricks of indifferent judgment.

“Lumira Duskbane.” The voice was a discordant layered chorus.

It was soft, yet it echoed in every stone of the immense hall.

“So… the Daughter of Duskbane has returned to the land of the living?”

I stiffened as the silver gaze pinned me. It must be dissecting my soul’s essence.

“Honored Emissary,” Lady Evelyn stepped forward. Her dignity was a fragile shield. “My granddaughter has endured a terrible ordeal. Her body is critically frail. This is not the time…”

The emissary raised one pale hand. It silenced the Matriarch.

“Life and death are but thresholds, Lady Evelyn. The Council does not wait upon either.”

The figure drifted forward. It stopped directly before me, tilting it's shadowed hood.

“You should not be here,” the emissary murmured, the chorus had now dropped to a disturbing intimate harmony. “The energies surrounding your resurrection are deeply discordant. They are messy... and fundamentally wrong. Tell me, child of Duskbane… what are you?”

I’m going to die! That was my only answer... so I forced out the only safe lie I knew.

“I… I don’t know.”

“She is my blood!” Lady Evelyn Duskbane interrupted, placing herself between the danger and me. “Whatever questions you bring, they can wait until she has recovered!”

“They cannot wait.” The emissary’s words cut like glass.

The figure withdrew a scroll from within the robes. It was a black ancient parchment - the Proof of Summon. It immediately began to glow with runes of purple fire.

“Lumira Duskbane, you are called to stand before the High Council. You must present yourself to the Rituals of Confirmation to prove that your return is of true life and not a parasitic possession, or worse, a corruption by the Void.”

As the runes flared, a sharp magical tug pulled violently deep inside my chest. It was where my mana core should have been. I gasped, clutching desperately at my robe. Sparks of blinding purple and painful gold flashed across my vision. The internal collapse had begun.

“Stop! You’re hurting her!” Seraphina screamed, as she pulled my arm.

“If she is what she claims, this minimal probing will not harm her.” The emissary tilted their head. "It merely verifies her connection to her magical core. If not…”

The threat was left chillingly unfinished. That instant, Lady Evelyn’s voice rang out. It was like pure steel against the shadow.

“Enough! I invoke the Duskbane Right of Sanctuary! She will answer your summons, but I will not permit her to be destroyed on my floor! Not tonight!”

The emissary was still, before the glow of the scroll dimmed, and soon the excruciating pull in my chest faded.

“Very well. Your appeal is noted. The Council accepts the delay. At the time of six bells tomorrow morning, she will present herself at the Grand Spire of Aethelred for the Confirmation. If she fails the test, the Council will decide her fate immediately. If she attempts to flee, the Duskbane line is forfeited entirely.”

The figure turned, gliding back toward the doors. The massive doors opened and sealed shut with a cold definitive thud.

I sat hunched and violently trembling. The emptiness where my mana core should have been felt cold, vast, and terrifyingly immense.

I was not the creature of power the Council demanded. I was a girl trapped in a noble’s cursed corpse. Now I was ordered to undergo an ancient fatal magical lie detector test.

Tomorrow, at 6 AM, I had to prove I was real... Or be destroyed for the crime of returning from the grave.