Romans & histoires Two Time Dagger Forsaken

I approached the pedestal, heart racing, while Damien stood a few paces behind me, his expression unreadable. I hesitated, then reached out and opened the tome. The pages were filled with intricate symbols, archaic text, and sketches of creatures that defied explanation. As I skimmed the pages, I began to piece together a narrative of balance and chaos—a tale of an order that had sought to harness the raw forces of creation and destruction. The text spoke of a “Chosen Vessel,” a being who would carry the mark of the Forsaken and become a conduit for ancient power. It described a ritual of transformation, a dangerous process that could either elevate a mortal to near-divine status or condemn

Given that forsaken are made of the chthonic essence of masters of Oribus, this was an easy fight for Thersar, Nexelex and warriors. That’s it. I had my fair share of fun in battering Denexus. Given that I don’t want to mar my palate with Denexus’ blood, I have pulled out Kris chthonic daggers and cut both of his hands in a quick motion. He fell to his knees, snarling and groaning. In yet another brisk move, I stuck both daggers in his chest. And the essence of Denexus was sucked in my kris daggers.

Talon looks over to me, waiting for an answer. "He was one of the first descendents of Samual redwood, and his mistress." I whisper. "Samual Redwood did not have a mistress!" Luke yelled in surprise. "The moon blessed Samual with the gift of the wolf because he loved her." Freya growls loudly, the growl echoing through out the room. Freya fights to the surface, making me drop to the floor fighting to keep her back. Talon stands up and backs away, knowing whats going to happen. Before I can take another breath, Freya breaks to the surface. I feel my bones crack and snap as Freya takes control, knocking over the table with her enourmouse size.

I hadn't even gotten to call them Dad and Mom yet. I did see my foster parents again, however, when I was sixteen and I was tasked with killing my first targets. They were my first.

He was about to strike and through our bond I could feel just how afraid he was, because the forsaken was lowering his hand to claw at Tristan’s neck. “Mommy!” his painful scream tore at my heart and froze me, everything moving in slow motion from there on. The once blue red-ish sky that was signifying the start of a new day suddenly turned dark. There was thunder and lightning all over the sky and the ground beneath us shook. I could feel and taste the power that was all around us. A streak of light appeared behind the forsaken just before his head was torn clean from his shoulders, revealing a woman with obsidian eyes who immediately turned her back to us as she surveyed the creatures.

Before I could say anything, movement flickered at the edge of my vision. Then, the shadows came alive. Figures emerged from the darkness—cloaked, their eyes burning with unnatural light. The Forsaken. One stepped forward, his voice echoing through the chamber. “The Moonborn has come at last.” I braced myself, standing tall. “I came for answers.” The Forsaken warrior smirked. “Then prove you are worthy to hear them.” I barely had time to react before he attacked. The battle had begun.

“They’re looking for you, but no one has thought to check Wolveshedge yet. They don’t think you’d stay with the humans. If you keep your head low, they won’t find you here.” I nod again, grateful for him going to such lengths to help me and for not asking a single thing in return, not questioning me for more details or patronizing me about how I was dealing with things. He hadn’t once mentioned the loss of my position, reminding me why I’d formed such an easy friendship with Zander. He wasn’t heartless, no matter how much people thought he was. “Look in the bag,” he says after another long moment of silence. I glance his way and he nods encouragingly, so I do.

“It cleansed a damaged seal. A seal that held something far older and darker than Alaric or the Dark Guardians. Something from another world, trapped here during the formation of the ley line.” Siron’s mother, or Elandra, raised a thin hand, pointing toward the window. Outside, the sky was clear, but suddenly clouds began to race, forming a vortex. “He is called the Time Weaver. He hungers for moments, for memories, for possibilities. He has been confined within the deepest layers of the ley line all this time. The purification you performed weakened his cage. And the battle with Alaric gave him enough energy to… push.” “Impossible,” Elara hissed. “The Guardian Core would have felt it.”

He looked at the blooming red flowers, then at my scaled arms, a dark, complicated pride in his grey eyes. “The Forsaken have already begun the march south,” Lucien said, gesturing to the ridgeline where the charcoal-painted warriors were silhouetted against the dawn. “They feel the change in the air. The grey rot in their veins is gone. You’ve given them back their lives, sister. But you’ve also given them a legend they’ll spend the next thousand years trying to understand.” “I didn't do it for the legend, Lucien,” I said.

“Tell us about the second dagger.” She smiled, tired and bitter. “It is real. Hidden in the ruins south of the stone circle. But it needs cursed blood willingly spilled to wake. One of you has to bleed for it on purpose. Then it can cut the bond clean. No more pull. No more risk of burning each other alive when the power peaks.” I felt the faint tug she described, a distant ache in the bond that hadn’t been there yesterday. Milrac felt it too. He crushed the doubt before it could spread and sent me a steady pulse in return.