Echos of the Coven

Three

As I settled into my room for the first night, the ambiance of the space seemed to cradle me in a cocoon of serenity.

Lying in the comfortable bed, I closed my eyes.  As sleep began to weave its gentle tendrils around me, I found myself transported into a dreamscape.

In the dream, I stood within the same ceremonial circle where the ritual had taken place. The air crackled with magic, and I sensed a presence, a subtle whisper of a connection that transcended time.

Then, she appeared—the young girl from the vision. Her dark hair cascaded like a waterfall, and her green eyes held a depth that seemed to pierce through the fabric of reality. The resemblance between us was striking. I knew her and I shared a bloodline.

In the dream, she mouthed the same Latin spell I had seen during the ritual. As the scene played out just as before, a  surge of emotions washed over me—fear, grief, and an inexplicable connection. 

I awoke in the soft glow of my room, the remnants of the dream fading like mist in the morning light. The air was charged with an eerie stillness, and the symbols on my wrists seemed to pulse in tandem with the dream's lingering echoes.

In the dream, the girl's determination had been palpable, her defiance against the ominous figures evoking a strange sense of courage and resilience as I reflected on the dream, a gnawing curiosity emerged—a need to understand not just the events that transpired in the vision but the significance of the connection we shared.

The book!

 A repository of ancient knowledge held the potential to unveil the secrets concealed within the prophecy. Retrieving it from under the mattress, I carefully traced my fingers over the symbols on its spine.

As I delved into the pages, I uncovered further details about the ritual. It was designed to awaken latent powers within those bound by the prophecy's threads.

Within the weathered pages of the ancient tome, the text revealed intricacies of the prophecy that sent shivers down my spine. It spoke of a lineage within the Sable Order, hidden through generations, and hinted at a connection that ran through the very blood coursing through my veins. The symbols on my wrists burned into my flesh during the ritual were not just marks; they were a testament to an ancestral tie to magic itself.

The way Clark always watched me from the shadows, like he was wanting on something. He must have known, him and Roger both.

The prophecy foretold a time when the powers dormant within the Sable Order would be stirred, and a chosen individual, bearing the symbols on her wrists, would emerge as the harbinger of an ancient deity's awakening.

As I delved deeper into the passages, the text spoke of the Coven—a faction within the Sable Order that wielded magic with a different intent. It hinted at secrets and manipulations, suggesting that the Coven's practices had veered from the ancient traditions of the Sable Order and that the rituals I had been subjected to were part of a larger design.

The book unveiled the intricate web of power struggles within the Coven, and the vision of the girl in the midst of a ritual took on new meaning. The pain and defiance in her eyes mirrored the struggle against forces seeking to harness her magic for their own ends.

Like the Coven leaders wanted to do to me. To control me and my magic for their own gain. 

There was no way I would ever get back to sleep, so I decided to do some exploring on my own. No one said it wasn't allowed. I dressed in a pair of black leggings and a soft tunic. I found a pair of black leather boots in my closet that fit me perfectly. I pulled my long, tangled hair up into a bun and was out the door. 

I was walking around, still in awe of this place, when I came to an indoor garden. The large dome room had a glass ceiling, and there were so many plants—ones I had never seen before. The haven's garden unfolded before me like a living canvas, vibrant with magical flora. The fragrance of herbs and blossoms wafted through the air. As I strolled along the cobblestone paths, the colors of the mystical blooms danced in harmony with the delicate sounds of wind chimes.

A boy with silver hair and a mischievous glint in his eyes tended to a patch of herbs, his hands moving with practiced grace. The garden seemed to respond to his touch. Our eyes met, and he nodded and smiled warmly at me.

 "Hello," I greeted, my voice soft to match the serene atmosphere.

 "Greetings. You must be Lyla, the newcomer. I'm Diago," he replied.

"Has the rumors of my arrival reached everyone here?" 

Diago chuckled, a light and melodic sound that seemed to resonate with the tranquility of the garden. "Word tends to travel swiftly within the haven. There's an energy to new arrivals, especially when they bear the symbols of the prophecy." He glanced down at the marks on my wrist. "Plus, I am friends with Tobias, and he told me all about you."

I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks. The way Diago had said the last part implied that there was more to it. Diago's chuckle continued. His silver eyes held a glint of amusement as if he found delight in the curiosity blooming in my expression.

"Friends with Tobias, you say?" I responded, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I suppose that explains the swift dissemination of information. What else has Tobias been sharing about me?"

Diago's grin widened, and there was a conspiratorial twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, just tales of a newcomer with an undeniable connection to the ancient symbols, a mysterious past within the Sable Order, and a certain aura that suggests you're destined for more than just being a passive observer. And that you were really pretty."

 The blush on my cheeks deepened, a mix of embarrassment and curiosity.

Diago gestured towards my wrists. "May I?" he inquired, his tone respectful. I hesitated for a moment,  Yet, the trust in Diago's gaze compelled me to extend my arms. Diago leaned in, his fingers delicately tracing the contours of the symbols. His touch was feather-light, and I felt a subtle warmth where his fingers met my skin.

"Beautiful," he murmured.

As Diago studied the symbols, I couldn't shake the feeling that he perceived more than the visible etchings. His silver eyes held a depth of insight, "Thank you for sharing this with me, Lyla," Diago said, withdrawing his hand and straightening up.

"It was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you around sometime." I was feeling vulnerable and ready to return to my room.

"Of course, I suspect we will be seeing a lot of each other."

The journey back to my room was accompanied by a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions As I reached my room and closed the door behind me, I collapsed on the bed, sinking into the mattress. Overcome with exhaustion, I closed my eyes and let sleep claim me.