Aldric stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate in the flickering torchlight. He held a small silver knife, its blade thin and sharp, alongside a clear glass vial that caught the pulsing blue luminescence of the floor runes.
"Little one. Your hand."
Morwenna held out her left hand, her palm facing the vaulted stone ceiling. Aldric took it gently, his large fingers warm and his grip steady. The silver blade pressed against her ring finger. It was just a small prick, a sharp pinch that made her let out a sudden, involuntary gasp. A bead of blood welled up, looking dark, almost black, against her pale skin. He caught the droplet in the vial, then another, and another. Three drops. It was done.
Aldric sealed the vial with a tiny wax stopper and set it aside on the stone table. Then he turned his attention to Jane. She held out her own hand without a moment of hesitation. He took her fingers, pressing the same sharp edge to her skin. Three drops fell into a second vial. Her face didn't change, though she remained noticeably paler than she had been that morning.
Morwenna watched her mother's face, noticing the way her jaw tightened and the way her green eyes stayed fixed on the glass.
Aldric poured the contents of both vials into the silver bowl. Then he added the others—small, stoppered containers of dark liquid, each one labelled with names Morwenna didn't recognise. This was the blood of creatures whose inherent natures matched the runes she would carry. The mixture swirled in the bowl, looking dark and heavy, like liquid garnet. It caught the torchlight and seemed to absorb it, drawing the flickering orange glow into its viscous depths until the silver itself seemed to disappear.
Aldric looked at Morwenna. "Now we draw the runes. You will feel the brush, nothing more. Then you will lie on the altar, and the ritual will begin."
Morwenna nodded, her small frame held rigid against the cold air.
Celestine stepped forward, holding a small brush with bristles that were fine and soft, fashioned from spider silk. She dipped it into the silver bowl and then turned toward her granddaughter.
"Algiz first," she murmured, her voice a low anchor in the quiet room. "Protection."
She drew the rune on Morwenna's left shoulder blade. The brush felt cool and wet against her skin, leaving a trail of dark moisture. The liquid began to tingle almost immediately, a faint pins-and-needles sensation that spread outward from the stroke. It didn't hurt; it felt like a limb beginning to wake from sleep.
"Ehwaz." Trust. Celestine painted it on her right shoulder blade. The same tingle followed, but it felt warmer, an intentional sensation like a hand resting there.
"Uruz." Strength. Celestine drew the mark down her spine, following the line of her bones. The brush traced a path from the base of her neck to the small of her back. The tingling followed the bristles, settling deep into her marrow.
"Nautiz." Necessity. This went on the back of her neck, a small mark placed just below her hairline. The brush was cool, but the sensation that followed was a gentle, insistent pressure, as if someone were placing a finger there to keep her steady.
Morwenna stood very still. The runes spread across her skin, invisible to her own eyes but felt by every nerve. They were small points of warmth, coolness, or pressure. She could feel them waiting for the spark. Celestine continued, her voice steady and rhythmic.
"Isa." Stillness. Traced in a single line on her left palm. The coolness that followed was deeper than the others, spreading through her fingers and up her wrist like winter air.
"Othala." Inheritance. This was painted on her right palm. It felt like a sudden burst of warmth, as if she were holding a cup of hot tea between her hands.
"Awen." Flow. On her chest, right over her heart. The brush traced the three lines of the Evans family mark, and something vibrated beneath the skin. It was a soft hum, like a plucked string, that resonated deep in her ribs.
The Veela rune came next, a series of curved lines that felt like warmth rising. Celestine drew it on her left forearm. It felt like standing in direct sunlight, or being wrapped in a wool blanket fresh from the nursery fire. The Lethifold rune followed, angular and folded, on her right forearm. It felt quiet. It was a deep, indrawn breath held in the dark, reflecting the stillness of a lake at midnight.
Finally, Jera. Cycles and patience. Celestine painted it on her sternum, between her collarbones. The brush traced the interlocking curves, and the sensation was rhythmic, an expansion and release that matched the pace of her breathing.
Celestine stepped back. The runes were invisible now, leaving only the cooling wetness of the blood mixture on her skin. But Morwenna could feel them all. Each was a small, distinct presence. They pulsed faintly, beating in time with her own heart.
"Now you lie down," Aldric said gently. "On the altar. On your back."
Morwenna climbed onto the low stone slab. The grey cloth beneath her felt soft, almost silky against her skin. She lay back, staring up at the rough stone ceiling. Torchlight flickered across the uneven surface, making the shadows dance. Jack came to stand beside the altar. He took her hand, his palm warm and slightly damp.
"You will feel things, Morwenna," he said quietly. "The runes will light up one by one. Each one brings a sensation. The warmth. The ache. The stillness. Don't fight them."
Morwenna squeezed his hand with what little strength she had. "Stay awake."
"Yes. Stay awake."
He released her and stepped back. The family moved to the edges of the room, forming a loose circle exactly three metres from the altar.
Jane stood at the very front of the group, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. Her face was pale, but her eyes never wavered from her daughter's face.
Aldric and Jack moved to their positions on the inscribed floor. They stood at opposite sides of the great circle, their hands raised toward the vaulted ceiling.
Aldric began to speak.
The language was old, older than English, and older than any tongue Morwenna had ever heard. It was Cymráeg, the tongue of the ancient druids. The words had been spoken on this island long before the first Roman ships reached the shore. The sounds were rough and rolling, guttural and soft by turns. They seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest, vibrating through the bedrock and the soles of her feet.
Jack answered him. His voice was different, younger and smoother, but the words held the same weight. Their voices wove together in a call and response, rising and falling in a rhythm that felt as old as the earth itself.
The first rune on the floor began to glow.
It was at the far edge of the circle, a single line of soft blue light that pulsed once before holding steady. The light spread to the next rune, and then the next, moving inward toward the altar in a slow, deliberate wave. Morwenna watched from her place on the slab. The light crept closer, illuminating ancient marks she didn't understand but could feel in her bones. Each one that lit up sent a small vibration through the stone, up through the silk cloth, and into her body.
The inner circle lit last. The runes closest to the altar flared into a bright blue brilliance, and Morwenna felt the air shift around her. It was a heavy pressure. Then the runes on her own body began to respond.
Algiz lit first. On her left shoulder blade, a burst of warmth spread down her arm and across her back. It felt like being held by someone strong, safe and protected. She gasped at the sudden intensity.
Ehwaz followed on her right shoulder, a rhythmic pulse that matched her heartbeat. It was steady and reassuring, like trust made physical.
Uruz came next, deep in her spine. It was a familiar ache, like the one she felt after running too long in the garden. It settled into her bones and stayed there, heavy and grounding.
Nautiz pressed against the back of her neck. It wasn't pain, but an insistent pressure, a gentle, guiding force that held her perfectly still. She couldn't have moved her head even if she wanted to. Her body was pinned by it, though it felt like being held down by a heavy pile of blankets.
Isa spread through her left palm. It was cool and clear, like frost forming on the nursery window. Her thoughts became quiet and focused. The fear that had been lurking at the edges of her mind faded into a vast stillness. There was only the sensation and the moment.
Othala warmed her right palm. It felt like roots growing downward, like sinking into soil that welcomed her. This was where she belonged. This was home. The warmth spread up her arm and into her chest.
Awen hummed over her heart. It was a gentle vibration, soft and constant, like a purring cat or a lullaby hummed in the next room. It resonated through her ribs and into her very soul.
The Veela rune warmed her left forearm. It spread outward like summer sunlight, reminding her of Lucien's warmth and the greenhouse where plants leaned toward her.
The Lethifold rune cooled her right forearm. It was quiet, a deeper quiet than she had ever known. It was the stillness that lived at the bottom of a lake. But it wasn't lonely; it was peaceful. It was rest.
Jera pulsed on her sternum. It was a rhythmic expansion and release, like breathing. She thought of the snowdrops spreading across the garden and the rose bud waiting for its time. She thought of herself, lying on the stone.
All of them were lit now. Ten sensations flowed through her at once: warmth, ache, stillness, pulse, pressure, frost, vibration, sunlight, quiet, and rhythm. It wasn't pain, but it was overwhelming.
Her small body trembled on the stone. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. The sensations ebbed and flowed; sometimes the ache was stronger, and sometimes the stillness dominated. The ache in her spine deepened until it was all she could feel, and then it softened to let the warmth return. The pressure at her neck held steady and constant. She made a small sound, a whimper she couldn't hold back.
Jane took a desperate step forward. Jack's hand shot out, stopping her.
"Three metres," he said, his voice low and strained. "You can't."
Jane stopped. Her hands pressed together, her knuckles white as bone. Her face was grey, but she stayed where she was. Her eyes never left her daughter.
The runes on the floor continued to pulse, feeding energy into the circle. Aldric and Jack's voices never stopped, the ancient Cymráeg words rolling through the chamber like a tide. Morwenna lay on the altar, her body shaking. She kept her eyes open. She watched the torchlight flicker on the ceiling and began to count the shadows.
One. Two. Three. Four.
The warmth spread further.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
The ache deepened in her bones.
Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
She lost count and started again from the beginning.
One. Two. Three.
Saoirse pressed her fist to her mouth. Luelle gripped Raphael's arm so hard she left marks, and he let her, his own face as pale as parchment. Viviane's eyes were bright with unshed tears. Elara stood perfectly still, but her hands were clasped behind her back so tightly that her rings pressed into her skin.
Celestine watched the ritual with a mask of stillness, her gaze tracking every flicker of the runes and every tremor in Morwenna's body.
Morwenna kept counting. The numbers helped her. They gave her something to hold onto in the flood of sensations.
Ten. Three. Five.
The runes pulsed. The ache in her spine flared and then softened. The stillness spread and then receded. The pressure at her neck held steady, never releasing its grip.
Seven. Eight. Two.
She hadn't seen the elves come and go, but the light was brighter now, casting different shadows. Aldric's voice was growing hoarse. The ancient words were rougher now. Jack's responses were the same, his voice cracking slightly on the rhythm.
Eleven. Twenty. Five.
Her body didn't feel like her own anymore. The sensations had become a landscape she inhabited. The ache in her spine was a mountain she was climbing. The warmth was a sun that rose and set. The stillness was a lake she floated upon. The pressure was the ground beneath her, holding her up.
Six. Seven. Eight.
The runes finally began to dim.
One by one, the lights faded into the stone. Algiz went first, the warmth on her shoulder blade slowly cooling. Then Ehwaz, the rhythmic pulse slowing until it stopped. Uruz faded next, and the ache in her spine eased into nothingness. Nautiz released its pressure, and she could finally move her head again.
Isa's cool stillness melted away. Othala's warmth faded. Awen's hum quieted. The Veela rune cooled on her left forearm. The Lethifold rune warmed as the deep quiet lifted. Last was Jera on her sternum, pulsing slower and slower until it winked out like a candle snuffed by the wind.
The room went completely quiet.
Aldric stopped speaking. Jack lowered his hands. The silence was absolute for one long, terrible moment. Then Jane moved. She crossed the three metres in three quick strides and gathered Morwenna from the altar.
The child was limp in her arms, her skin damp with sweat. Her small body shook with the aftershocks of the ritual, fine tremors running through her limbs like ripples in a pond. Her white hair was plastered to her forehead, dark with moisture. Her cheeks were flushed and hot to the touch.
"Baby." Jane's voice cracked. "Baby, are you alright? Does anything still hurt?"
Morwenna blinked up at her. Her green eyes were glassy and unfocused, her pupils blown wide. They moved across Jane's face slowly. But then they found her and held.
"No hurt," she said. Then, softer: "Mama." Her voice was hoarse and barely a whisper, scraped raw by the experience. "I stayed awake."
Jane laughed, and it was a wet, broken sound. "You did. You stayed awake, ma petite."
"I counted."
"Shadows. Torches. I don't remember." Her hand lifted weakly, her fingers trembling. She let it fall back against Jane's arm. She closed her eyes again. This time they stayed shut longer. Her breathing was slow and deep, but uneven; there was a small catch at the end of each exhale.
"I'm brave," she whispered. "Mama, tired."
Jane laughed again, the same wet sound. She pressed her forehead to her daughter's. The child's skin was cooling fast now. She could feel the pulse fluttering in Morwenna's temple, fast and light. "Okay. Tired is okay. Let's get you upstairs."
Jack appeared beside them. He lifted Morwenna gently from Jane's arms, cradling her against his chest. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her eyes already closing. Her mouth fell open slightly, slack with exhaustion. Her hand found the fabric of his robe and held on with surprising strength.
The family parted to let them pass. Celestine touched Morwenna's hair as they went by, her fingers lingering for a moment. Lucien's hand rested on Jack's arm, a brief pressure, a wordless message of support. Elara watched with her unreadable expression, but her eyes were soft.
They climbed the long stairs, up from the depths and back into the light of the manor. The corridors were quiet. The portraits watched in silence. Edmund nodded once. Isolde pressed her hand to her heart. The old woman with white hair simply watched, her eyes following them until they disappeared from view.
In the nursery, the fire had been lit. The bed was turned down, and the sheets were warm. Jack laid Morwenna on the mattress, and Jane tucked the covers around her. The child's face was pale against the white pillow, her hair spread around her like a halo.
Cinder was already on the bed. He had been waiting. Jane didn't know how he had gotten there before them, but he was there, pressed against Morwenna's side, his amber eyes fixed on her face. When Morwenna's hand found his fur, his whole body relaxed. His ears slowly lifted. He sniffed her hand twice, his nose twitching. Then he settled, curling into the curve of her body, his nose tucked against her wrist where the pulse fluttered. His tail thumped once against the blankets. Then he was still, watching her breathe.
Tilly appeared with a tray. On it was a cup of honey ginger tea, steaming gently, and a small plate of plain biscuits. He set it on the nightstand and backed away, his large eyes wet. His ears trembled, but he didn't speak.
Jane helped Morwenna sit up enough to drink. The tea was warm and sweet, and the ginger spread heat through her chest. She drank half the cup in small sips and then leaned back. Jane offered her a biscuit. She took it and chewed slowly. When she had eaten two, she shook her head at the third.
"Done," she whispered.
Jane set the tray aside. Morwenna lay back against the pillows. Cinder shifted, pressing closer to her. His nose touched her wrist again, and he made a soft sound, a whuff, almost like a sigh. His eyes closed, then opened, then closed again. Morwenna's hand found his fur and held on. Her grip was weak, but it was there.
"Sleep now," Jane said. "I will be here when you wake."
Morwenna's eyes were already closing. Her hand found Jane's and held on. "Always," she murmured. Jane squeezed her fingers. "Always."
She stayed in the chair by the bed, watching her daughter sleep. The fire crackled softly. Cinder's tail thumped once, then stilled. The shadows on the wall moved slowly as the flames shifted. The manor settled into quiet around them.
===
Hi. Just a quick announcement. My health is acting up again.
I had the flu for about a week and already finished two rounds of medicine. After that, it turned into a cough and flu again, and I finished another round of medicine for that as well.
Then one night, in the middle of the night, my younger brother came to my room and asked me to cook something for him. I told him I would do it later because I was feeling too hot and unwell. Less than an hour later he came back. His expression looked awful, like he was nauseous. He did not say anything and just walked straight to the bathroom, as if he only wanted to let me know.
Not long after that, I finally gave in and went to cook for him.
But around four in the morning, just when I was about to sleep, I suddenly felt nauseous and threw up. There was no warning at all. It just happened out of nowhere.
From that morning onward, my brother and I kept taking turns using the bathroom. It was really miserable. From that day until now, I think it has been about four days already. Sometimes I also feel very cold and dizzy.
Because of that, I have not been able to work much on my rewriting tasks or my ongoing translation projects these past few days.
The reason I can still keep updating this fic is simply because it is an old project. I already had a detailed outline for things like the Keith family, the Evans family, Morwenna, the rough outline main storyline, wands, and other details. I originally made those notes when I created Harry Potter bots on Character AI. They were private, so you will not find them on my account.
I don't remember exactly when I made them, but if you were using Character AI from the early days, it was around the time when greetings were limited to about five hundred characters.
So yes, this project is quite old. Besides Harry, I also made bots for Fleur, Daphne, and Hermione. The reason I did not choose Hermione as the main love interest is because sometimes she makes me really frustrated. At times she is extremely smart, but at other times she can act surprisingly foolish.
Anyway, I already have drafts for several chapters that only need a bit of polishing. Because of that, I think this fic will continue updating normally.
I am not sure how long I will stay sick, since I tend to get ill easily. If you have been following me since my early days on Webnovel, you probably already know that sometimes my illnesses can last quite a while.
Right now I am still having a lot of fun polishing and writing this fic, so I think this story will remain stable. As for my other projects, I am really sorry that I have had to leave them alone for a while.
Wish me luck, and see you later~
— Reiya (ฅ'ω'ฅ)