Once Betrayed Never Forgotten

Chapter 135: The Blood Scribe’s Welcome

The grand archway of the Blood Scribe’s temple towers before us, an imposing entrance into a palm that feels both sacred and formidable. The air is thick with the scent of iron and the faint arm of wildflowers, a juxtaposition that feels surreal in this harsh, fiery landscape. As we step inside, the cool stone beneath our feet provides a welcome respite from the unrelenting heat outside.

Priestesses in bright blue mbes stand in a line to greet us. They are blood wraiths, like Blochane, with pointed ears and glowing red eyes. Their crimson hair stands out starkly against their serene blue attire, creating a striking contrast. Each of them possesses an otherworldly beauty and a presence that feels both commanding and sacred. They are of various ages, their expressinns ranging from curious to solemn.

Pyra steps forward, her face lighting up as she recognizes one of the priestesses. “Hestia!” she calls out, her voice filled with joy.

A tall, regal priestess with flowing red hair steps forward, her eyes brightening at the sight of Pyra. ‘Pyra, it’s been too long, Hestia replies, embracing her friend warmly.

“It’s good to be back,” Pyra says, pulling back to look at Hestia. “We’ve come on an urgent quest. We need to see the Blood Scribe.”

Hestia nods, her expression tuming serious. I know. She has been expecting you. But first, you must cleanse yourselves. You will recall, tonight is the eve of the Blood Star, which as you know is a sorred time for us. No impurity from the outside can come near the Blood Scribe tonight.”

We are led to a series of sacred volcanic springs, the steam rising from the hot water in thick, fragrant clouds. The springs are surrounded by jazzed rocks and lush, tropical plants that seem out of place in this harsh landscape, but here, they thrive. The air is filled with the heady scent of jasmine and ylang ylang, mingling with the sulfuric tang of the hot springs.

As we approach the springs, I realize with a jolt of embarassment that there are no separate areas for men and women. The thought of bathing in front of everyone makes my cheeks burn. I obviously don’t mind bathing in front of Pyra, and Aleksandr – but as for Konstantin, he’s my step–father, so that would be weird. And Luka and I have a sexual history which I’d rather not remember.

So I find a spot behind a large stone lodge, hoping the steam will provide some privacy. The water is warm and soothing as I slip in, the tension in my muscles melting away. I can feel Aleksandr’s eyes on me, his gaze intense and protective. Luka, on the other hand, seems uncomfortable, glancing around nervously before finding his own spot.

I steal a glance at Pyra and Bloodbane, who are both awkwardly trying to avoid looking at each other while sneaking shy glances when they think the other isn’t looking. Their nervous energy in almost palpable, and I can’t help but smile at the obvious attraction between them.

We finish our bath in relative quiet, the warm water soothing our bodies but not our minds.

Once we are bathed, we are led through a series of ornate archways and into a vast chamber at the heart of the temple. The chamber feels sacred, the air thick with the weight of history, Above us, the ceiling arches grandly, a vast canvas of rely and gold.

There, seated on a throne carved from black onyx, is the Blood Scribe. She’s unchanged from the last time I saw her – her presence is as just as formidable as mystical, her eyes like deep wells of ancient wisdom. As we approach, her gaze fixes on each of us in turn, piercing and discerning.

as it is

The interior of the temple is a cascade of deep reds and shadowy corners, the flicker of torchlight dancing against the granite walls that pulse with a life of their own. The air grows heavy, imbued with the scent of iron and old stone. Pyra kneels before the figure, her reverence palpable.

The Blood Scribe sits on her throne, veins of ruby running through black onyx, and red granite like lifeblood through arteries. She is ancient, her skin a tapestry of fine lines and deep creases, telling the story of centuries. Yet, there is a regality in her posture that speaks of undiminished authority and power Her robes mirror those of her priestesses but are adorned with layers of intricate embroidery that shimmer with threads of gold and silver, capturing the light and reflecting it in mesmerizing patterns.

Atop her head sits a diadem, centered with a large ruby that burns like a smoldering coal. The gem forms a triangle with her intensely red eyes, which glow with a inner fire, piercing and wise. Her hair, bone white with age, cascades down her shoulders, and amidst the snowy strands, a single streak of red mirrors the one in my own hair. The sight of it tightens something in my chest, a strange connection flickering to life.

Her voice, when she speaks, is like the whisper of dry leaves, a sound that seems both impossibly soft and overwhelmingly resonant, filling the chamber and vibrating within my own ribcage. It’s as if she speaks directly to each of our hearts, her words bypassing the ears to resonate directly with the soul

“Welcome back, Pyra, Arianna, Bloodbane,” the Blood Scribe says, her eyes and smile warm with recognition. “It is wonderful to see you again. And welcome Konstantin Vasiliev the Blood General, Aleksande Vasiliev of the Mysterious Heart, Alpha Luka of the Siver Moon Risen Pack. You have traveled far and faced many challenges. I know why you have come.”

“You do?” I nak, surprised

“Of course, my child,” the Blood Scribe says with a gentle sale. You are not the only one in the Seven Realms blessed with prophetic visions. I save it in a dreams.

“Can you help us Aleksandr asks, his voice tinged with reverence.

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“Yes, I can, and I will,” the Blood Seille says, het bright eyes sparkling with ancient wisdom.

Pyra and I exchange glances, her words confirming what we had hoped. The Blood Scribe continues, her gaze settling on me. “You seek a way to fuse your blood waith and vampire natures without becoming a monster. There is a way, a secret way, but it will not be easy.”

She gives us directions to a cave deep beneath the temple with a boiling lake of blood, the original birthplace of the blood wraith race. There, we will find a sacred artifact: a dagger freed from the blood of the lake, in the shadows of the earth, the darkness of the cave–the perfect fusion of shadow and blood. If that dagger is used during the blood moon ceremony, I will be able to successfully fuse my blood wraith and vampire powers without disaster.

As her words sink in, I feel a misture of hope and trepidation. The journey ahead will be perilous, but it’s the only way to ensure

“We will find the dagger,” 1 say, determination in my voice. And we will retum before the blood moon,”

The Blood Scribe nods, her eyes gleaming with approval. “May the shadows guide your path a

and the blood grant you strength.”

With renewed resolve, we love the temple, wody to face whatever challenges he ahead in our quest for the sacred dagger.

transformation is safe.