Chapter 4 Rise Of The Buried

• Author's POV
• In the marble-cold throne room of Nightfall Dominion, silence reigned, until a messenger trembling beneath the weight of a thousand unseen eyes, delivers the news.
• “Our informers bring the news that Princess of Avelen is no more, Your Majesty." He is greeted with no response, so he continues. "The King plans a memorial service.”
• For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Then the Vampire King Lucian Valtorin slowly lifted his gaze, crimson eyes gleaming beneath the torchlight like twin embers awakened.
• Avelen. The kingdom he had once nearly razed. The king whose arrogance had cost countless lives — including those he cherished. A cold smile curved his lips.
• “So,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk and sharp as ice, “King Alaric must me so broken. Vulnerable.”
• The court whispered — not in grief, but in anticipation. For vampires did not mourn fallen enemies. They remembered grievances like carved stone, and waited centuries for cracks.
• He rose from his throne, cloak unfurling like a shadow ready to swallow the room whole.
• “Send word to the generals,” he commanded, quiet but lethal. “There is opportunity in grief. A wounded kingdom is a door waiting to be broken.”
• A low murmur of approval rippled through the hall, fangs glinting in torchlight.
• King Lucian turned toward the high windows, where the moon hung full and hungry. “Prepare our scouts. Watch their borders. If Avelen falters…We will be there to take everything that comes to sight."
• ****
• Tatianna's POV
• "We’re almost there now,” Arin calls over his shoulder, voice bright in a forest that feels anything but.
• "You said that a mile ago." I mutter, brushing a low branch aside. My nerves feel strung tight, like the woods themselves are holding their breath.
• "I mean it this time." I roll my eyes. "We are here. Although I probably should've mentioned this before, that this place has been abandoned for almost a decade, now."
• I look at the decayed ruins before me. Stone bones of a palace, broken and half-swallowed by creeping vines. Shattered pillars claw at the sky like desperate hands. The air tastes old — like dust and forgotten prayers.
• A place abandoned by time… or avoided by it.
• "Why did you want to come here?"
• "My skin prickles. “I dreamt of my mother. She told me to find Eldermire Sanctum. To seek the grave of a witch named Sephara. She said I would find answers.” Dreams cling to me like morning mist. My mother’s hand, warm against my cheek. Her voice like wind through cathedral glass: 'Find Eldermire. Where Sephara rests, truth wakes.'
• He nods like it is normal for dead mothers to give directions. “Witches get dreams like that often.”
• “But, I’m no witch.”My voice feels thin.Like a lie whispered in a temple.
• We walk deeper. Thorn-choked paths. A fountain cracked open like a corpse. Birds do not sing here. Even the wind feels cautious.
• Eldermire waits. Watching.
• “This place feels…” I swallow. “Hungry.”
• “This was sacred once,” Arin murmurs. “Or cursed. Depends who you ask.”
• “Why was Sephara buried here?”
• “This was her sanctuary. The First Witch’s stronghold. Until it fell. "
• Yes, that is true. Elyndor was once a part of Avelen, only a decade ago.
• “Why would my mother guide me to a graveyard?" What stirs here that death has not claimed?
• "Because, this is your home." A strange voice diverts our attention to herself. A woman stands among the ruins as though she bloomed from them — gold-gowned, ageless, shimmering with an ancient quiet. Eyes like twilight caught between night and dawn.
• "Who are you?" I question her. "Were you following us?" My stance changes and I stand before Arin in a protective manner.
• "Who are you talking to?" My forehead cringes on his question.
• She snaps her fingers. *Thud*
• Arin drops to the ground, unconcious. I grow even anxious and my heart thunders inside my chest.
• "What did you do to him? He is just a child?" I drop to my knees, placing his head on my lap. A little relieved that his heartbeat is strong in his veins.
• "He is in a deep slumber." She replies quietly approaching nearer.
• "Stay back." I command her, forgetting that I am no longer the Princess of Avelen. I am just an ordinary girl here. Completely at the mercy of this deceptively mystical woman.
• "You remind me of your aunt, Lydia." She smiles at me, deeping the frown on my forehead. "She was as rebellious as you when she was a child. Your mother was pretty docile, though. They were like fire and... water."
• Placing his head gently back in the grass, I stand up trying to comprehend what I just heard. "What kind of a trick are you pulling?"
• "Wasn't she the one who send you here?" She takes another step forward. "Your mother?"
• "She did. Who are you?"
• "I am who you came looking for." Her twisted answers are starting to test my patience.
• "I came looking for Eldermine Sanctum. So unless, you are a spirit of decades old decapitated building, I've no idea who you are." I turn to look at Arin, who is still sleeping peacefully on the ground.
• "Oh, Pardon me! I thought you came here looking for Sephara. But I must have mistaken." She exclaims
• I halt in my track. "Sephara? The witch who..."
• "Whose grave you are standing on. This is my home. This is a home to any witch that ever lived. All are welcome. Including you."
• "But, I am not a witch."
• "That doesn't change fact that, you are. Your mother was one, your aunt, grandmother, great grandmother... "
• I rake my fingers through my hair. "But I don't have any powers. How...?"
• "Or maybe you just haven't discovered them yet."
• "How are you even alive...?"
• "I am not. Think of me as a ghost. A spirit as you said."
• "So you're a spirit, telling me that my mother was of witch lineage and that I am a witch, too. So this mark..." I turn around and display the mark which is partially awake to again, and I am sure is glowing red, "Does this have something to do with that?"
• "A sun woven in thorns, on the neck. This mark is a symbol of your transformation."
• "What do you mean? What am I transforming into?"
• "Each mark has a different meaning. It differs even with its placement in the body. Yours is a Sun, on the neck."
• My fingers glide over the mark and the carved skin feels feverish.
• "Sun indicates power, while, neck symbolizes vulnerability. Your vulnerability will give you the power to rise." Her words leave a bitter taste in my mouth as I remember the scam I was played into, by the man I thought loved me.
• “Deception and betrayal are not your downfall,” she says softly. “They are the crucible of your transformation.”
• I blink hard against the sting in my eyes, swallowing the ache in my throat.
• “Until you find those worthy of your loyalty, you must tread with care. Choose your people wisely. And once you choose—do not doubt. For it is through vulnerability that your true power awakens.”
• My voice cracks, frustration spilling out. “And how am I supposed to know who’s real? I trusted before—and look where it led me.” I shake my head. “Reading hearts was never my strength.”
• She smiles, not with pity, but with certainty.“Trust the Sun. It will show you what eyes cannot.”
• Light ripples through her form, soft as dawn. Her edges blur, then crumble into shimmering dust that drifts down to the earth like falling embers.
• And then she is gone.