Eternal Undying Chronicles

Chapter 167 The Coven's Fate

The ancient temple lay eerily quiet as Malefica stood frozen, her tears now dried. A mix of sadness and relief was etched onto her face, emotions swirling as she processed the revelations from the pool.

'So…my Father never abandoned Mother,' she thought, the weight of this truth filling her with bittersweet joy.

Even as a demon, he had loved her, and his ultimate fate—sealed within Evergreen City—now made sense.

Yet, this knowledge had unearthed even darker secrets about her lineage and destiny. Her father's transformation, her grandmother's curse… these were all pieces of a chilling puzzle.

Malefica bit her lip, contemplating the strange forces that had shaped her life. Her mother's death, her isolation, and the curse cast by her grandmother all seemed to stem from a single, dreadful purpose: to prevent her from meeting the prophesied Knight of Order.

Every person who had tried to grow close to her had suffered. Only Alicarde, the undying human, had endured her cursed life without falling victim to it.

A spark of hope ignited within her.

'If I stay with Alicarde…' Her fingers trembled.

Alicarde was not part of the Order; he was simply a human who had been turned into an immortal by Carrisa Evernight. There was no prophecy binding him to her doom.

'I could choose him… as a way to defy fate.' She felt a flicker of defiance.

Her heart quickened as she entertained this idea. True, she was his professor, but he was eighteen—old enough to make his own decisions.

The implications, even the risk to her career, felt trivial compared to the relief of escaping her cursed fate and her solitude.

'All I need to do is show him how serious I am. Perhaps my charm will do the rest.'

A faint blush tinged her cheeks, but she quickly shook it off. This was a practical decision—one that might save her life.

Deep in thought, Malefica turned from the pool and headed toward the altar, her heart steady with newfound resolve.

Helga and Madera, the two elder witches who had been watching her trance-like state at the pool, exchanged wary glances. They understood the power of the Pool of Choice, its ability to reveal hidden truths to those ready to face them.

"What… did you see, Malefica?" Helga asked cautiously, her gaze following the young witch.

Malefica's brows knit together as she looked around.

"The Pentacle… it's not here."

Her eyes narrowed, frustration building.

Madera tensed, glancing at Helga. They both understood the implications. If the Pentacle wasn't here, then it was likely with Cassandra.

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Before they could speak, a low rumble reverberated through the temple, shaking the walls. Spells and explosions echoed from outside, and the air crackled with energy.

Malefica smirked.

"Alicarde," she muttered, a glint of amusement in her eyes.

"The man never did have much patience."

With a firm nod, she addressed Helga and Madera, a newfound determination in her voice.

"Let's go. Whatever chaos is unfolding out there, we'll join him. This fight is ours too."

Together, they descended from the depths of the temple and out into the open, where they saw the scene unfolding in the skies above.

A swarm of witches were attacking a fast-moving black figure who soared through the night, carrying a young woman clad in white. The air hummed with energy as various spells blazed toward the figure, only to be deflected by quick, skillful movements.

Down below, amid the flickering lights of magic, Cassandra stood with her ceremonial dagger drawn. Across from her was Vidalia, tense and poised.

Neither moved, yet the intensity between them was palpable, a silent storm ready to erupt.

Malefica descended the steps of the temple, her bare feet brushing against the snow, each step exuding a palpable, intense energy that caused the air around her to shiver.

Helga and Madera flanked her, walking in silence, their eyes filled with a mix of reverence and anticipation.

Malefica's aura pulsed, growing stronger as she invoked a powerful spell, Triple Reload Goddess, amplifying her energy threefold. As she moved, her focus seemed fixed beyond the mundane world, her thoughts drifting between the present and the secrets she'd recently uncovered.

The landscape ahead was tumultuous; the forest writhed under the influence of magic, dark and twisting, as spells collided in bright bursts that cracked through the quiet winter night. Watching the chaotic scene unfolding around her,

Malefica muttered under her breath,

"I have prevented bloodshed and saved a young girl from sacrifice. Surely, I shall be rewarded thrice over."

Her whispered words seemed almost like a chant, fueling her resolve and strengthening her aura until it dwarfed everything around her.

As a final act, she quietly spoke her truename,

"I am Solitaria, I am Solitaria, I am Solitaria," each repetition, a defiance against her grandmother's curse that bound her fate.

The invocation weakened the curse's hold, causing her aura to flare up in an almost blinding light.

This was something all who had a truename could do.

Cassandra, who stood at the center of the battlefield, took notice, her face tightening. Her gaze swept over Malefica, Helga, and Madera, suspicion and anger flashing in her eyes.

"So, you've all betrayed me. You schemed from the beginning,"

Cassandra sneered. Her voice dripped with contempt as she assessed the three witches, each of whom met her gaze with unflinching calm.

Helga's face was unreadable, Madera looked down in quiet guilt, and Vidalia's gaze turned away.

They each felt the weight of their decision; betrayal was no light burden, especially within a coven where they'd shared bonds like family.

"None of us schemed," Malefica replied, her voice low and steady.

"But that doesn't matter now. Cassandra, hand over the pentacle."

Cassandra's lips curled into a bitter smile.

"And why should I?"

Her fingers wrapped tightly around a ceremonial dagger, a gleaming, dangerous artifact. The intent in her eyes made her defiance clear.

In response, Malefica raised her hand, summoning a walking cane and a silver book into the cold night air. As they appeared, the cane twisted, reshaping itself until it too became a book, dark as night, with intricate gold patterns lining its edges. Both books opened as if by their own will, their pages glowing faintly with power.

"Because it's mine," Malefica said, her tone filled with the unshakable certainty of one claiming what was rightfully hers.

Cassandra's expression faltered, recognizing the grimoires as they hovered before her. The silver book, adorned with delicate metalwork, had belonged to Malefica's mother—the Witch of Noon. The second, darker book, was Malefica's own, a tome filled with her hard-earned knowledge and the spells she had crafted over a thousand solitary years.

The sight of these grimoires, symbols of lineage and mastery, carried an undeniable weight, as if they were physical extensions of Malefica's claim.

An icy silence stretched between the two witches, broken only by distant rumbling from the depths of the forest, where Alicarde and the others were engaged in their own desperate fight. The cold winter air held its breath, as if sensing the impending clash of titans.

Cassandra sneered, raising the dagger and conjuring her own grimoire. This one was ancient, with pages worn and weathered, but its cover pulsed with a green light, fierce and unyielding.

"If you want it, Malefica," Cassandra taunted,

"come and take it. Let this battle decide everything—the coven's fate, Lady Diana's return, or your hollow victory."

Malefica took a steadying breath, her eyes flicking briefly to Helga, Madera, and Vidalia.

"Go. Leave her to me," she ordered, her tone sharp with authority.

"Help him. Protect Marina. Hold off the others. I'll finish this."

With a reluctant nod, the witches turned and ran toward the forest, where Alicarde's presence could be felt clashing against the witches assembled there.

Cassandra's eyes glinted dangerously as she raised her dagger, contempt spilling from her words.

"For a witch who can barely cast her own spells, you seem awfully sure of yourself."

Malefica ignored the jab, her gaze hardening, fixed solely on Cassandra. She could sense the immense power Cassandra wielded—drawn from the ceremonial dagger, an object infused with the coven's collective magic. The odds were unfavorable, but Malefica was unmoved, her resolve like steel.

In the forest beyond, Alicarde's fierce battle raged. Towering trees melded and twisted, forming into a colossal trent, its branches reaching skyward in an ominous gesture. The ground quaked under the creature's weight, yet neither Malefica nor Cassandra spared it a glance, their focus locked onto one another. To them, the world around faded, the only reality existing in the clash of their wills.

With a flick of her wrist, Malefica raised her grimoires higher, the pages flipping as her fingers brushed over them, summoning an ancient, untapped power. This was no ordinary fight—it was the trial of their coven, a test of who would hold sway over the witches of the dawn.

Snowflakes drifted down, slowing mid-air, then rising, defying gravity as both witches bent the forces of nature to their will.