The dim light of the crescent moon filtered through the small window of Elias's room, casting long shadows across the stone floor. He sat cross-legged in the center, his eyes focused intently on the open book before him. The pages were old, fragile, but they held the knowledge he craved—knowledge that had eluded him for so long. His hands were steady as he carefully arranged the materials for the ritual: a vial of blood, a small bundle of dried herbs, and a weathered blade. Each object was placed with precision inside the rune circle he had painstakingly drawn on the floor.
This would be the one. He was sure of it.
Elias's breath was shallow, his heart beating with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. He had failed before, countless times, but with each failure, he had felt something—something dark and powerful stirring within him. He had assumed it was the magic responding to his persistence, to his hunger for power. After all, wasn't forbidden magic supposed to be elusive? A force that only those truly committed could master?
Tonight, he would show it his commitment. He would demand it yield its secrets to him.
The flickering candlelight illuminated the old parchment, and as Elias traced the ancient runes with his eyes, he began to chant softly, careful to keep his voice low. The words felt strange on his tongue, unnatural, but he had grown accustomed to the discomfort. With each incantation, the air in the room grew heavier, the atmosphere thickening with an oppressive energy that made the hairs on his neck stand on end.
He placed the blade against his palm, hesitating only briefly before slicing across the skin. Blood welled up, dripping onto the center of the rune circle. The symbols carved into the floor glowed faintly in response, and a low hum filled the room, as if the very walls were vibrating with dark energy.
Elias watched in awe as the magic took hold—or so he believed. The runes flickered, their light pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He felt a surge of power course through him, stronger than before, more tangible. It filled his veins with warmth, with life, as if the magic itself was breathing into him.
Yes. This was it. The forbidden magic was finally responding.
But something was wrong. The light from the runes sputtered, dimming before flaring back up, irregular and erratic. Elias frowned, his voice faltering as the energy in the room shifted, becoming unstable. He tried to regain control, forcing his focus back to the incantation, but the power slipped through his grasp, like sand between his fingers.
The light vanished, plunging the room into sudden darkness. Elias gasped, his hands trembling. The ritual had failed again.
"No... no, this can't be," he muttered to himself, panic rising in his chest. He had followed every step perfectly. He had prepared, he had practiced. How could it have failed?
He clenched his fists, frustration boiling over. He could feel the power, could sense it lingering just out of reach, teasing him. It was there—he knew it was. He had felt it coursing through him, if only for a moment.
Still seated in the center of the now lifeless circle, Elias pressed his palms to his temples, trying to make sense of it. He had gained power, hadn't he? He could feel it, his body stronger than it had been weeks ago. The dark magic was doing something to him—changing him. He wasn't the weak, forgotten boy anymore. He could feel the difference, even if the rituals weren't perfect yet.
The forbidden magic is slowly yielding to me, he thought, calming himself with the idea. I just need more time. More practice.
As Elias sat in the silence, his thoughts were interrupted by a soft noise—a faint creak from beyond the door. His heart stopped, and he froze, eyes darting to the entrance of his room. Someone was there.
He quickly moved, snuffing out the candle and scattering the materials of the ritual into the hidden compartment beneath his bed. His hands worked quickly, driven by the adrenaline pumping through his veins. If anyone saw him like this, if anyone knew what he was doing, it would be over.
He barely managed to pull the blanket over the hidden compartment when the door swung open. Elias looked up, his breath catching in his throat as a shadow fell across the room.
It was only a servant—a young maid whose name he couldn't remember. She looked startled to find him awake, her eyes wide as she stood awkwardly in the doorway, clutching a tray of food.
"Forgive me, young master," she stammered, clearly nervous. "I didn't realize you were still awake. I... I brought you some food."
Elias let out a slow breath, forcing himself to relax. "Leave it," he said, his voice rougher than intended.
The maid quickly set the tray down on a small table by the door, her head bowed as she backed out of the room. "Yes, young master. I'll leave you to rest."
The door clicked shut behind her, and Elias exhaled fully, sinking back onto the bed. That was too close. He hadn't even heard her approach—how could he have been so careless? His father's servants were always watching, always waiting for any excuse to report back to him. If she had seen anything…
Elias shook his head, pushing the thought aside. He had been careful. There was no evidence of the ritual left, nothing to suggest that he had been dabbling in forbidden magic. And yet, the incident left him uneasy. He couldn't afford to slip up. Not when he was so close to unlocking the power he had sought for so long.
He glanced at the tray of food but had no appetite. His thoughts were still consumed by the ritual, by the power he had felt but couldn't fully control. How much longer would it take before he could command it completely? How many more failures before the magic finally bent to his will?
Unbeknownst to Elias, the truth lay deeper within him, in his very blood. The power he craved wasn't from the forbidden magic at all—it was something far older, something far more dangerous. His bloodline had been feeding on the life force he offered with every failed ritual, slowly awakening from its hibernation. But Elias remained blind to this truth, believing that the power was external, a prize to be earned through his desperate efforts.
As he lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling , he vowed to try again. He would perfect the ritual. He would master dark magic no matter the cost.
The next time he would succeed