Bound By Blood And Magic: My Journey Through A Dangerous Otherworld Chapter 6 Chapter 6 - The Name That Lingers

The darkness was deep, alive with whispers that crawled like shadows across her skin. Rowen found herself standing in a void—no ground beneath her feet, no stars above. The only light came from a soft, silver glow that radiated ahead. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat.

As she moved closer, her breath caught. A figure emerged from the light: a woman with flowing hair that shimmered like moonlight. Her face was delicate but stern, her eyes piercing with an ancient intensity. Rowen somehow knew who this was before a single word was spoken.

"Lysandra," she whispered.

The woman's lips parted in a small, sad smile. "Rowen," she said, her voice echoing as if carried on a breeze that didn't exist. "You've walked farther into our world than I ever thought possible. But the path ahead is dangerous."

Rowen frowned. "You think I don't know that? A pack of shadow wolves already tried to eat me, and now I've got a bond that feels like a lightning storm under my skin. I think I get it."

Lysandra stepped closer, her glow intensifying. "You don't yet understand. This world is built on delicate threads, and betrayal can sever them as quickly as fate can weave them."

Rowen blinked, her heart skipping. "Betrayal? From who?"

Lysandra hesitated, her luminous form flickering like a dying flame. "Beware those who stand closest to you. Betrayal will come not as a blade, but as a choice. And Alaric… he will shape the very threads of your fate."

The name hit Rowen like a thunderclap, cold and final. "Who's Alaric?" she demanded.

Lysandra's glow dimmed, her form beginning to fade. "He is both your greatest threat and the key to everything you seek. But remember, Rowen: trust can cut as deep as betrayal."

"That doesn't even make sense!" Rowen shouted, taking a step forward as Lysandra began to vanish. The void around her grew darker, the whispers growing louder, closing in. "You can't just leave me with cryptic warnings and no answers!"

Lysandra's voice echoed, soft and distant. "You must choose who to trust, Rowen. But tread carefully. Some wounds run deeper than blood."

The whispers exploded into a cacophony, and the void fell away beneath Rowen's feet. She jerked awake with a gasp, her heart racing as if she'd been running. For a moment, the room around her was unrecognizable—shadows stretching across stone walls, the faint flicker of a magical orb casting a pale light. Then the events of the previous night crashed into her mind, and her breathing steadied.

Dryanden laid next to her, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the low light as he watched her with quiet intensity.

"You cried out," he said, his tone measured but edged with concern. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Rowen blinked up at him, the fog in her mind clearing just enough to dredge up the fragments of Lysandra's warning. The name—Alaric—thudded through her like a drumbeat, distant yet persistent.

"I… yeah," she said hoarsely, propping herself up on her elbows, running a hand through her tangled hair. "Not a nightmare… I don't think. Who's Lysandra? She said something about betrayal—and someone named Alaric."

At that, Dryanden stiffened. His calm demeanor cracked, his gaze sharpening into something darker, more guarded.

"What else did she say?" he asked, his voice low.

Rowen frowned, sitting up. "That Alaric is my greatest threat. And my only hope. Care to explain what that means?"

Dryanden's silence was answer enough. Rowen swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing as a sharp ache flared in her palm—a reminder of the blood claim ritual. She flexed her fingers, staring down at the faint, crimson-tinged line that had already begun to heal. "So, who is he? Alaric. And why does he sound like trouble wrapped in even more trouble?"

Dryanden rose to his feet, turning away from her. "Alaric…" Dryanden's voice turned softer, almost reflective. "He is not a name you should concern yourself with yet—but when the time comes, you'll wish you hadn't heard it.""

Rowen scoffed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Not concern myself with? He was literally the centerpiece of my creepy, cryptic dream. How am I supposed to ignore that?"

"You misunderstand," Dryanden said, his voice colder now. "He is a figure from another time. His shadow may linger, but he is not part of your path. Not yet."

Rowen narrowed her eyes at his back, her patience wearing thin. "That's funny. Because Lysandra seemed pretty damn sure he was."

Dryanden turned to face her then, his movements deliberate. The flickering light carved sharp angles into his face, making him look more like a predator than she cared to admit. "Lysandra speaks in riddles," he said coolly. "Her visions are fragments, incomplete. They cannot always be trusted."

Rowen's stomach twisted, her instincts screaming at her to push back. But the bond thrumming beneath her skin—raw and unfamiliar—blurred the edges of her emotions, leaving her uncertain where her frustration ended and Dryanden's tension began.

"I don't trust her," she admitted, her voice softer now. "But I don't trust you either. Not completely."

Dryanden's gaze sharpened, the weight of his presence pressing down on her. "That is wise."

The words caught her off guard, leaving her staring at him in disbelief. "Seriously? That's your response?"

He inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Trust, once given, is a fragile thing. If you wish to withhold it, I will not fault you. But understand this—Lysandra's warnings may guide you, but they cannot shield you. That is what the bond is for."

Rowen huffed, running a hand through her hair. Her frustration burned hot in her chest, but beneath it simmered unease. Who was Alaric, and why had Lysandra's warning felt so personal, so final?

She pressed a hand to her chest, the faint hum of the bond still thrumming beneath her skin, raw and unfamiliar. "Right. The bond. The thing that makes my chest feel like it's on fire whenever you're too far away."

Dryanden's lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. "That will fade."

"Yeah? When?" she shot back, crossing her arms. "Because I'm starting to think this whole 'bond' thing is more trouble than it's worth."

He stepped closer, his movements unnervingly graceful, until he stood just out of reach. "Perhaps it is," he said quietly. "But without it, you would not have survived last night. And you will not survive what is to come."

Rowen opened her mouth to argue but stopped, the weight of his words settling over her like a shroud. For all his infuriating vagueness, she couldn't deny the truth in them. The memory of the shadehound's glowing eyes and snarling jaws was still fresh, a reminder of how unprepared she was for this world.

"Fine," she muttered, dropping her arms. "But don't expect me to just… go along with whatever you say from now on. If you're keeping secrets about Alaric or Lysandra or anything else, I'm going to find out."

Dryanden's smirk returned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I would expect nothing less." He said, moving to the kitchen with quiet grace.

Rowen rolled her eyes, but followed him over, careful not to let him go too far. She sat next to the low table, the tension in her chest eased slightly. She reached for her phone, which still rested where she'd left it. The screen lit up as she unlocked it, the familiar glow grounding her in a way that nothing else could. She scrolled through the photos again, letting the images of her old life wash over her. Dryanden watched in silence, his hands moving diligently, his gaze flicking between her and his work.

"Do you regret your fate?" Dryanden asked quietly, his hands stilling. For a moment, something flickered in his expression—a shadow of doubt, quickly masked.

Rowen paused, her thumb hovering over the screen. She looked up at him, her chest tightening. "Yes," she admitted. "but it also feels like maybe I was supposed to be here. Like everything that happened was leading me to this."

Dryanden's hands continued their work, but his expression softened, a rare vulnerability flickering across his face. "Fate is rarely kind," he said. "But it is often unavoidable."

Rowen nodded slowly, her gaze drifting back to her phone. For all the uncertainty and danger, she couldn't help but feel the faintest flicker of something—purpose, maybe. Or hope. It was fragile, fleeting, but it was there.

Rowen stretched, a faint ache lingering in her muscles. The scent of sizzling eggs and herbs filled the air, blending with the ever-present, sharp tang of magic that seemed to cling to every corner of Dryanden's manor.

Dryanden stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his movements precise as he flipped a pan filled with what seemed to be eggs, root vegetables, and some kind of green, leafy thing that looked suspiciously wild.

Rowen stood up and leaned against the counter, watching him work. "So, this is just how today's starting? Breakfast? No ominous warnings? No life-altering rituals?"

Dryanden didn't look up. "Would you prefer to start with peril and end with food?"

"Not sure yet," she muttered, her lips twitching faintly despite herself. "Let me eat first and decide."

Dryanden plated the food, sliding one dish toward her without ceremony. "Sit. Eat."

She grabbed the plate and plopped back onto one of the mismatched cushions by the hearth. The meal smelled better than she expected—savory, warm, almost comforting. But before she could dig in, a sharp clink startled her, followed by another, louder this time.

Rowen froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. "What was that?"

Dryanden set his own plate down, his crimson eyes narrowing. The clink came again, followed by a faint hum that buzzed through the air like static.

Dryanden turned toward the window, his expression unreadable. "Stay here."

"Stay here?" Rowen repeated, standing up despite his command. "Yeah, no. I don't stay anywhere when creepy noises happen."

They both moved toward the window, Rowen trailing behind. As they neared, the sound grew sharper, accompanied by an erratic flash of blue light.

Dryanden pulled back the curtain, revealing a creature perched on the windowsill. Rowen yelped and jumped back.

The thing looked like a dragonfly if someone had decided to supercharge it with lightning and nightmares. Its body was sleek and metallic, shimmering faintly with a bluish glow, while its wings were long and jagged, humming with arcs of static electricity. Its bulbous golden eyes glinted as it cocked its head, regarding them with unnerving stillness.

"Kill it," Rowen hissed, pointing at the window.

Dryanden gave her a flat look. "It's a thundertail."

"I don't care if it's the Tooth Fairy, it's creepy, and it's buzzing at me like it wants to electrocute my face."

The thundertail tilted its head again, seemingly unbothered by her outburst. The thundertail's wings crackled as it tilted its head toward Dryanden, emitting a low hum. He reached for the parchment without hesitation, his movements steady, almost reverent.

The thundertail gave a sharp buzz and leapt into the air, its wings crackling with static as it zipped away, leaving the room eerily quiet.

Rowen edged closer, keeping her distance from the now-empty window. "What was that thing? Some kind of magical mailman?"

"In a manner of speaking," Dryanden said, studying the parchment. The blood-red wax seal glinted faintly in the dim light, bearing an intricate emblem: a crescent moon entwined with thorned vines.

Rowen squinted at the seal. "So, what's the fancy letter say? And why did it come via bug-zapper-dragon?"

Dryanden didn't answer immediately. He broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, his crimson eyes scanning the text with the same quiet intensity he brought to everything. As he read, his expression darkened, his shoulders tensing.

"Dryanden," Rowen prompted, crossing her arms. "What's it say? Don't make me wait while you do your brooding statue routine."

He rolled the parchment back up, his movements sharp. "We're leaving."

"Leaving?" she echoed. "Where? Why?"

"Lady Selene has summoned us," he said, setting the parchment aside.

Rowen frowned. "Okay, and who's Lady Selene?"

"She rules Eversnow Glade," Dryanden said, the name carrying an edge of something Rowen couldn't place—respect, or perhaps wariness. "She does not summon without reason. And her reasons are rarely kind."

Rowen frowned, leaning back in her chair. "So, she's powerful and bossy. Great. Why does she want to see us?"

Dryanden's jaw tightened, a shadow flickering across his expression. "I don't know," he said carefully, but there was a subtle tension in his voice that made Rowen's skin prickle. His gaze flicked toward the parchment, lingering just a moment too long before he added, "But we can't ignore her."

The tension in his tone prickled at Rowen's instincts. "You don't seem thrilled about this. What's the deal? Is she dangerous?"

"All rulers are dangerous," Dryanden said after a pause, his crimson eyes flicking toward her with a fleeting sharpness. "She's no exception."

Rowen groaned, running a hand through her hair. "Perfect. Just perfect. So, when do we leave?"

"Now," Dryanden said, turning back toward the hearth. "Finish your breakfast quickly. We'll need to stop by Thistle's to get you cold-weather gear."

Rowen stared at him. "Cold weather? How cold are we talking?"

"Cold enough that you won't survive without proper clothing," Dryanden said flatly, already moving to gather his things.

"Awesome," she muttered, plopping back into her chair. She shoved a forkful of food into her mouth, scowling at the window where the thundertail had been. "Best morning ever."

Dryanden paused, glancing back at her. His crimson eyes softened, just for a moment. "Eat quickly, RowThe command in his voice left no room for argument, but the tension in his movements betrayed something else—worry, perhaps, or dread. "We don't have much time."