Cerys stood by the front door, her hands outstretched to replace Caspian’s ward. She had already removed it, unnerved by the ease it took her. Caspian wasn’t the most powerful Mythic, though he primarily specialised in recovery and healing, it still startled her that with a blink, his wards were reduced to nothing. Her strength only proved the Everlasting Servants were to be feared, Morana even more so.

No doubt the wards of Astera’s Embrace were on a whole different plane, powerful with the flood of magic the land was rich in, but Cerys knew better than to underestimate Morana. The woman proved if there was a will, there would be a way.

Cerys closed her eyes and in her mind, she envisioned long, entwined strands of blue—a visual representation of her magic and the will she wove into it. She had first learnt how to create protective wards from her father when she was six years old and they had moved into a new house with wife and baby.

‘Your will is your power,’ he had told her, ‘so demand.’

Demand she would. Cerys breathed in deeply, magic pulsing through her muscles and with a sharp exhale, she demanded her wards to be stronger. Blue strands snapped taut in her mind and grew into a large shield that domed over the cottage. She pictured an array of attacks against the wards deflected with ease, and when prodded by unwelcomed touch, the magic rang in a sharp zing, an alarm to alert Cerys.

These wards were her strongest yet, her years of experience and skill outweighing her past creations, but it wasn’t enough. Cerys needed more from her wards, needed to ensure no matter what, River would be safe.

She summoned forth more of her magic, her power reaching her fingers and exerting out in full force to deliver her command—should the wards be breached, it must bring its habitants to her.

The demand of Cerys’ magic strained her, her power not quite enough to fulfil her will, but she’d be damned if she let that stop her. She screamed out and forced her magic to take what it needed from, her breath, her blood, her life force. Her wards sealed into place, the strands aligning with the threshold of the cottage, anchored down by the house’s foundation.

She groaned out in relief, exhausted from her feat, and collapsed back against the floor, arms sprawled as she panted heavily. Her muscles ached from the work out, but it was her fingers that screamed in pain. She grunted as she raised her hands above her face to inspect the damn, all fingers broke in odd places, and she gasped as she sat up. She cupped them together and blew over them, golden light emitting from her breath before her fingers straightened back into place and were healed.

“Thank fuck River isn’t here,” she breathed heavily and fell back against the floor, resting her eyes for moment. Nervously, her stomach squirmed, the reminder of her brother returning with questions she’d have to answer. She chewed her bottom lip, her brow knitted together, and pondered what he might ask, but it led her to a downward spiral, anxiety choking her at the expressions she feared River would make.

Clementine had said she was a different person but her past clung to her, scarred her like the cracks across her flesh. She could ignore it all she wanted, be better, do better… But it would never, ever erase what she had taken from others… And had taken from herself.

A smile of an old friend came to her mind, their black lipstick smeared from the way they’d cover their mouth when they laughed, and then all Cerys saw was blood pooling from their lips as they lay lifeless in the ritual circle.

Cerys gasped and shot up, back in reality as rage replaced her anxious thoughts of River. She clenched her fists, her arms shaking and her hatred towards Morana flooding through, overwhelming Cerys beyond her own sanity.

She hadn’t fully regained her strength, her magic not at full power, but it didn’t matter. She needed to know what Morana had planned.

Cerys stormed upstairs into her room and snapped her fingers, a heavy satin pouch flashing into her hands. She kicked her bed from the centre of the room against the wall, making space in her room before she poured black, damp dirt onto the hardwood floor. She spread it around to make a circle before she made a ring of burning candles around it.

She kicked off her shoes and carefully stepped into the ring, slowly sitting down on the dirt with her legs crossed. A vial of blood appeared in her hands and she uncapped it, pooling the red liquid, still warm, onto her fingers. She smeared the blood across her closed eyes and let the vial fall into the dirt.

Silence sat heavy in the room while Cerys breathed slowly. She willed her magic forth and envisioned Morana.

Screams of terror snapped by Cerys’ ears and the horrid of charcoaled flesh flooded her senses. She woke, eyes wide as she stared at the night sky, smoke and flames surrounding her as she lay beneath debris. She violently coughed, her throat raw and eyes burning before she choked from the smoke and wheezed desperately for breath. She was suffocating, panic rising in her chest before she reminded herself of who she was. 

You’re Cerys Augustine, and you are not suffocating.

A moment passed and her coughing eased, the damaged lungs and burnt skin not her’s, but the body of a deceased, a victim of this nightmare, she now possessed.

She pulled herself out from under the debris, only to realise it was another corpse that had died trying to shield her body. Cerys blinked and held out the hands of her possessed body, only to gasp in horror. They were small, tiny hands—hands of a child. She inhaled and stifled the urge to weep for the child’s suffering and death, instead pushing herself forth, more determined than ever to find what Morana was doing.

Death and destruction surrounded Cerys, houses in ruins and charred corpses littered across her path as she wandered through the horror of Morana’s carnage. The blaze of the fire danced all around, moving to swallow up anything left unburnt. Fortunately, Cerys remained unnoticed, even as she traversed past laughing, manic Servants. They were ripping apart something but she ignored it, unable to do anything in the form she had taken.

A cackle of laughter could be heard above like a crack of lightning, and Cerys shot her head up to see a monstrous black shadow swoop down from the sky

“What have you done?” Cerys chokes out, her small voice raw and rough from the damage of the smoke. The shadow disappeared past her, the cackle still echoing louder than the cries of anguish and torment.

She ran after it, smacking the small bare feet of the child she possessed against the wet, dirty path. She climbed over bodies and up a pile of debris, the child’s nightgown catching on several things. It hurt Cerys’ heart, learning more about the body she possessed, the state it was in before the horror befell them. Like many of the other corpses around, it was bedtime for the child. She couldn’t help but hope the child was asleep when tragedy struck, that she was protected from the pain and the terror.

Fortunately, Cerys bitterly noted, she learnt one thing so far of Morana’s whereabouts—they were not in the same time zone. Wherever Morana was, she was far, far away from Astera’s Embrace and from River.

AS Cerys neared the top of the debris pile, chanting could be heard. A choir of words spoken, words from a spell Cerys recognised. She climbed faster up the debris, struggling to pull her little body up upon the wreckage, peeking over at a gruesome sight.

She held back her voice and dryly swallowed back bile.

Corpses were laid out in a large spiral, blood spilled from their necks and wrists, some gutted and others without heads. Cloaked Everlasting Servants each stood by a body, their outstretched to the sky as they continued their chant, voices growing louder and louder. Magic manifested off their fingertips, red energy swirling above in a menacing cloud.

Floating above the centre of the spiral was a woman covered head to toe in blood, the liquid dripping from her feet to the pool beneath her. Slick with blood, her hair reached her waist and she extended her arms out towards the red, ominous cloud above her. Cracks were large and gaping across her entire body, her face like a chipped, fractured doll, shards of porcelain missing in large gaps.

Cerys couldn’t look away as the cloud billowed around the woman’s hands and seeped into the cracks of her flesh.

“It’s too much,” Cerys said, her lips trembling. “Too much death, too much sacrifice, too much greed. When will you be sated, Morana? When?”

The woman’s head snapped towards Cerys, eyes wide with a red glow, piercing straight through Cerys. In a gasp, Cerys ducked immediately, but she knew she had been seen. She only hoped Morana hadn’t gained enough time to breach through her mind.

The chanting abruptly cut to silence and fear hammered in Cerys’ chest. She could feel the woman grow closer, and closer, her wide eyes boring through the debris, right on Cerys.

It was time to end this spell, Cerys had seen enough.

“Found you, my little bird,” Morana’s voice came out loud and echoed. “Where, oh, where have you been?”