The Signature of Sacrifice

The research room, typically a quiet sanctuary of leather and parchment, was now a cauldron of frantic activity. The lead palace witch, a fiercely focused woman named Enid, hovered over the section of stone ripped from the hall wall. She worked with a quiet, terrifying urgency.
A thin, dark-red smear of the viscous blood—Adrian’s blood—was levitating under a dome of arcane energy. Incense smoke filled the air, mingling with the scent of burning herbs and ozone. Sophie stood by my side, her eyes never leaving the sample, her anxiety a palpable, cold energy.
"The signature is clean," Enid murmured, her brow furrowed with strain as she manipulated the energy field. "It's pure magical blood, but... it's been recently purged of any viral or foreign influence. That recent transfusion—your sons' sacrifice—it didn't just save you, Your Majesty. It made Adrian's blood a perfect, untainted fuel."
A sharp pang of guilt shot through me. My life had been saved, but the purity of that life-giving blood now made my son the perfect offering for a ritual. The consequences of my sickness were spiraling out of control.
"Can you trace it?" I demanded, leaning closer to the floating smear. "Can you tell us where they took him?"
Enid shook her head slowly. "The physical trace is gone. They used a strong magical shield—likely the same dark energy they used on the stairs—to cloak their passage. But I can read the residual intent left on the blood. The purpose of the sacrifice."
She closed her eyes, the veins in her temples bulging as she plunged her consciousness into the sample. The air crackled, and a series of dark, fragmented images flashed in the smoke: towering obsidian structures, a field under a bruised sky, and a chillingly familiar, silver crest carved into stone.
"The Ascent Ritual," Enid finally whispered, her eyes snapping open, glazed with horror. "It is not for a generic God. It is to force the incarnation of an Elder God of Succession. A being that only appears when a divine line is intentionally broken."

The Broken Line

"Succession?" Sophie questioned, her voice tight. "But Marcus and Mom are the rightful rulers. There is no legitimate claim for a successor."
"The claim isn't blood," Enid countered, clutching her silver amulet. "It's divine right. This ritual is being performed by followers of the old religion—the one that worshiped the Moon Goddess as the ultimate power, but demanded her perpetual, physical sacrifice to maintain stability."
I gasped, the truth hitting me with the force of a physical blow. Selene's confession—the broken bonds, the intentional dissolution of her soul to prevent his father from dissolving it completely. The two plots were interlinked:
"Marcus's father was simply the pawn," I realized, the words tasting of ash. "His goal was to kill me to start the instability. But the true followers of this Elder God... they wanted Selene's death, or her complete break with her bonds, to create the vacuum. The broken balance I felt."
"Exactly," Enid confirmed, visibly shaking. "The ritual requires the pure blood of a powerful royal—a 'Golden Line'—to force the Elder God's Ascension before the next full moon. They believe this God will restore the ancient order: the permanent sacrifice of the ruling divine to maintain order, with a new successor placed on the throne."
"And that silver crest?" I asked, pointing to where the smoky image still lingered.
Enid looked at me, her expression grim. "That crest is the ancient symbol of the First Consort. The original male power granted by the Elder God to rule alongside the divine feminine—the power Marcus’s father coveted, but could never truly achieve."

The Unbearable Truth

The implications were devastating. My unborn child, my bond with Marcus, and the desperate actions we had taken had unwittingly set the stage for a ritual that would strip us of everything and return the supernatural world to a dark age of tyranny and forced sacrifice.
We were staring at the heart of the conspiracy when the final, unbearable piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
"The Elder God of Succession," I whispered, thinking back to the vampire Emrys’s panicked testimony. "He was paid by a man in a cloak who spoke of clearing the path for the 'true successor.'"
I looked at Sophie, then back at the crest. The First Consort. The true successor. Someone who felt they had a divine right to rule.
"Marcus's father wasn't the head of the plot," I stated, the realization a chilling certainty. "He was just a means to an end. The real power behind the Ascent... the one pulling the strings..."
The door to the research room slammed open. It wasn't Marcus, but a frantic Dragon Guard, out of breath.
"Your Majesty! A dispatch from the front!" the guard gasped. "His Majesty the King has found a structure! Hidden deep beneath the city catacombs—an ancient obsidian temple! He reports it matches the description of the First Consort’s sealed sanctuary!"
My heart hammered against my ribs. Marcus had found the location. But he was alone, consumed by fury, running into the lair of the mastermind whose identity was now terrifyingly clear to me.
"Enid, I need a communication spell!" I ordered, grabbing my coat. "I need to reach Marcus now."
"Your Majesty, the power of that sanctuary will likely block simple communication—"
"Then boost it!" I cut her off, my voice cracking with fear and resolution. "Use the strongest energy you have! Use my energy! He can't go in there alone, not against the First Consort's forces! Not when I know who the true successor is!"
The full moon was still weeks away, but the final confrontation was beginning now, deep beneath the city. And I had a terrified husband to warn.