NOVEL NEXT Chapter 6: Chapter-6
[January 24th, 1945]
[The Rusty Manor]
[Rusty Manor, Ritual Room – Dawn]
At the end of a dimly lit corridor, Markus pushes open a heavy oak door, revealing the ritual room. The chamber is circular, its walls adorned with ancient runes and symbols that flicker ominously in the candlelight. The room is heavy with an atmosphere of anticipation, as if the very stones remember the ancient rites performed within. In the center stands a large, ornate altar, covered with strange artifacts—crystal vials filled with unknown liquids, ceremonial daggers, and an ancient book bound in dark, weathered leather.
Adrian Stark, his face solemn and his voice firm, addresses the assembly. "This room holds the legacy of our ancestors—the rites and traditions passed down through the ages. Tonight, we honor those who came before us and renew our vows to the old ways."
The assembled guests—both Starks and Lannisters—murmur in agreement, their eyes shifting to the altar with a mix of respect, reverence, and unease. The weight of centuries-old traditions presses down upon them, filling the room with a palpable tension.
A large ritual circle is drawn in the center of the room, its intricate patterns glowing faintly in the dim light. Surrounding the circle are the key members of House Stark, the elders, the greenseers, Markus, Joanna, and the patriarchs of both houses, their faces set with grim determination.
Aryan steps into the center of the ritual circle, his heart pounding in his chest. An old man in a green cloak, his eyes clouded with age but still sharp with wisdom, approaches him, handing him a bowl filled with a sticky blue liquid. "Drink this, my boy. It will calm your nerves and prepare your mind for what is to come."
Aryan hesitates for a moment before raising the bowl to his lips. The potion tastes unexpectedly pleasant, its warmth spreading through his body, easing his anxiety. This really tastes nice, he thinks, a brief smile flickering across his face.
The chanting begins, low and rhythmic, reverberating through the stone walls. Adrian Stark steps forward, his expression unwavering, and takes a ritual knife, slicing it across his palm. Blood flows freely, dripping onto the ritual circle, the crimson drops mingling with the glowing patterns. Cornelius follows suit, his blood joining Adrian's in the circle. The air crackles with ancient magic as the ritual intensifies.
Adrian raises his wand, its tip glowing with a soft light, and declares, "I, Adrian Michael Stark, Lord of House Stark, in sound mind and health, declare Aryan Markus Stark as the heir to the lordship of House Stark. So mote it be."
Similarly, Cornelius raises his wand and swears, "I, Cornelius Joseph Lannister, Lord of House Lannister, in sound mind and health, declare Aryan Markus Stark as the heir to the lordship of House Stark. So mote it be."
Suddenly, a tremor shakes the room, the ground beneath their feet rumbling ominously. The chanting ceases abruptly, and a tense silence falls over the chamber. The greenseers, their eyes wide with alarm, simultaneously experience the same vision. Realizing the imminent threat, Adrian barks out orders, his voice cutting through the rising panic.
"Benjamin, man the manor. Hold them off for as long as you can," Adrian commands, his mind racing.
Turning to his chief of staff, Adrian continues, "Sebastian, gather all the staff and evacuate them through the tunnels. We must ensure their safety." Both men spring into action, their movements quick and precise as the room buzzes with anxious murmurs.
Just then, the door to the hall bursts open, and a flurry of men rushes in, their faces pale with alarm. "My lords, we are under attack!" one of the men gasps. "The manor is surrounded on all sides."
Chaos erupts as Adrian and Cornelius draw their wands, their faces set with grim determination. "Stay calm!" Adrian commands, his voice authoritative. Amidst the commotion, a shadow slips through the crowd—Lord Briggs, his eyes gleaming with a cold, calculating light as he disappears into the shadows.
Adrian glances at the greenseers and nods. They spring into action, each taking an elder by the hand and showing them the vision they have just witnessed. The elders, resolute in their final task, slice their hands, adding their blood to the ritual circle. The chanting resumes, more fervent and intense than before, as the magic circle is reactivated, its glow growing brighter.
One of the greenseers guides Joanna and Aryan to the center of the circle, while another shows Markus the vision, indicating his crucial role in the upcoming events. Joanna drinks the same potion as Aryan, her face resolute as she prepares for the ritual ahead.
"How did this happen?" Cornelius mutters worriedly, his mind racing. "The manor's location is supposed to be unknown, and the Floo network is tightly controlled. They must have been planning this for days, but who could have betrayed us?"
The realization hits him like a cold wave. "Briggs," he whispers, his voice thick with venom and regret.
Adrian, still focused on the immediate threat, is busy assigning roles and formulating a plan. He turns to Cornelius, his voice grave. "Take your men and evacuate. We were careless, and now we must pay the price. Escape through the tunnels and regroup."
Outside the Manor
Rows of men clad in dark clothing, their faces hidden in the shadows, surround the manor. Among them are dark creatures—wolves with glowing red eyes, shadowy figures that move with unnatural speed, and vampires with bloodlust in their eyes. Spells crackle in the air, fired relentlessly at the manor's protective wards, which flicker and shimmer under the assault.
At the rear of the assault, a man of imposing presence stands tall, his piercing blue eyes cold and calculating. His expression is one of focused malevolence, a sinister smile playing on his lips as he surveys the scene. Gellert Grindelwald, his mind sharp and his heart set on victory, is determined to change his fate, no matter the cost.
"Are you sure he will follow through with his part of the deal?" a mysterious and beautiful woman asks, approaching with an air of enigmatic elegance. Her cloak, made of dark, shimmering fabric, seems to shift with the light, exuding both allure and mystery.
"Don't worry, Vinda. It's his only option. If he backs out, the Lannisters will tear him apart, and the Starks will be even worse," Grindelwald says with a calm, calculated tone. "We are his only chance for survival. If he disables the wards as planned, he'll gain control over the Lannister gold and a place in the new world I will create."
Vinda, her eyes narrowing, presses on. "Still, bringing two-thirds of our forces, all these creatures, and even the vampires—are you sure this isn't overkill just to bring down one family? And after the fall, you've promised all their fortunes to others. Are you certain that's wise? The Starks may not be the richest, but their wealth has been amassed over millennia."
"It's not their fortune I seek; it's their sight," Grindelwald says with a sinister grin. "In all my years, I have never encountered anyone with a greater or stronger power of foresight than me. But the Starks are different. Their greensight allows them not only to see the future but also the chain of events that lead to it. They can change something now that alters the future itself. It's their sight I covet." With a malevolent gleam in his eyes, he adds, "It's time for me to change my eye again. With the blood of the greenseers, I will craft an eye far more formidable than my current foresight."
Vinda, still unconvinced, asks worriedly, "Are you certain their greensight is compromised for today? For all we know, this might be a trap."
"Don't fret," Grindelwald replies, his voice filled with grim satisfaction. "Years of power have made them complacent. It took a lot of magic and a dozen Pythias and Manticores, but a ritual comprised of their blood and magic was able to buy me a few days away from their sight."
Suddenly, Grindelwald raises his wand, and with a swift motion, a bright green flash of light shoots forth, accompanied by a low hissing sound. It strikes a crow perched on a distant branch, the bird falling lifeless to the ground as other birds take flight, startled by the sudden violence.
"Wargs," Grindelwald mutters darkly, his lips curling in disdain.
The wards protecting the manor collapse with a thunderous crack. For a moment, everyone halts, the silence thick with tension, as Grindelwald strides forward, his presence radiating chilling confidence and dark charisma. The rows of men part to clear a path for him to the manor's gate, their movements precise and disciplined.
As Grindelwald and his forces breach the manor, they are met with a fierce onslaught of spells. Grindelwald raises a transparent shield, its surface shimmering as it deflects the incoming attacks, protecting himself and his trusted associates.
The battle begins in earnest, the air thick with the smell of ozone and the sound of crackling magic—one side led by the dark and formidable Grindelwald, the other by the loyal and brave Benjamin Reed, the head of Stark security.