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Chapter 13 - Oath of the Lyra bloodline

The revelation settled heavily over Elara. Her entire life, she had thought her unusual voice was a strange genetic anomaly. She had feared it, hidden it. Run from those who discovered it. Now she learned it was her birthright, a power that connected her to an ancient and noble heritage.

"Why didn't my mother tell me?" she whispered, more to herself than to Marlowe.

"Protection, perhaps," the elder suggested gently. "Knowledge is power, but it is also danger. By keeping your heritage from you, she may have been trying to keep you safe from those who would exploit you. Like Viktor Stone."

"Or Damon Blackwood," Elara said pointedly.

Marlowe's expression remained neutral. "Damon's interest in you is complex. But I do not believe exploitation is his motive."

"Then what is?"

The elder's lips curved in a small, enigmatic smile. "That, my dear, is a conversation for another time. For now, let us return to the Codex."

With reverence, Marlowe opened the shimmering book. The pages within were not paper but some thin, translucent material that resembled mother of pearl. Elegant script in an unfamiliar language flowed across each page, alongside intricate illustrations of rituals. Symbols. And what appeared to be anatomical diagrams of the human throat.

"The Siren language," Marlowe explained, noticing Elara's fascination with the text. "Long thought lost. Except in fragments preserved in this Codex and its sister volumes."

Elara leaned closer, drawn to the beautiful, flowing script. As she stared at the strange symbols, something odd happened. They began to shift before her eyes. Rearranging themselves into patterns that, while still unfamiliar, suddenly seemed almost comprehensible.

"I can almost," she began, then stopped, unsure how to explain the sensation.

"Read it?" Marlowe finished, watching her closely. "The language is encoded in your bloodline. With time and exposure, it will become clear to you."

She turned several pages, stopping at an illustration that made Elara gasp. It depicted a woman standing in a stone circle, her arms raised, surrounded by kneeling wolves. Above her, a blood red moon hung in a night sky. Around her throat was a pendant identical to Elara's.

"The Blood Moon ritual," Marlowe said. "As it was originally intended—a harmonious joining of Siren voice and werewolf strength to create balance and protection. Before Alaric Stone perverted it for his own gain."

The pendant at Elara's throat now burned so hot she could barely stand it. Her fingers reached out, seemingly of their own accord, toward the page with the ritual illustration.

"Elara," Cora's voice came as if from a great distance. "Your pendant. It is glowing."

Indeed, a silver light now emanated from the spiral pendant, illuminating the room with an otherworldly glow. As Elara's fingertips touched the ancient page, the world around her blurred and shifted.

The stone circle from the illustration materialized around her. But she was not merely observing it. She was standing within it, dressed in flowing robes of silver and blue. The full moon above was tinged with crimson. Its light bathing everything in a bloody glow. Around the circle, wolves, massive, with intelligent eyes, watched her intently.

A woman stood beside her, so similar in appearance that they could have been twins. The same dark hair with a streak of silver. The same unusual violet blue eyes. She wore an elaborate version of Elara's pendant, glowing with internal light.

"The balance must be maintained," the woman said in a language Elara somehow understood, though she had never heard it before. "The power must be protected. The bloodline must survive."

She placed her hands on Elara's shoulders, her eyes intense. "Remember who you are, daughter of Lyra. Remember what we stand for. When the Blood Moon rises again, you must complete the true ritual. Not for power, but for balance."

The woman began to sing, her voice rising and falling in patterns that made the very air vibrate. The wolves responded, their howls joining her song in perfect harmony. The combined sound created visible patterns of light that spiraled upward toward the crimson moon.

"Sing with me," the woman urged. "Join your voice with mine, blood of my blood."

Elara opened her mouth, and to her astonishment, the same ancient melody poured forth. Her pendant blazed with silver fire. Not burning her skin but merging with it. Becoming part of her. The wolves' howls grew louder, their eyes glowing with reflected moonlight.

"Aethel Lyra Sanguis Luna," the woman intoned, her voice resonating with power. "The oath of our line. Speak it, heir of Lyra. Claim your birthright."

The vision shattered abruptly, and Elara found herself back in Marlowe's study. Her hand was still touching the Codex. But now she was on her knees. Her body was trembling. Her pendant was blazing with silver light. Cora was at her side, supporting her, while Marlowe watched with a mixture of awe and concern.

"What happened?" Cora asked, her voice tight with worry. "You touched the book and then just collapsed."

Elara tried to respond, but instead of her own words, different sounds emerged. Ancient words in the Siren tongue.

"Aethel Lyra Sanguis Luna," she said, her voice resonating with a power that made the glass cabinets vibrate and the flames of nearby candles flicker wildly. "Aethel Lyra Sanguis Luna!"

The pendant's glow intensified, enveloping Elara in silver light. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with an ancient power awakening after centuries of dormancy.

Marlowe stepped back, her eyes wide. "The Oath of the Lyra bloodline," she whispered. "Not spoken aloud in two centuries."

Elara's eyes rolled back. The ancient words continued to spill from her lips as the power surged through her body. Images flashed behind her closed eyelids. Generations of Siren women, all wearing variations of her pendant. All singing with voices that could calm storms, command armies, and commune with the natural world.

And through it all, a single message repeated: When the Blood Moon rises, you must complete the true ritual. The balance must be restored.

"What is happening to her?" Cora demanded, trying to hold Elara's shaking form.

Before Marlowe could answer, the study door burst open. Damon stood in the doorway. His clothes torn and dirty from patrols, his eyes wide with alarm.

"I felt it," he said, his gaze fixed on Elara's glowing form. "From miles away. Her power. It called to my wolf." His eyes flashed gold momentarily. "What have you done, Marlowe? What have you done?"

"Not what I have done," the elder replied calmly, though her expression remained concerned. "What has been set in motion for centuries. The last Siren of the royal line has awakened to her heritage."

"Aethel Lyra Sanguis Luna," Elara repeated, her voice growing louder. The pendant's light pulsing in rhythm with the ancient words. Each repetition seemed to build the power in the room, creating a pressure that made ears pop and wood creak.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the light vanished. Elara's voice fell silent. Her body went limp in Cora's arms. The pendant returned to its normal silver appearance against her throat.

For a moment, complete silence filled the study. Then Elara's eyes fluttered open, their usual violet blue now ringed with silver that slowly faded as she blinked.

"I saw her," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "My ancestor. She showed me. She told me." Her gaze found Damon, standing frozen in the doorway. "The true ritual. Not for power, but for balance."

Then her eyes rolled back once more, and she collapsed completely. Unconscious in Cora's arms as the ancient knowledge overwhelmed her human mind.

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