Chapter 72: Bloodcrown
As the massive door opened, Freya stepped inside and was immediately struck by the sight before her. She had expected relics, grand statues, or perhaps ethereal manifestations of power. Instead, what greeted her were rows upon rows of beautifully crafted coffins, each adorned with intricate carvings and glowing with faint traces of energy.
"These," Catherine began, her voice calm and almost reverent, "are the sleeping ancestors of my family. We are immortal, Freya, but not invincible. When one of us grows weary of existence or chooses to step away, we enter eternal sleep. The only thing that can truly end us is if our legacy is claimed—or, as we call it, the Passing Bloodcrown, a final and true death."
Freya moved closer, her gaze sweeping over the countless coffins. "There are so many…" she murmured, awe creeping into her voice. By her count, there had to be over five hundred of them.
Catherine gave a slight shrug. "We were born kings. Our bloodline traces back to the Progenitor himself. Every vampire in our lineage was destined for greatness, born to lead. That is why our ability is called Bloodcrown. It embodies the very essence of rulership and dominance."
Freya raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you no longer a royal family?"
Catherine's expression hardened slightly. "During the reign of the 2,124th king, there was an internal strife that decimated our family. The siblings of that generation turned on one another in a bloody struggle for the throne. The king, after murdering his own brothers and sisters, abolished our royal status to prevent such bloodshed from ever happening again. We were reduced to a Duke family, a decision that most of us accepted. It kept the bloodline intact and spared us from further tragedies."
Freya nodded, her expression somber. "That must have been… difficult."
Catherine shrugged again, a faint smirk on her lips. "We adapted. Titles mean little when strength is all that matters. We remain the strongest, whether royalty or not."
Freya turned her attention back to the coffins. "So, how do I prove myself? How do I claim one of their legacies?"
Catherine gestured toward the rows of coffins. "Each of these ancestors achieved something extraordinary in their lifetime. Their legacies remain here, waiting for someone worthy to claim them." She pointed to a coffin crafted from a mix of wood and gold, its surface glowing faintly. "That one belonged to Aurilos Bloodcrown. She reached the pinnacle of alchemy, creating miracles with her art." Catherine then motioned to another coffin, this one adorned with sword-like carvings and exuding a sharp, oppressive aura. "And this one? He was a swordmaster so powerful that his gaze alone could cleave mountains."
Freya's eyes widened. "And I just… touch them?"
Catherine nodded, pointing to the farthest coffin in the chamber. It was set on a raised pedestal, grander than all the others, and surrounded by an intricate blend of crimson and gold energy. "You will start with that one—the Progenitor himself. Each ancestor will test you in their own way. If you're compatible with their legacy, they will grant it to you. If not, you move on to the next."
Freya swallowed hard, her eyes locked on the Progenitor's coffin. Its presence was overwhelming, as if the room itself revolved around it. "And if none of them choose me?"
Catherine smirked faintly. "Then you walk out of here empty-handed. But I doubt that will happen. You have potential, Freya. Even the ancestors might see it."
Freya took a deep breath, steeling herself as she stepped forward. "Five hundred and twelve legacies," she muttered under her breath. "I just need one…"
Her steps echoed through the vast chamber as she approached the Progenitor's coffin. The air around it was heavy, thick with ancient power that seemed to press down on her. Freya reached out hesitantly, her fingers trembling as they neared the surface.
"Good luck," Catherine said from behind, her voice almost teasing. "You'll need it."
Freya nodded silently, her focus entirely on the coffin before her. This is it, she thought, touching the Progenitor's coffin. The moment her fingers made contact, the world around her shifted, and a surge of energy revolved around her but then after a moment it subsided.
Freya withdrew her hand from the Progenitor's coffin, her heart sinking slightly as the ancient energy dissipated. She had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that the strongest legacy would resonate with her. But the coffin remained silent, its aura indifferent to her presence.
Catherine's voice broke the silence, calm but matter-of-fact. "It seems the Progenitor's legacy is not for you. Don't take it personally—his standards are impossibly high."
Freya nodded, though disappointment lingered in her gaze. She glanced back at the grand coffin one last time before turning toward the next in line. "It's fine," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else. "There are plenty of others."
As she approached the next coffin, she noticed its design was far less grandiose than the Progenitor's. This one was crafted from a blend of deep crimson wood and faintly glowing silver. Carvings of vines and blossoms adorned its surface, radiating an aura of life and regrowth. A soft warmth emanated from it, as though it were inviting her to step closer.
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Catherine observed from a distance, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "That one belonged to Serellia Bloodcrown," she said. "She was a healer and a guardian of life—an ancestor whose legacy might complement your own abilities."
Freya reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing against the intricate carvings. This time, the reaction was immediate. A soft green light spread from the coffin, enveloping her in a gentle, pulsating glow. The warmth felt familiar, almost comforting, and for a moment, Freya thought she had been accepted.
But then, just as quickly as it had begun, the light faded. The coffin grew still once more, its energy retreating back into its depths.
Freya sighed, frustration beginning to creep into her voice. "Not this one either."
Catherine shrugged. "Patience. The legacies choose based on compatibility. You're not being rejected—you're simply not the right match for those powers."
Gritting her teeth, Freya moved on to the next coffin. This one was sleek and metallic, its surface engraved with symbols of fire and ash. The energy it radiated was fierce and untamed, a stark contrast to the serene aura of Serellia's.
"Ah, Lioren Bloodcrown," Catherine said, a glimmer of interest in her tone. "A master of destructive flames. He was said to embody the concept of rebirth through destruction. If fire truly runs in your veins, Freya, this one might recognize you."
Freya's heart quickened as she placed her hand on the coffin. Flames erupted instantly, swirling around her in a chaotic dance of heat and light. For a moment, she felt the flames resonate with her own power, the sensation exhilarating and almost overwhelming.
But then the flames receded, leaving her standing alone once more. The coffin returned to its dormant state.
Freya clenched her fists, frustration bubbling to the surface. "How many do I have to try before one of them accepts me?"
Catherine chuckled lightly. "Sometimes it takes one. Sometimes it takes a hundred. There's no way to predict it. All you can do is keep moving forward."
With a determined nod, Freya moved to the next coffin, refusing to let disappointment consume her.
with that she has tested over 100 coffin but none of them accepted her, frustrated but not defeated she moved to next coffin.
The next coffin she approached was distinctly different from the others. It was smaller, less ornate, but emanated a strange, pulsating rhythm, almost like a heartbeat. The material seemed to shift between liquid and solid, as though the coffin itself was alive. Freya hesitated, her hand hovering over it.
"What about this one?" she asked, glancing back at Catherine.
Catherine's eyes narrowed, her tone uncharacteristically serious. "That one belonged to Altheron Bloodcrown. He was… peculiar. A visionary and a recluse. His legacy was rumored to blur the lines between life and death. Not many dared to approach his coffin."
Freya swallowed hard, feeling a mixture of fear and intrigue. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Catherine smirked, her seriousness melting away. "You die. For real this time."
Freya shot her a glare, but Catherine's teasing grin offered little reassurance. Still, Freya steeled herself, pressing her palm firmly against the shifting surface of Altheron's coffin.
The reaction was instant. A cold, almost chilling energy surged through her, freezing her in place. The rhythmic pulse grew louder, resonating through her chest and syncing with her heartbeat. The room around her blurred, and she felt herself being pulled into a void of swirling shadows and faint whispers.
Freya's vision cleared, and she found herself standing in an endless expanse of mist. A figure materialized before her—a tall, gaunt man draped in robes that seemed to shimmer like oil under moonlight. His face was pale, his eyes two pools of swirling black.
"You…" he said, his voice a soft yet piercing echo. "You are not what I expected."
Freya's breath caught in her throat. "Are you Altheron?"
The figure inclined his head slightly. "I am what remains of him. You seek my legacy?"
Freya straightened her posture, meeting his gaze. "I do."