Raven Moon

Chapter 11:

Bloodline Betrayal

The Hawthorne estate loomed over the valley like a sentinel of the old world, untouched by time, untouched by mercy. Its towering spires pierced the night sky, the stone walls heavy with secrets whispered through generations. A dense mist curled around the grounds, swirling unnaturally as if the earth itself recoiled from the horrors that took place within.

Tonight, the house pulsed with an ancient energy. The air crackled with anticipation. It was a night of power. A night of ritual. A night where the Hawthorne family would once again claim what they believed was rightfully theirs—through blood and sacrifice.

Conner stood at the edge of the grand ceremonial hall, his fingers curled into fists at his sides. He had been raised in this house, trained in its traditions, shaped by its dark legacy. And yet, the weight of what was about to happen pressed against his chest like an iron hand.

At the center of the room lay two victims—one human, one fae. The human was a young man, his wrists and ankles bound in iron shackles, his mouth gagged to stifle his cries. His eyes darted frantically between the hooded figures encircling him, silently begging for mercy where none would be given. Beside him, the fae creature glowed dimly, its normally vibrant aura fading under the weight of silver chains. Its delicate features twisted in pain, its pointed ears twitching as if straining to hear something—perhaps the call of its kind, though none would come to save it.

"Tonight," Eldric Hawthorne's voice boomed through the hall, "we reaffirm our dominion over man and magic alike. We take what is ours. We rise above the weak."

The patriarch of the Hawthorne bloodline stood at the head of the circle, a towering figure draped in dark ceremonial robes. His long silver hair cascaded over his shoulders, and his piercing eyes held no warmth, only hunger. In his hands, he cradled an obsidian dagger, its blade humming with dark enchantments.

Conner's stomach twisted. He had seen this ritual before. Participated in it. Yet tonight, something felt different.

The chant began, low and guttural, spoken in a tongue that predated even the first recorded civilizations. The walls of the room trembled as ancient sigils carved into the stone pulsed with an eerie crimson glow. The runes, written in blood, came alive, slithering across the floor in intricate patterns that bound the victims in place.

The human would be the first. Always the human. Their lifeblood would strengthen the Hawthorne bloodline, ensuring their hold over wealth, power, and influence remained unshaken. The fae, however, was the true prize. Its magic—if harvested correctly—would grant immeasurable strength, extending the family's lifespan, sharpening their abilities, and deepening their connection to the darker forces that whispered from the void.

Eldric moved first, kneeling beside the human, pressing the cold blade against the soft flesh of their throat.

"Blood for blood," he intoned, his voice a mere breath away from ecstasy.

Conner flinched as the blade cut deep. The human's body jerked, their muffled scream barely escaping past the gag. Their blood spilled onto the sigil, the scent thick and metallic, mingling with the incense that burned in golden braziers. The ground absorbed the offering greedily, the runes flashing brilliantly for a moment before dimming, satisfied.

The room seemed to exhale. Eldric turned to the fae.

"You will fuel the Hawthorne line for generations," he murmured. "Be honored."

The fae hissed, its violet eyes burning with defiance. "You steal what you cannot create," it spat, its voice raw with pain. "You are parasites—leeches who mistake theft for strength."

Eldric merely smiled. "And yet, we thrive."

He raised the dagger.

Something inside Conner snapped.

He had always followed orders, always done what was expected of him. But tonight, the thought of Raven lingered with him would she accepted this no he would loose her, Conner had a decision to make but could only do so if Raven chose him why give up his family if she stayed with Rogue.

the weight of his family's sins pressed down on him differently. The human's lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, a silent accusation. The fae's defiant glare ignited something in him that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.

Enough.

Before he had time to second-guess himself, Conner moved.

A single step forward. A flick of the wrist. A dagger—his own—slicing through the air.

The silver chains binding the fae fell away.

For a fraction of a second, silence reigned. Then all hell broke loose.

The fae lunged, faster than human eyes could track, its magic flooding back into its veins. Eldric barely had time to react before a blast of raw energy sent him flying backward, crashing into the ceremonial altar with bone-snapping force.

The hooded figures scattered, scrambling for weapons, for spells, for anything to regain control. But Conner was already moving, his blade cutting through the chaos, his heart pounding in his chest.

He didn't know what came next. Didn't know if he would escape this house alive but he did and he hoped with all the chaos he no one would know it was his blade.

But for the first time in his life, he knew who he was.

And he knew one thing for certain—he did not want be a Hawthorne any longer if it meant killing innocent beings.

He knew who he had to go see...