Scarlet chains

Chapter 21---Transformation

Nova POV

Their words washed over me like a distant song I couldn't grasp. I tried to reach inside my mind, but all I found was an empty room—silent, dark, and cold.

"You are Seraphiel," the High Seer repeated, his voice steady and sure. "Chosen by the Cult's God to lead us."

I blinked, trying to understand. Who was I? Where was I? There was nothing—no memories, no feelings, just a hollow space.

"Your past has been taken, for your own protection," another voice whispered. "But here, in this place, you are home. You belong."

I looked down at the robes they draped over me—silver threads that shimmered with something I couldn't name. My hands trembled.

"I don't remember…" I whispered.

"That's alright," the Seer said kindly. "You remember what matters now. Your purpose. Your loyalty."

A faint warmth sparked inside me—uncertain, fragile—but it was enough to make me nod.

"I am Seraphiel," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

They smiled. The Cult bowed.

And I believed them.

---

The High Seer stepped forward, holding a chalice etched with symbols that pulsed faintly with silver light. "Drink," he said gently. "Let the truth settle in your bones."

I took it with hesitant hands. The liquid shimmered like stars caught in water. I didn't question—it felt… right. Familiar, even.

As I drank, images flickered at the edges of my mind. Not memories, no—but visions, planted roots. A burning sky. A throne of stone. My hands raised, commanding legions cloaked in shadow and reverence.

"You were born from divinity," another robed figure intoned. "Sent to deliver us. To purge the realms of their corruption."

I blinked again, and the flickers grew stronger. Their voices were shaping the very foundation of my thoughts.

"Your enemies imprisoned you. Twisted your past. But we found you, my queen. We restored what they stole."

The word *enemies* echoed. Somewhere deep inside, something clenched—but I didn't know why.

"Soon," the Seer continued, "you will awaken your true power. The seal is fading."

The room vibrated faintly, and the cultists began to chant softly. I stood there, still uncertain—but no one else hesitated. They looked at me like I was their dawn.

I turned to the great obsidian mirror behind the altar. My reflection stared back—eyes glowing faint silver, face serene.

"I am Seraphiel," I whispered again. This time, it felt easier.

And I smiled.

---

Time—passed in a blur of ritual and whispers.

They guided me through long corridors carved from blackstone, where time felt slow and sound barely echoed. Symbols pulsed along the walls, responding to my presence. They said the fortress itself recognized me.

"This magic once belonged only to the High God," the Seer told me. "But you—Seraphiel—you are his chosen vessel."

I didn't question. I didn't resist.

They placed ancient tomes in my hands—scripts etched in languages that felt familiar though I couldn't recall ever seeing them. And as I spoke the words, power surged through my veins like wildfire.

One ritual had me stand beneath a sky of shifting void. I raised my palm, reciting forgotten incantations—and lightning bent to my will.

Another day, I closed my eyes and saw threads of fate connecting people, tugging at their hearts. With one command, I severed them.

They clapped. They knelt. They called me perfect.

"You are learning fast," the Seer said with pride. "Your soul remembers, even if your mind does not."

I smiled—because I believed them. Because I had nothing else to believe.

They didn't fear me. They worshipped me.

And that made me feel... safe.

---