His Father Declared My Daughter a Saintess for an Ancient Empire, But I Knew It Was a Sacrificial Death Sentence
Lucas dragged Master Scribe Kaelen into a deserted warehouse, its cavernous interior smelling of stale grain and damp earth. The Scribe, whimpering, stumbled on the uneven floor, his thin frame shaking. Lucas shoved him against a stack of empty barrels, the clatter echoing eerily in the vast space. The moonlight, filtering through grimy windows high above, cast long, distorted shadows, making Lucas’s ancient armor gleam ominously.
“Tell me everything, Kaelen,” Lucas commanded, his voice devoid of patience. “Every lie you wrote, every document you falsified, and every order you received.”
Kaelen cowered, his eyes darting frantically. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m just a Scribe, I follow orders!” He tried to sound indignant, but his voice cracked, betraying his terror.
Lucas pulled one of the coded missives from his satchel, its surface crinkled from the chase. He thrust it before Kaelen’s face. “This symbol. This signature. ‘The Brotherhood of the Dark Sun.’ You know this mark. You signed your name to their lies.”
Kaelen’s face went even paler, if that was possible. He pressed himself further into the barrels, as if hoping to disappear into the wood. “No, no, please! I… I only did what High Priest Cassian asked at first! He just wanted to… to secure Lyra’s position, to make the adoption official!” The words tumbled out, desperate and rushed.
“The forged decrees?” Lucas snarled, his voice a low growl. “The ones that declared my daughter a Saintess, and me a traitor?”
Kaelen flinched. “Yes! He said it was for the good of the clan, for the ancient prophecy. He said you were unstable, that you would try to interfere. He offered me… incentives.” Kaelen’s eyes darted towards the scattered silver marks outside, a pathetic admission of his greed.
“But then… then it changed,” Kaelen stammered, his voice dropping to a terrified whisper. “About four months ago. Masked figures. They came to my office at night. They bore a different mark.” He pointed to the coded missive Lucas still held. “This one. The Dark Sun. They said the High Priest was… was preparing for a greater ceremony. They told me to alter the ancient prophecy scrolls.”
Lucas’s blood ran cold. This was the specific, personal betrayal, the perversion of sacred history itself. “Alter them? How?”
“They wanted specific phrases changed,” Kaelen choked out, his eyes wide with remembered fear. “Phrases that spoke of ‘blessing of the sun’ were to become ‘devourer of shadows.’ ‘Life-giving light’ became ‘consuming darkness.’ They said it was to ‘align the texts with the true ancient intent,’ but… but it felt wrong. It felt evil.”
The sheer audacity of it, twisting sacred texts to justify a malevolent ritual, was a chilling act of petty cruelty. It wasn’t just gaslighting Lucas; it was gaslighting an entire lineage, an entire Empire, altering their foundational beliefs to suit their own dark purpose. The hypocrisy was a physical blow, a direct insult to every ancestor who had dedicated their lives to preserving the truth.
“They forced me,” Kaelen insisted, tears streaming down his face. “They threatened my family. My reputation. They said if I didn’t cooperate, they would ensure I disappeared.” He shuddered, remembering the masked figures, their silent, menacing presence.
“And the map?” Lucas demanded, recalling the crudely drawn sketch he’d found amongst Kaelen’s fleeing possessions. “The map of the Sanctuary’s sub-levels. What’s down there?”
Kaelen nodded frantically. “That’s where the ritual is to take place! Not the main chambers. A hidden altar, deep beneath the Sanctuary. They called it the ‘Chamber of Awakening.’ They forced me to draw it, to mark the secret tunnels, the storage areas for their… their reagents.” He gestured vaguely at the map. “They said the eclipse was the key, that its darkness would open the way.”
Lucas pulled out the map. It was indeed crudely drawn, but precise in its detail, showing winding passages, forgotten storage rooms, and a specific, marked chamber directly beneath the Sanctuary’s main altar. Kaelen had even sketched a rough outline of the altar itself, noting a particular glowing inscription at its base.
“The reagents,” Lucas pressed, his voice tight. “The alchemical substances. The Crimsonthorn Blossom, the Essence of the Ancient Heart. What are they for?”
Kaelen whimpered again. “I only logged the transfers! I was told they were to ‘prepare the vessel for purification,’ but the masked men spoke of ‘binding the shadow-blood,’ of ‘absorbing its power.’ They said the High Priest believed it would ‘restore the lineage’s strength,’ but they… they laughed when he said it. They whispered about ‘a new age of darkness,’ of ‘unleashing the devourer.'”
The words hung in the air, chilling Lucas to the bone. The Brotherhood hadn’t just manipulated Cassian; they had openly mocked his misguided intentions, playing him for a fool while he believed he was performing a noble sacrifice. The cruelty was profound, making his father a complicit victim in his own perverse scheme.
“They control him, don’t they?” Lucas muttered, his eyes fixed on Kaelen.
“Completely,” Kaelen whispered, his head bowed. “He thinks he’s leading, but he’s just… just doing their bidding. He believes their lies about the prophecy, about the bloodline. He believes Lyra is destined for greatness, but they mean to… to destroy her, and use her essence for something terrible.” Kaelen’s voice trembled with a mixture of fear and a belated, weak shred of conscience.
He looked up, his eyes pleading. “Please, don’t tell them I told you! They’ll kill me! They’ll kill my family!”
Lucas studied the sniveling Scribe, his disgust palpable. Kaelen was a tool, a willing pawn until the threats became too real. But he had delivered crucial information. The altered prophecies, the map, the confirmation of the Brotherhood’s true, malevolent intent beyond his father’s delusion. This was Twist 5, and it was a gut punch of betrayal.
He released Kaelen, who immediately slumped to the floor, gasping for breath. “You’ve given me what I needed,” Lucas said, his voice flat. “Now disappear. If I see you again, or hear of you interfering, I will find you.” He left Kaelen trembling on the floor, surrounded by his scattered, ill-gotten silver. The Scribe’s fear was his punishment, for now.
Lucas stared at the crudely drawn map, the lines and symbols now filled with terrifying meaning. He had his path. He had his enemy. And he had a clear picture of the true, destructive ritual that awaited his daughter.
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