Chapter 51 – The Magister's Letter
The sealed letter arrived at midnight.
No name, no crest. Just a wax seal etched with a flame-shaped eye—the forbidden mark of the Magistery. A declaration of heresy in the Luther heartlands.
Jean read the message once, twice, then a third time.
> Come to the ruins beneath Caerholm. Alone. I have knowledge your ancestors buried in blood and silence. Knowledge of Antares. And the Oath your Clan broke.
She burned the letter to ash.
"Going somewhere?" Cassien asked, watching her don her cloak.
Jean didn't look up. "I have a meeting. Alone."
Whitney growled low. "We don't trust Magisters."
"We don't," Jean agreed. "But if there's truth about Antares—real truth—we can't afford to ignore it."
They met her at the edge of Caerholm's ruins. A woman, hooded in crimson and black, aura heavy with raw magic. Her presence felt like pages turning in a forbidden book.
"I'm called Maeryn of Ashspire," she said. "Exiled Sage of the Magistery. They branded me for what I uncovered."
Jean's hand stayed near her sword. "Speak."
Maeryn knelt and touched the stone, and glowing runes bloomed in a circle around them.
"Your ancestor, Martin Luther, made a pact with Celeste and three other gods to halt Antares. But that pact came with a cost."
Jean's eyes narrowed. "What cost?"
Maeryn's voice dropped. "He bound the soul of a Dragonkin—one of Antares' own brood—into a relic. Into a sword. Into Luxclade."
The runes flared.
Jean stepped back. "You're lying."
Maeryn's eyes burned. "Feel it. The way your blade responds to blood. To grief. That hunger isn't divine. It's draconic. That's why you're the Emissary. Celeste needed someone to keep the dragon's soul in check. But if the seal fails—"
Jean clenched her fists. "Why tell me this?"
"Because," Maeryn said, "the Magistery wants you dead. But I want Antares gone. I need you strong enough to survive what comes next. And you need to understand: your blade is not just a weapon."
Jean stared down at Luxclade. It pulsed faintly—warm, and now… something else. A whisper she hadn't heard before. Ancient. Mourning.
Maeryn handed her a scroll sealed in bone.
"Read this when you're ready. Then decide what kind of Emissary you'll be."
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