Warlock Ch 444. Rites of The Death
Alric stepped forward first. "My king," he bowed.
Cedric and Selena flanked him. The prince gave a much deeper bow, stiff but practiced. Selena did a traditional court greeting—hand over heart, chin dipped, posture dignified.
The king didn't return the gesture imdiately. His eyes… were locked on Damian.
A quiet hum rolled from him as he walked closer, guards stepping back instinctively. The earth seed to respond to his steps, grass sprouting and curling gently in his wake.
"You," the Fae King said softly. "You are the one."
Damian nodded slightly, not sure what that ant exactly. "I am… soone. Yes."
Alric coughed. "Your Majesty, allow to explain—"
"No need." The king raised a hand. "I can feel the creature's presence. Dormant. Sealed. But alive." He studied Damian's face, eyes narrowing. "You used the ancient scroll, didn't you?"
Cedric stepped forward quickly. "He didn't ask for it. I made that choice. I used it on him. Because he—he saved us."
The king arched a brow. "Do you understand what that scroll does?"
"I do now," Cedric said, eyes firm. "I gave him the right to carry our fla. To command the bond. I know I was just a prince—"
"Not anymore," the king cut in, looking at him quietly. "You claid a title, Cedric. And a duty." He looked to Selena. "You agreed with this?"
Selena nodded. "I saw what he did. What he still does. No Fae would've survived without him."
Alric added with a weary grin, "He rebuilt the city, Your Majesty. Not taphorically. Like. Actually rebuilt it. With magic. From the ground up."
The king's expression didn't shift much, but his gaze softened a little. He turned back to Damian. "So. You're the one who took in that… abomination."
"I sealed it," Damian corrected. "Its power is under my control."
"Is it?" the king asked, tone unreadable.
Damian hesitated. "Mostly."
That earned a faint smirk. "Well, you're still breathing. That's proof enough."
One of the fae priests approached, reverent. "My King… the rites await. We can't let them wait much longer."
The king nodded slowly. "Yes. Let's begin."
The burial ceremony of the Fae was… a thing of beauty.
No caskets were lowered. Instead, each one was set atop a raised stone pedestal carved from enchanted crystal, one by one. Petals and crushed herbs were placed around the base—lavender, sage, moonblossoms. Then, a song.
Not a chant.
Not a hymn.
A song.
The fae began to sing—not in unison, not exactly. More like a thousand tiny harmonies, layered in echoing threads of magic. The sound wrapped around the wind, carried through the trees, brushed against the skin like a mory.
Magic danced in the air, soft and silver.
The caskets began to glow. One by one, the bodies inside shimred and slowly—peacefully—turned into dust. Sparkling, glowing dust. Not burnt. Not destroyed. Just… returned.
Returned to the land.
The glowing ash rose gently into the sky like the souls were being carried off by the wind. A soft wind. The kind that didn't sting, only reminded you sothing had passed through.
Tears didn't fall loudly. They rolled in silence. Even Victoria wiped her eyes, jaw clenched.
Damian stood at the back, watching.
And then the king approached him again.
"I understand," he said. "What Cedric did. What you did."
Damian said nothing.
"You gave everything you had. Not for power. Not for glory. But to protect what remained."
"I didn't save everyone," Damian whispered.
"No one ever does," the king said. "But you saved enough. More than anyone else could've."
He looked out at the now-quiet crowd. "You have my thanks, Warlock of Haven. And you have our alliance."
Damian blinked. Then smiled, just slightly.
The king wasn't done. He leaned in. "Just keep that thing inside you asleep. For all our sakes."
"I'll try."
The king laughed, just once. "You're worse than your reputation."
"I know."
The ceremony ended with the planting of a new tree. A moonwood sapling, rooted in soil soaked with old blood and new magic.
It sparkled.
Just a little.
And as the crowd dispersed, the sun finally rose properly over Haven.
Warm. Bright. Unyielding.
Hope blood in the ruins.
And Damian walked away from the graves, silent, knowing full well that peace never lasted long.
But still—he hoped.
And that, sohow, was enough.
Until the dragons roared.
It wasn't a gentle call.
No aerial flourish. No sky dance.
It was a warning. A sound that split the clouds and echoed down to the bone.
Damian stopped in his tracks, breath catching as he turned toward the horizon. The others froze too. Cassius glanced up sharply. Evelyn's hands curled instinctively near her dagger.
The dragons circled tighter. Their calls growing sharper, deeper.
And Lysandra—General Frostfang, battle-forged, unshakable—narrowed her eyes and said grimly, "They're coming."
From behind, Victoria stepped forward, her crimson eyes flashing beneath the veil of her hooded cloak. "Who?"
Damian didn't even look back. He just muttered, "The senators."
Aria landed softly beside him, the magic around her wings dispersing with a faint shimr. "They don't like to waste ti, huh?" she said dryly, scanning the far treeline. "Barely finished a funeral and already back for round two."
What ca next wasn't subtle.
The convoy didn't arrive quietly.
No.
It descended—like a small-scale invasion.
Arcane carriages floated just above the dirt path, flanked by armored soldiers on shimring steeds and spellcasters with glowing staves. Wards glimred in the air, pulsing with detection magic, defensive runes, and probably a dozen kill spells layered just beneath the surface.
They ca as if Haven was already guilty.
The fae king stood still, lips thinning as the ground trembled softly under their advance. The light around him dimd slightly—not from fear. From disappointnt.
Victoria's fingers twitched toward her sword hilt. "So much for diplomacy."
Lysandra's scales glead in the sun as she strode forward. "They co bearing swords and chains to a place of mourning," she said flatly. "Let guess. They want to talk."
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