Chapter 8- The Gathering of the Coven

The great hall of the Gabriel Estate was alive with tension, a palpable energy that buzzed through the air like static before a storm. The grand oak table, polished to a mirror sheen, stretched from one end of the room to the other, accommodating the council members who had gathered from far and wide. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows against the towering bookshelves, their ancient tomes whispering of forgotten magic and untold power.

Aunt Patricia stood at the head of the table, her hands gripping the edge with quiet authority. Her emerald green robes, embroidered with silver vines that signified her role as the coven’s matriarch, flowed elegantly to the floor. Despite the regal appearance, the worry lines on her face were deeper than usual, betraying the weight she carried.

Seated around her were the twelve most powerful members of their coven—the ruling council, also known as The Circle.

Elder Marcellus, the eldest and most traditional among them, leaned back in his chair, his beady eyes scanning the room with a look of perpetual disapproval. Beside him, Lady Rowena sat with a stern, hawk-like gaze, her fingers drumming impatiently against the table. The air reeked of tension, the kind that could crack with the lightest spark.

"We are wasting time," Marcellus finally spoke, his voice raspy with age but sharp enough to cut through the room’s heavy silence. "The signs are clear. The shadows are rising, and we sit here debating like frightened children."

"We are not children, Marcellus," Rowena snapped, her sharp tongue matching her sharp features. "We are strategists, scholars of magic, and most of all, leaders. We do not act without proper deliberation."

“Deliberation!” scoffed Edgar, a burly warlock with a thick beard and a penchant for action over words. He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the silver goblets placed before them. "While we deliberate, the enemy grows stronger! Their influence is spreading through the northern covens like wildfire. If we wait much longer, we'll be fighting with our backs against the wall!"

A ripple of murmurs swept through the room, and Patricia exhaled sharply. "Enough!" Her voice, though calm, carried the weight of command. "I understand your concerns, Edgar, but rash actions will only weaken us further."

A sharp laugh came from the far end of the table. Lady Celeste, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders like a river of moonlight, tilted her head with a smirk. "And what do you suggest, Patricia? More wards? More secrecy? Our enemies are not blind fools. They know where we are, and they are preparing for war while we squabble in our safety."

"I suggest," Patricia said evenly, "that we take measures to prepare and defend our people, without needlessly exposing them to danger."

"Defend?" A younger warlock, Tobias, leaned forward, his blue eyes filled with concern. "Matriarch, forgive me, but we are already under attack. Reports from the southern territories speak of disappearances—young witches vanishing without a trace. Some say their magic is being drained." He paused, swallowing hard. "We cannot simply defend. We must act."

Patricia closed her eyes briefly, trying to suppress the pang of helplessness. "We cannot charge into battle without a clear plan. If we fall into chaos, the enemy will pick us off one by one."

Marcellus leaned forward, his gnarled fingers tapping against his staff. "Then tell us, Patricia," he rasped, "do you have a plan? Or are you still hiding behind your niece's growing powers and hoping fate will sort it all out?"

At the mention of Nadia, Patricia's grip on the table tightened. A few council members shifted uncomfortably. The prophecy was no secret among them, but Nadia’s growing role in it was becoming harder to ignore.

"She is not ready," Patricia said firmly, but the hesitation in her voice did not go unnoticed.

"Then make her ready," Rowena interjected. "Whether we like it or not, she is tied to the destiny of this coven. The enemy seeks her power, and we must decide—do we train her or shield her?"

"We should have never kept her in the dark for so long," Tobias muttered under his breath, but loud enough for all to hear.

Edgar leaned forward again, his voice quieter but no less fierce. "It's too late to question the past. The question now is—who is leading this fight? Patricia, you've always held this coven together, but we need to face facts. The enemy is stronger than we ever anticipated. We need alliances. Reinforcements."

Patricia nodded, her expression unreadable. "I've already begun reaching out to our allies, but they, too, are hesitant. They sense the same darkness that we do. Some fear that if they join us, they will invite the war to their doorsteps."

A low murmur rippled through the room once more.

"Then we must convince them otherwise," Celeste mused, her voice laced with an air of calculation. "We offer them something they cannot refuse—protection, security, power."

"And what of those who side with the enemy?" Marcellus questioned darkly. "The covens that see an opportunity for dominance, rather than unity? We cannot forget that power tempts even the most righteous of us."

Silence.

"Then we fight," Edgar growled. "And we fight hard."

"And we lose everything," Rowena countered bitterly. "Do you think this war will be waged in the open? No, Edgar. It will be fought in whispers, in betrayals, in the shadows before the first spell is ever cast."

"Enough!" Patricia snapped, silencing the rising tension. She drew a deep breath and softened her voice. "We are at a crossroads. We have only two options—prepare for war and train our people, or seek peace and risk falling without a fight. Both choices carry risks, but one thing is certain... doing nothing is not an option."

Marcellus sat back in his chair, eyes narrowed. "And what do you propose, Matriarch?"

Patricia let the silence stretch, her gaze sweeping over the council members. "We do both. We train our people discreetly, strengthen our defences, and send envoys to the other covens to assess where their allegiances lie. We will not stand idle, but we will not rush headlong into battle without knowing who stands beside us."

A mix of approval and uncertainty crossed the council's faces. Edgar crossed his arms but nodded begrudgingly. Rowena pursed her lips in thought but said nothing.

Tobias finally spoke, his voice filled with quiet resolve. "Then let us begin. We have much work to do."

Patricia exhaled, her heart heavy with the knowledge that this was only the beginning. As the council dispersed, murmuring their thoughts to one another, she remained seated, staring at the flickering candle in front of her.

She whispered under her breath, a quiet plea to the ancestors: "Guide us through this storm."

Outside, the wind howled through the trees, as if whispering back that the storm had already begun.