Better Make Him Leave

The silence after Grandmother's proclamation was a storm waiting to erupt. Myhra lowered her head slightly, a sense of helplessness winding around her chest. Her hands and feet went cold. cause she knew the implications of curse blood. 

At that moment, the sound of small, hurried footsteps quietened on the narrow staircase. Minu halted in the midst of the hopping with quiet joy, a pillow, a plain sheet, and a small carpet bundled in her arms. She froze mid-step, her big, curious eyes darting down the rest of the stairs. Something was wrong. Her innocent cheer faltered as her sharp ears caught the tension, and then the words—"He's from cursed blood!"

Her head tilted to peaked downstairs as she whispered to herself, "Is grandma scolding Myhra and talking about the boy? Cursed blood? Isn't that one of those 'silent -shush' topics they never let me hear?" She squinted, clutching her items closer as though they might shield to be invisible so that she could hear more. She tiptoed the rest of the way down, her curiosity warring with the cautious warning bells in her mind.

Should I go and ask? No, no, Minu, you'll just get 'Don't ask questions, child' again, she thought, scrunching her nose. Her eyes snapped towards the blood-red threat around her wrist tied by her grandmother just a half-hour ago after initiating Minu into to the mysticism of ancient blood magic. Hence Grandmother had became Minu's First Master until Minu meets her Mystic Master. 

She sidled up to the doorway, half-hiding behind the edge of the wall, watching the adults. Her gaze flicked to Yittann, huddled like a cornered kitten, and then to Myhra, who looked like she'd just lost a battle no one else knew about. Minu's fingers fidgeted with the edge of the pillow as her imagination began to run wild as she doesn't know what does it mean.

Maybe "cursed blood" means Yittann has some super-scary power… or maybe he turns into a giant monster at night! Or… wait… what if he's like those heroes-turned-villains in Grandmother's stories, the ones desperate enough to sold their soul to dark powers and in return gets cursed to destroy everyone? That so horrifying! Her thoughts spiralled, and she frowned to herself.

Her sharp eyes darted from Myhra, standing rigid like a soldier before the tribunal, to Yittann, cowering near her. The moment she heard her grandmother's sharp tone, Minu snapped to look at Yittann, cowering close. A faint scowl crossed Minu's face as she saw the cursed one clinging to her sister like a leech stuck on skin to suck out all the blood from the host. She had disliked Yittann's presence in their house, and now this? Besides, her sister was being scolded because of him.

"Myhra, you know what he is, and yet you didn't..." kill him. Grandmother said but her voice dying before last few words along with the trust she had for the favoured child. Cursed Blood! A pawn in a game! Driven by the will of the one who controls it! His existence is not an accident—it is a warning! Myhra had brought a curse into their house!

Minu's eyes narrowed. What did Myhra didn't do this time? she wondered. Still, the sight of her sister standing there, frozen under their grandmother's glare, made Minu's chest tighten with anger. Myhra wasn't just her sister; she was her rising hero, and seeing her in trouble because of that boy made Minu's small fists clench. She was ready to jump in only to scolded away when Myhra spoke. 

"Cursed blood or not! He's a lost soul," Myhra said firmly, her gaze locking onto her mother's. "Whatever his bloodline, he could have chanted the Blood Oath. After being attacked, I couldn't just leave him there to be taken or killed."

Blood Oath!? Except for Myhra, everyone's eyes snapped to the boy. He had the capacity to chant it. Blood Oaths are simple to recite; the ancient hymns hold enormous power to summon those who have magic in their bones and blood among any of the nine ancient bloodline magic wielders, even pulling them from their slumber. The chant compels the summoned protector to guard the chanter, but in return, the chanter is bound as a willful slave to the savior and their family until released.

"Did you accept his Blood Oath?" Grandmother asked seriously.

Myhra shook her head. To accept his blood oath would mean taking the young boy as a slave. Once the oath was made, Yittann would forget all his past memories and life, condemned to live his new existence as a blood slave, no more than a pet bound by magic and submission.

Grandmother's visage relaxed slightly. Accepting a blood slave doesn't simply mean acquiring a subordinate; it involves a profound transformation of ancient blood magic. The changes, unpredictable and deeply tied to the essence of the individual, vary greatly from person to person. History is rife with cautionary tales of blood slaves who, empowered by this transformation, turned into nightmares for the pure bloodlines that sought to control them.

"Come forward," her grandmother's voice rang out, smooth but unyielding.

Myhra took a step, gently pulling Yittann not to cower behind her but stand beside her, though she could feel his resistance as he tried to press himself behind her. She kept her hand firmly, refusing to let go, even as the weight of her grandmother's gaze bore into her. She forced herself to stand tall, steadying herself for what was to come.

Her grandmother's eyes flicked between Myhra and Yittann, assessing them with a cold, piercing look. "You know what you've brought into our home, right, Myhra?"

"Yes, Grandmother," Myhra replied, her voice steady but her throat tight.

"A curse-bound vampire child form," her grandmother's voice dropped, low and dangerous. "You would risk the safety of our bloodline, our sanctuary, for this creature? The very magic in our veins is a beacon that both repels and enrages his kind."

Myhra felt her pulse quicken, "He's not a threat yet," she said firmly. "I've seen the marks of shadow tendrils on his body. He's been attacked, hunted. I'll take him Silver Council when I return until then I plead for your compassion."

Her grandmother's expression didn't soften. If anything, it hardened, her jaw clenching as her gaze lingered on Yittann, who cowered under her scrutiny, clinging to Myhra's arm. "And you think they can save him?" she asked coldly. "Is this your kindness is enough to shield him from what hunts him?"

Myhra felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She knew her grandmother was testing her, pushing her to see if she truly understood the consequences of her actions. "I know the risks, Grandmother,"

"But I also know that our power is meant to protect, not to turn away those who need it most. If we abandon him now, he'll fall into the hands of those who seek to exploit him—or worse, those who will destroy him before we can understand his purpose."

She paused, her gaze unwavering as she met her grandmother's piercing eyes. "And you've always taught me to see beyond immediate fear. If we turn our backs on him, we're not just leaving him to his fate—we're leaving ourselves vulnerable to a greater threat. Being a unborn vampire whatever power he holds, it's untrained and unshaped. If we don't find someone who could hone it, guide it, and make us understand better, it could sprout unchecked, becoming a weapon we'll eventually have to face. Why not act now, before that enemy has a chance to rise?"

For a long, unbearable moment, her grandmother said nothing, taking in all that young girl spoke off.

Then, with deliberate slowness, she stepped forward. Her sharp gaze shifted to Yittann, her hand rising in a graceful yet commanding gesture. Intricate movements followed, her fingers weaving through the air as if pulling threads from the ether. Myhra felt the atmosphere shift, the air thickening with an almost suffocating energy. A chill seeped into her bones, the raw power of her magic stirring in the space between them.

"After sundown, I can bear to see him no longer, you better make him leave," her grandmother said, her tone resolute as she completed her chant. Crimson ropes of blood magic unfurled like serpents, coiling around Yittann. The boy let out a small, frightened sound as the tendrils lifted him gently but firmly, anchoring him to a corner of the room. His wide eyes sought Myhra's, silently pleading.

"Can you please not..." Myhra tried to oppose but was met with the coldness of her grandmother's unrelenting raised brows. She could only clenched her fists and express her gratitude. "Thank you!" she said softly, though her voice carried the weight of a vow. "I won't make you regret it."

Her grandmother's expression remained unreadable. "We shall see," she replied, turning away.

Myhra went before Yittann, her expression softening as she reached for his trembling hand. "It's all right," she murmured. "This is temporary."

She drew a small vial from her belt, uncorking it to release a faint, soothing aroma. " And this will help you rest and heal," she said, gently holding it under his nose. The boy flinched at first but slowly relaxed as the magical tincture worked its way through his senses. His breathing steadied, his eyelids drooping as the tension in his small frame began to melt away.

When Yittann finally drifted into a healing slumber, Myhra adjusted the ropes of blood magic so they supported him more comfortably.

A faint rustling drew everyone's attention as Minu emerged from the shadows, her small frame hesitant yet determined. "Grandma, Mother,"

"The villagers!" Minu called out, as it cut through the lingering tension in the room. "They're close! The whole procession to the mount temple!"

Chhaya glanced up, her expression out of touch from the reality as she took time to adjust. "The villagers?" she asked, though still touched with the remnants of their earlier concerns.

"Yes!" Minu nodding, her curls bouncing with her. "I saw them from the upstairs window." 

The murmur of voices grew closer, and then a clear, melodious call rang out from the courtyard, piercing through the stillness of the room. "O High Priestess! O Dear Chhaya!" The voice was rich with warmth and familiarity, carrying the unmistakable cadence of one of the village women. "Are you coming to the temple or not?"

Chhaya turned toward the sound, her brow furrowed briefly before the realization dawned. She moved to the window, the faint strains of rhythmic chants and the hum of celebratory energy drifting in through the open air. Outside, figures in vibrant attire were gathering, their offerings of different type kept their hands occupied. The procession's joyous atmosphere seemed to weave its way into the house, lightening the air that had moments before been heavy with tension.

"High Priestess, we're ready to leave!" the voice called again, this time accompanied by the distant echo of drums and the occasional chime of bells.

"Yes, yes, we're coming. You head first; we'll join shortly," Chhaya responded with a quick nod, her tone brisk yet softened by the ease of the moment.

Chhaya stepped back, her posture straightening as she absorbed the shift. The rhythmic chants, harmonizing with the subtle melody of celebration, resonated in her chest, pulling her focus outward. She exchanged a glance with her mother-in-law, both women silently acknowledging the transition from private worries to communal duty. Chhaya straightened, her focus shifting as the normalcy of the moment settled over her.

"Minu, go fetch my shawl," Grandmother instructed firmly, and Minu gave Myhra the sheets in arms. Myhra took them and went to cover the boy in healing rest, she saw a few of black tendrils disappearing from his body. Myhra knew by the time they will return, he would be completely healed.

 Chhaya, meanwhile, rushed toward the kitchen, her movements brisk and purposeful. "I need to grab the offerings," she murmured to no one in particular, her words trailing behind her as she disappeared into the adjoining room.

Before vanishing inside, Chhaya paused, glancing over her shoulder. "Myhra, get yourself ready," she said, her tone brisk but soft enough to carry an undercurrent of maternal concern. 

Myhra nodded,"I'll be quick, but are you okay, mother?" she then watched her mother intently, noticing the redness lingering around Chhaya's eyes, a telltale sign of her earlier emotional outburst. Chhaya gave a nod before she quickly turned away from her, avoiding her gaze as she busied herself with preparations.Myhra momentarily turned back to Minu, who was already gathering some other items, including baskets filled with fresh flowers and woven garlands. Myhra stepped forward, her hands moving instinctively to help.

Grandmother was the first to step out, her commanding presence drawing attention as she called out to Minu. The little girl followed in a hurry, clutching the items tightly to her chest. Myhra watched them go, then turned to gather her clothes. She hadn't yet bathed, and with no time to do so at home, she resolved to cleanse herself at the mountain waterfall before joining the others.