nunafreya

They burned her once. They won't survive her rebirth.

Aelira Dawnveil lived a quiet life in the shadows of a town that feared witches—until the flames came for her. But death couldn't hold her.

Reborn as the last echo of Serelith, the High Witch of the Thirteenth Coven, Aelira awakens to power she doesn't understand and a curse she never asked for. The world has forgotten the covens. The Church believes them extinct. But the blood moon is rising again.

Hunted by fanatics and haunted by the voices of thirteen fallen witches, Aelira must piece together a forgotten betrayal, awaken the old magic, and face a terrifying truth:

She wasn’t the only one who returned.

A spellbinding tale of witches, reincarnation, betrayal, and forbidden power—perfect for fans of dark fantasy with slow-burn romance, suspense, and tragedy.

Marked By The Covens Curses

The underground chambers beneath Bloodroot pulsed with ancient silence. Aelira leaned against the moss-crawled wall, her breath unsteady, Kaeln beside her, ever-watchful. The flicker of torchlight danced along the curve of her cheekbone, highlighting the fading sigil beneath her skin.

"They're starting to notice," she whispered, voice barely above the hush of the flames. "Even the lesser witches feel it."

Kaeln nodded. "It won't be long before Vyra acts."

Above them, life in Bloodroot House pulsed with unease. Rumors had begun to twist like smoke through the coven—a shadow moving in the forest, flickers of forbidden energy, missing scrolls from the Seer's Hall. Some said the High Priestess was growing unstable. Others whispered that Saelwyn had returned.

In the shared dormitory, Nessa huddled near the window, her breath fogging the glass. Her fingers clutched the edge of a worn quilt, her heart thundering. She hadn't told anyone what she saw in the Grimoire—not all of it. But it haunted her. The memory that wasn't hers, the face she saw through Saelwyn's eyes. Her own.

She was there. In the past. Somehow.

Nessa blinked back tears. Aelira had saved her life once, long ago. Now, the High Priestess thought she was the danger. But the danger was never Nessa. It had always been the lie they were living under.

Beneath, Aelira wrapped her fingers around the carved handle of the hidden chamber door. "We have to act before Vyra makes her move."

Kaeln stepped closer. "The other witches... some of them are doubting her already. They sense something wrong in the rituals, in her behavior. They're afraid, Aelira."

She looked up at him, shadows swimming in her violet eyes. "Then fear is the key."

In the Seer's Wing, the air crackled. The twin oracles, Calla and Drayen, sat on opposite ends of the scrying pool, their veils soaked in incense. Their visions had become fragmented lately, glimpses of fire, wings, betrayal—a crown made of ash.

"Saelwyn walks again," Calla murmured.

"But she walks in two bodies," Drayen replied. "One full of fire. One full of fear."

They tilted their heads in unison. "It is not fate that watches her path. It is the past itself."

Aelira emerged from the catacombs that night. Cloaked and hidden, she made her way to the training circle, where some of the younger witches gathered to practice mooncasting. Whispers caught in the air as she passed.

"She looks like the one in the painting."

"No, that's not her. Saelwyn died long ago."

Aelira stopped behind a marble column and watched the novices. One, a girl with raven-black braids and wild hazel eyes, caught her gaze and didn't look away. The girl stepped forward.

"If you are," the girl continued, "then fight for us. We're not all loyal to Vyra."

Aelira nodded once, slow and solemn. "Then gather those who still remember what power is meant to be."

Meanwhile, in the High Hall, Vyra stood before the Elder Circle. Her golden eyes betrayed no doubt, but her voice trembled with control.

"She walks again. I can feel her. Saelwyn's curse festers in this house."

One of the elders, a bent woman named Moera, narrowed her eyes. "Perhaps it is not a curse that has returned. Perhaps it is justice."

Vyra's jaw clenched. "This time, I will burn her to ash."

But in her private chambers, Vyra's hand shook as she reached for the obsidian mirror. Smoke curled within it, forming a single word in blood:

That night, the moon turned red. A rare omen.

Aelira stood in the abandoned ritual grounds, waiting.

Kaeln approached from the woods. "They'll come. The ones who doubt her. The ones who remember."

Aelira nodded. "Then let the reckoning begin."

And above them, in the High Tower, Vyra watched the blood moon rise—knowing the end she planned might no longer be hers to control.

Chapter 14: The Edge of Reckoning