Arc 1: The Awakening
Chapter 8: The First Blood Pact
Year: 1957 – Age 5, Blacktorn Manor
POV: Cassius Arcturus Blacktorn
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They say blood is the most powerful magic in the world.
They don't know how true that is.
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Mother believes I am just another child. A curious boy. But I am not just any boy.
Not anymore.
I have walked the path of the ancient ones, felt the pull of magic, tasted its power.
And now, I need more.
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The Vault is where my journey begins. But it will not be where it ends.
I need to solidify my power. Bind it. Lock it in place like a thorn in the heart of the world.
To do that, I need to forge something permanent.
Something that will tether my strength to this world and make me untouchable.
I need to create a Blood Pact.
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I spend the next few days researching.
I know the theories. I know the words. But there is a difference between knowing the theory and feeling the magic, understanding how to mold it into a weapon.
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I wait for the perfect moment.
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The moon is full tonight. The air crackles with magic, thick as fog. I feel it in my bones.
Mother's quarters are far enough from the Vault, though her wards are strong. Too strong.
But not strong enough for me.
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I find the altar deep beneath the manor, hidden in a forgotten chamber. The scent of aged stone and old blood fills my nostrils. It's the place where the first Blacktorn patriarch bound his soul to his bloodline, making us immortal.
I kneel before the altar, my fingers brushing the engraved sigils of our family.
My heart beats steadily. Purposefully.
I draw the knife from my cloak.
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The ritual requires a sacrifice. A pure sacrifice.
I cannot use just any blood. It must be my own. The first step is to weaken myself, open a vein without dying, and then offer it to the altar.
I take the knife and press it to my wrist, careful, precise. I have done this before. Not in this way. But I have learned.
The blood pours out, a steady stream of crimson.
It feels warm, yet distant. Like a part of me, but not truly mine.
The sigils on the altar glow, hungry for the offering.
I let it flow.
The moment my blood touches the altar, the air shifts. The magic stirs, like a great beast waking from slumber.
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It answers.
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I hear it.
Whispers. Soft at first. But they grow louder. And then a voice cuts through the silence, dark and powerful:
"You seek to bind your soul to this world."
It is a voice older than time. Familiar, yet alien.
I do not flinch. This is what I want.
"I do."
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The world around me twists, the ground beneath me shaking. The walls melt, the floor beneath my feet turns to liquid fire, but I stand tall. I will not falter.
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Suddenly, the altar cracks open, and the blackness within swirls, swirling around me like a tornado.
It pulls at my essence, tugging at my soul.
I feel my heart race. The ritual is more intense than I anticipated. The magic wants more. Wants everything.
But I will not give it everything. Not yet.
I close my eyes and whisper the incantation, the final word, the binding phrase that will tether me to this world for all eternity.
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The darkness coalesces into a single point, a shard of pure black light, and then it consumes me.
I gasp.
The pain is unbearable.
It burns through me, every fiber of my being twisted, torn apart, and reformed.
I feel my very soul being rewritten, reshaped into something new.
The magic settles, then stills.
I stand, unscathed, untouched by the chaos. Stronger. More powerful.
More alive than ever before.
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The pact is complete.
I feel it in my blood. In my heart. My soul.
I have bound myself to the magic of the Blacktorn bloodline. I am more than just a heir. I am now a vessel for something ancient, something unbreakable.
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But the ritual is not finished yet.
I am not done.
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The power I've gained is intoxicating, but it is not enough. The true test lies ahead. I need to grow stronger. I need more allies, more influence. I need the ancient families on my side.
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I will make them bow to me.
One by one, I will collect the powerful bloodlines of the Wizarding World and bind them to my own. Each pact will make me stronger, each marriage a link in the chain that will secure my family's rule for centuries to come.
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But I will not make the mistake of thinking that this power comes without a price.
There are always consequences.
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The next morning, I wake in my chambers, as if nothing has happened. But I know better.
The magic is still inside me, thrumming beneath my skin, waiting. Watching.
It has chosen me. And I will use it to carve my path.
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For now, I lay low. Keep my ambitions hidden from the world.
The time will come when I reveal myself.
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The bloodline will rise again.
And the Wizarding World will tremble at the name of Cassius Arcturus Blacktorn.
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