Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 248: Traditions of Faery folk

The cave was dark initially, but as Jorghan’s eyes adjusted, the neon lighting fungi began to glow with increasing brightness, responding to his presence. The light was gentle and blue-green, casting everything in ethereal illumination that made shadows dance and stone surfaces seem to pulse with inner life.

The passage descended at a gentle slope, wide enough for comfortable walking, the walls smooth from water erosion that must have taken millennia to achieve. And everywhere, carved into the stone, were symbols similar to what had appeared on the barrier, writing that communicated meaning directly to consciousness rather than requiring linguistic interpretation.

Jorghan had taken perhaps twenty steps when the spirits appeared.

They materialized from the walls themselves, emerging as translucent figures that glowed with soft white light.

Female faeries, all of them, wearing robes that suggested ancient royal lineage. Their features were delicate, beautiful in ways that transcended normal aesthetics, their wings spread in configurations that created patterns of light and shadow.

There were seven of them, arranged in a semicircle that blocked Jorghan’s path without being overtly threatening. Their expressions showed curiosity rather than hostility, but their presence made it clear that passage would require their approval.

The central figure, who appeared the oldest and carried herself with authority that suggested she’d been significant in life, spoke first. Her voice echoed strangely, coming from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.

“Sol’vur.”

She sounded like she acknowledged him.

“We sense the bloodline. Ancient and pure, carrying the old blood of those who fought beside our kingdom when the first darkness threatened. Your ancestors were friends to the Faelindore. They shed blood protecting our people when we were vulnerable.

That debt has never been forgotten.”

Another spirit, younger in appearance, added, “But friendship does not grant automatic passage to sacred spaces. Why do you walk these halls, Child of Sol’vur?

What purpose brings you to chambers reserved for royal women?”

Jorghan met their gazes steadily, showing respect without fear.

“I’m here to save your queen. I sensed a life in here, and I came to see if it is the queen. I’ve eliminated the Scavenetore garrison and freed the prisoners, but your queen remains trapped. I came to bring her back to her people.”

The spirits were silent for a moment, clearly conferring through means Jorghan couldn’t perceive. Then the eldest spoke again, and her voice carried approval.

“The Scavenetores are dead?”

“Yes,” Jorghan confirmed.

“All of them. The garrison is eliminated, the survivors are being evacuated, and Prince Pecah is coordinating their rescue.”

The youngest spirit’s expression became sad.

“Yes, she is in here, barely alive.”

“You are right about the presence in these caves. Very impressive, Child of Sol’vur. Nobody could detect anyone entering the cave, but you did. The barrier prevents anything from entering without our permission. Unless we allow it, not even air could pass through.”

“We have felt her suffering. Felt her slowly dying in the deepest chamber, beyond our ability to manifest and help. The sacred law that protects these caves also prevents us from interfering with the living world beyond spiritual guidance. We could only watch as she chose slow death over defilement.”

A third spirit, middle-aged in appearance, spoke with gravity.

“You understand what entering the deepest chamber means? What sacred law demands of those who traverse these halls and emerge carrying the queen?”

“Pecah mentioned something about bonding traditions,” Jorghan replied carefully.

“But right now I’m more concerned with saving her life than worrying about cultural complications that can be addressed later.”

The spirits exchanged glances again, their expressions suggesting they recognized pragmatism even if they weren’t entirely comfortable with it.

The eldest spirit finally nodded.

“Your priorities are appropriate. Life before tradition. We grant permission for passage to the deepest chamber.

But understand, Son of Sol’vur, by entering that space, by touching the kaeram that forms there, and by carrying our queen from the ancestral depths, you invoke a binding that cannot be easily dismissed. The law is clear: if a male were to descend where only royal women should walk and who emerges carrying the queen reborn becomes king-consort by right of rescue and blessing of the godmothers.”

She moved closer, her translucent form passing through normal matter as if it didn’t exist.

“We do not say this to deter you. We say it so you enter with full knowledge. Save our queen. The rest will follow as it must.”

The spirits parted, creating a path deeper into the caves, their blessing clear even if the implications were complicated.

Jorghan walked forward, past the ancestral guardians who watched with approval, descending into darkness that held the last surviving queen of a destroyed kingdom.

The fungi glowed brighter as he progressed, as if the caves themselves wanted him to succeed, wanted their queen saved regardless of what traditions demanded in exchange.

The passage continued downward, winding through the pillar’s foundations, past chambers that Jorghan glimpsed in peripheral vision, spaces filled with preserved faery bodies standing in eternal vigil, their forms maintained through magic that prevented decay while creating monuments to those who had come before.

These weren’t just statues. They were the actual godmothers, the female faery royalty who had been brought here after death and transformed into eternal guardians. Their preservation was so complete that they looked almost alive, their eyes closed as if in sleep rather than death, their wings spread in configurations that suggested they’d been positioned carefully rather than randomly.

And around each preserved form, concentrated particularly at the base of their pedestals, was the red powder.

Kaeram.

The sacred bonding substance that formed naturally in the presence of concentrated ancient magic and preserved royal bodies. It accumulated over centuries, creating deposits that glowed faintly in the bioluminescent light, marking each godmother’s resting place.

Jorghan understood now why touching it was significant. This wasn’t just ceremonial powder; it was the physical manifestation of ancestral blessing, the accumulated essence of generations of royal faery women concentrated into a substance that carried their approval and power.