Hear me, O Death, whose empire unconfin'd extends to mortal tribes of ev'ry kind. On thee, the portion of our time depends, whose absence lengthens life, whose presence ends. – Orphic Hymn to Thanatos
The magic of the blade that had killed Scylla was calling out. To whom, Hudson Redgrave was unsure. Stolen from the Morgan hunter, the genasi had been unable to pull whatever magic lied within the blade. What he could figure out, however, was that it was made from bone. It was ancient, and meant to be wielded by only one person. Someone who perhaps had been able to tap into the power, or instill it into the weapon itself.
It was Thanatos himself who called upon the genasi – ordering them to the temple of Apollo. To the place where the veil had become weakest, unbeknownst to the citizens of Corinth Bay, and unknown to the five genasi who had arrived at the temple. Ordered by Thanatos, they could not ignore the call. Even if the promise of power hadn’t been enough, who was to deny a god that had shown himself only to a select few? Thanatos had become the harborer of genasi. The powers of necromancy that those whom were severed from Hecate gained their strength from the personification of death. He was their patron deity now, and there was no turning back from the choice they’d made.
Safiye Başak, Temira Angelos, Damien Alanis, and Maddox Aquino joined Hudson at the temple. Their combined strength would be enough, but the spell was foreign to them. It wasn’t anything that could be taught within moments. Not when the moon was at its highest point, and the veil at the strongest it would be for the night. It was as if Thanatos was in front of the genasi all at once, touching his fingertips to their foreheads as their eyes became clouded. They no longer had control of their own magic. Instead, it was Thanatos pulling the strings.
It was as if the mountainside had been silenced. There was no sound; not even the sound of birds, or the distant waves crashing against the rocky side of the bay city. Even the genasi were unable to take a breath. The words of the spell were chanted in five voices, in an ancient Greek dialect long forgotten. The blade was placed on the stone where Scylla’s body had been found; the weapon humming as the spell took effect and the power unleashed from its constraints. It was Thanatos who absorbed most of it, but the implosion of power struck each genasi as well. In their last moments of consciousness, it was Thanatos’ voice that filled their heads.
“I promised a gift. A power that no other genasi has held before, and none shall after. You have felt the curse of the Eidolons. You have known their magic. Now, it is yours. An Eidolon at your calling. It will answer to your curse, take the form of your target’s biggest regret, and haunt them for as long as you hold that spell. Use this gift wisely. For you will need more protection in the coming days than you ever have before.”
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The blade was gone. The genasi would wake at dawn, lying on grass that was dead around them, remembering the words that Thanatos had spoken so clearly within their heads. They were unable to remember the spell that had been cast on the weapon, but they knew something more. The curse of the Eidolons in their hands and weaved within their magic.
It was Petrichor and Hypatia who would come to find the blade the next morning. Wrapped in an old cloth that seemed to hold magic as well. It was a simple cloaking spell, and once the original shapeshifters had removed it, they'd have found the blade that had murdered their sister. The note was in an ancient language, one that was familiar to the brother and sister – the language of the gods. Find the witch with the gift of psychometry. She will bring the answers you are looking for.
