The crown was intricate, made from a metal that seemed to shift between silver and gold. Runes covered every surface, each one a complete spell in itself. It hadn’t been meant as decoration—it was a tool, a focus for tremendous power.

The sword was simpler in design but no less significant.

A straight blade, perfectly balanced, with a hilt wrapped in materials that no longer existed in the world. It radiated potential, suggesting that in the right hands it could cut through more than just flesh.

“Draelusa’s forces secured the crown,” Wendelina continued.

“Despite our best efforts, they breached the inner sanctum and took it before we could stop them. The Blaedred Skull now possesses whatever knowledge and power that artifact contains.”

Angry murmurs ran through the assembled Coven heads.

This was a significant loss, and everyone knew it.

“However,” Wendelina raised her voice slightly, “we secured the sword. It’s currently in our most protected vault, being studied by our best researchers. Initial examinations suggest it contains memories—recorded experiences from those who wielded it before the Separation. If we can unlock those memories, we may gain insights into techniques and knowledge long thought lost.”

“Small consolation,” Morvenna said bluntly.

She was a severe woman with grey hair and eyes like storm clouds.

“If Draelusa has the crown, he has access to similar knowledge. We’ve gained a resource, but so have our enemies.”

“Agreed,” Wendelina acknowledged.

“Which brings us to the larger issue.”

She stood, and the attention of every person in the chamber focused on her completely.

“The Seven Lords of Sin are awakening.”

The words fell like stones into still water, sending ripples of shock and fear through the assembly.

“We knew Draelusa was active,” Synnove added, her voice steady despite the gravity of what she was saying.

“But intelligence gathered over the past days confirms that others are stirring. Lilinathara has been seen in multiple locations. There are reports of Wrath mobilizing demon armies in the Deep South. Greed has apparently taken interest in several major trade routes.”

“Seven demon lords,” Celestyne said, her usually calm demeanor cracking slightly.

“All active simultaneously. That hasn’t happened in a very long time. What’s changed? What’s woken them?”

“Him.”

Eunice’s single word carried absolute certainty.

She looked around the table, meeting each person’s gaze.

“Jaenor Arkwright. His transformation. The merger of his cores. That’s what’s drawn their attention. That’s what’s made them move after centuries of dormancy.”

“One boy,” Susan said skeptically.

“I know what the Mother Supreme reported, and I’m not questioning her account. But seven demon lords, all responding to a single individual? That seems excessive.”

“Not when you understand what he represents,” Wendelina said quietly.

“What I witnessed at Ki’thara village wasn’t just powerful. It was unprecedented. The boy achieved something that shouldn’t be possible—a true merger of opposing forces. And in doing so, he’s become a symbol. A focal point. Every faction with an interest in the balance between aura and origin energy is now watching him. Wanting to control him, kill him, or study him.”

“Then we kill him,” Synthara said flatly.

She was a practical woman, not given to sentiment.

“Problem solved. Remove the symbol, remove the focal point.”

“I tried,” Wendelina admitted, and there was frustration in her voice.

“I engaged him directly with full power. If the girl—Morgana—hadn’t intervened, if he hadn’t exhausted himself, I might have succeeded. But the opportunity passed. He’s currently in hiding, protected by those loyal to him. And after his display of power, attempting another execution would be… difficult.”

“Difficult or dangerous?” Morvenna asked pointedly.

Wendelina met her gaze without flinching.

“Both. The boy has potential that terrifies me. If he learns to fully control what he’s become, if he develops his abilities further…”

She shook her head. “He could become more dangerous than any demon lord. More dangerous than perhaps anything we’ve faced.”

Silence fell across the chamber as the implications sank in.

Finally, Synnove spoke.

“Which is why we’ve been developing a contingency.”

She stood, moving to stand beside Wendelina.

At her gesture, the chamber’s doors opened.

A young woman entered.

She moved with careful confidence, aware that every eye was suddenly on her. She appeared to be perhaps eighteen years old.

Her name was Inga, and she was magnificent.

She wore simple robes of deep blue, but even these couldn’t hide the power that radiated from her. It was different from normal origin energy—more refined, more fundamental. It felt ancient despite her youth, as if she carried something within her that predated her own existence.

Inga stopped at the table’s edge, bowing respectfully to the assembled Coven leadership.

“Honored Mothers,” her voice was soft but clear.

“You summoned me.”

“We did,” Wendelina confirmed.

She gestured for the girl to stand.

“For those who haven’t met her personally, this is Inga. Born eighteen years ago to a mother who died in childbirth. Raised within the Covens under our direct supervision. And the bearer of something we thought extinct.”

Synnove continued the explanation.

“Inga possesses what we call the Origin of the Arcanum. True origin energy in its purest, most fundamental form. Not specialized into any particular element or force, but representing the source from which all origin techniques derive.”

She raised her hand, and violet energy gathered there—not formed into any specific technique, just raw power that seemed to contain infinite potential.

“Origin of the Arcanum appears perhaps once every thousand years,” Synnove continued. “Those born with it have the capacity to master any origin technique, to understand and manipulate energy at levels that normal users cannot achieve. They represent the absolute pinnacle of what origin energy can become.”

Eunice leaned forward, studying Inga with intense interest.

“You’re presenting her as our answer. To Jaenor Arkwright and his merged power?”

“Exactly,” Wendelina confirmed.

“We cannot allow the Arkwright bloodline to represent the peak of power in this realm. If that becomes the narrative—that merging aura and origin energy creates something superior to pure origin mastery—then everything we’ve built, everything the Covens represent, becomes secondary.”

“So this is political,” Susan said, though her tone wasn’t entirely disapproving.

“Establishing that pure origin energy, properly mastered, equals or surpasses the boy’s hybrid power.”

“Politics and pragmatism both,” Wendelina said.

“If we can demonstrate that Inga’s abilities match or exceed Jaenor’s, we remove his symbolic importance. He becomes just another powerful individual rather than a unique threat. And we establish that the Covens remain the supreme authority on origin energy manipulation.”

Celestyne raised a concern.

“Has she been tested? Pushed to her limits? The boy survived direct combat with you, Mother Supreme. Can we be certain Inga is his equal?”

Inga spoke for herself, her soft voice carrying unexpected steel.

“I have trained every day of my life for this purpose. I can manipulate seven different forms of origin energy simultaneously. I can cast techniques that require most users decades to master. I may be young, but I am not weak.”

“No one suggested you were weak, child,” Morvenna said, though not unkindly.

“But there’s a difference between training and combat. Between controlled development and desperate survival. The Arkwright boy has been forged in actual battles. You’ve been educated in safety.”

Before Inga could respond—and the flash in her violet eyes suggested she had strong feelings about that assessment—something changed in the chamber.

The air itself shifted.

It was subtle at first, barely noticeable.

A change in pressure, a slight distortion in how light moved through the space.

But within seconds, it became impossible to ignore.

Every witch in the chamber felt it simultaneously. Their origin energy sensitivity screamed warnings.

Something was manifesting.

Something impossibly powerful was entering their reality.

Wendelina’s hand moved to her focus crystal instinctively, gathering power.

Around the table, other Coven heads did the same, preparing defensive techniques, ready to fight whatever threat had somehow bypassed all their wards and protections.

Then she appeared.

Not through a door.

Not through a portal.

She simply existed in a space where she hadn’t existed a moment before, as if reality had been edited to include her presence.

The woman stood near the center of the chamber, close to the table but not quite touching it.

She was tall—perhaps six and a half feet—with a build that suggested both grace and terrible strength. Her skin was flawless, pale as porcelain, and seemed to glow with subtle internal light. Her hair was long and white, falling past her waist in waves that moved as if underwater despite no wind being present.

But it was her attire that truly marked her as other.

She wore robes of pure white—not dyed fabric, but material that seemed woven from light itself. They covered her from neck to toe, yet somehow managed to suggest the powerful physique beneath without revealing anything. Symbols were embroidered across the robes in silver thread, each one a complete spell that would have taken master craftsmen months to create.

And her eyes. They were solid silver—no pupil, no white—and they held knowledge that made even looking at her feel like standing before judgment itself.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep