Chapter 1
Dark clouds loomed overhead, pressing down from the distant horizon, while a cool breeze and wisps of white mist swirled endlessly through the lush mountains. The majestic palace of the High Order stood tall amidst the greenery, encircled by an expanse of deep blue trees. Fog clung to the towering sword tower’s peak, exuding an air of solemnity mixed with a hint of mystery. On the eaves, a bronze bell intricately etched with elaborate runes swayed gently, its light chimes echoing softly as rain fell steadily, stretching from the nearby mountains to the horizon—a misty veil blurring the line between earth and sky. Suddenly, a long, slender hand reached gently from the roof's overhang, revealing porcelain-like skin where faint blue veins could be seen beneath. Cool raindrops trickled onto the back of that hand, glistening momentarily before sliding down the pale fingertips. The hand lingered in the rain, almost in a trance, as if it lacked sensation. The dense mist, carried by a gentle wind, flowed into the overhang, settling on the delicate white robes worn by a frail occupant in a wheelchair. The initially shoulder-length frost-white hair was now shrouded in a thin layer of moisture, reflecting a soft, damp glow. Her once strikingly carved features appeared to blend into the mist, ethereal and serene, making it hard to discern her form clearly. “Master, why are you out here in the breeze again?” A clear, youthful voice broke the stillness, followed by hurried footsteps approaching. The porcelain hand flinched and retracted subtly, finding refuge within the loose sleeves adorned with subtle cloud patterns. Yet, almost immediately, someone gently yet firmly pulled it back out. The young man in a blue robe, a junior disciple of the High Order, lowered his gaze and clasped her cool, damp hand in his slightly callused palm. He then produced a soft handkerchief from his pocket, meticulously drying the moisture from her slender fingers. If any of the other disciples had witnessed this scene, they would have been utterly astonished—before them stood Lyra Cloudwhisper, the High Order’s most revered chief disciple, known for his serious demeanor and businesslike manner, uncharacteristically tender in this moment. But this wasn’t the first time in a hundred years that Lyra had tended to his master, Elsa Winterborne, in this way. Many had since forgotten the legendary elder of the High Order, who had once valiantly wielded the Celestial Blade to cut through mountains and seas during the divine and demonic war, only to suffer grievous injuries. They remembered only the now-esteemed leader of the Azure Dragon Ranking, Lyra Cloudwhisper. The Arcane Society was merciless; fortunes shifted, and talents emerged. Even the most extraordinary cultivators could easily fade from sight, becoming mere dust in history’s pages. Yet sometimes, a single person might not need to be remembered by many—like now, Lyra still cherished the kindness Elsa Winterborne had shown him a century ago, reserving his only tenderness for his master. As he continued to dry Elsa Winterborne’s slender fingers, Lyra’s warm, jade-like gaze softened as he gently remarked, “I’ve noticed you’ve been sleeping poorly lately, Master. It’s only natural to seek solace in the fresh air, but with your elder still sequestered for another fortnight, you should take care of your health.” Watching Lyra’s earnest expression, a pair of frost-colored lashes fluttered slightly. Soon, Elsa Winterborne's calm and soothing voice resonated softly in response.
Chapter 2
"Where is that exiled prince of Chen you brought back with your master the other day?" Lyra Cloudwhisper paused slightly at the question but quickly replied with a calm smile, "Don’t worry, Master Thorne. Although our Grandmaster hasn’t come forth to activate the Mystical Dragon Sealing Array, my uncle and I have devised a plan. We’ve temporarily sealed Isolde Gembrook’s acupoints with golden needles, and coupled with eighteen sets of steel chains and the White Tiger Formation, he’s currently confined in the Water Dungeon. Even with his dragon blood, he won't be escaping anytime soon." "That’s not what I meant,” Master Thorne said, his brow furrowing slightly. Lyra Cloudwhisper was perplexed for just a moment. A soft sigh escaped Master Thorne's lips as his slender, pale hand settled onto Lyra’s shoulder, his icy, silvery hair cascading down as he continued, “The High Order has always kept its distance from worldly matters, and this situation involves a struggle for the throne, which is serious. Your haste in capturing him was reckless." Lyra's gaze flickered, but he brushed off the concern lightly, “Isolde was destined for execution as a traitor in Chen, there was no other choice. His life was to be sacrificed for the Master's recovery. We could still spare him afterward; what claims could he possibly make?” “Moreover, it was the Emperor of Chen who handed him to us in hopes of currying our favor; we have an imperial decree backing us. Even if they should turn against us, we have the moral high ground. Besides, does Chen really dare go against the High Order?” Having held the title of Top Fiend on The Arcane Society’s Azure Dragon List for a decade, Lyra was undeniably proud. Master Thorne was aware of his character and often resorted to gentle reprimands instead of anger. Unexpectedly, however, as Master Thorne listened to him speak, his expression tightened, and he fell silent. Lyra intently observed the slight furrow in Master Thorne's brow, sensing the unusual tension in the air, and quickly altered his tone, speaking softly, “Even if my previous actions were impulsive, don’t you want to recover quickly?” Silence lingered. Realizing that this topic was perhaps too sensitive, the light in Lyra’s eyes dulled for a moment as he gathered himself, transforming it into a gentle glow. He discreetly withdrew his hand and pulled from his Storage Ring a jade pendant, presenting it to Master Thorne while adding a hint of charm to his voice, “Master, this is a collection from the Emperor of Chen. It’s said to have calming and restorative properties for the body. I thought of you and brought it along. With your current condition, it should help with your sleep.” At the sight of the jade pendant, Master Thorne’s usually tranquil and warm eyes widened fleetingly before his long lashes lowered, once again veiling the tumult of emotions within. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he extended his hand and took the pendant from Lyra. “Thank you, but please refrain from worrying about me like this in the future,” he replied. Lyra Cloudwhisper’s eyes sparkled with surprise at Master Thorne’s sudden shift in demeanor; traditionally, he felt that such gestures were wasteful and turned down Lyra’s gifts regularly. The pendant was exceptional, however, and that’s why Lyra had tempted fate by presenting it. He hadn’t expected Master Thorne to accept it. But in the next breath, Master Thorne’s single command returned his stern and composed nature, “Regarding Isolde Gembrook, refrain from any impulsive actions until I emerge from seclusion, understood?” Lyra snapped back to the present, offering a slight smile. “Don’t worry, Master. I’ll handle it with care.”
Chapter 3
Lyra Cloudwhisper knew that the bloodletting procedure required Isolde Gembrook's consent, and at the moment, Isolde was still hesitant—caught between fear and uncertainty. Lyra wouldn't let Elsa Winterborne take any unnecessary risks. There was still time before Lord Gale Everhart would emerge from seclusion, ten days to be exact, so there was no rush. In the meantime, his priority was to soothe Elsa’s emotions, helping her come to terms with the situation. After all, Lyra understood his mentor well; despite his cold demeanor, Master Thorne was compassionate to a fault, often wasting chances for healing. This time, Lyra vowed not to let such a valuable opportunity slip through his fingers. --- As Lyra, now the chief disciple, dealt with pressing matters, he could only spare a moment with Elsa before he had to leave. Watching him disappear in his flowing green robe, Elsa remained silent for a long time, her grip tightening around the jade pendant in her palm, its warmth flickering as if alive. She squeezed her fingers so hard that they turned pale, the sharp edges of her bones just barely visible. When she finally opened her hand, her gaze fell upon the pendant's surface. Indeed, the front bore the emblem of the Dark Dragon, and the back was inscribed with a delicate gathering circle for spiritual energy. It was identical to what she had seen in her dreams and various old tales. Once again, Elsa clenched the pendant, her fingers twitching with tension. She had never imagined that the absurd dream she had experienced the night before was, in fact, prophetic. Exhaling softly, she closed her eyes, gradually spiraling into her thoughts. --- A century ago, Elsa Winterborne dreamed about the Arcane Society's Demon Well collapsing, leading to an invasion by dark creatures. The disciples and elders of the High Order rushed to defend the well, battling furiously against the demonic forces. Initially believing it to be only a vivid dream, she was shocked to witness the nightmare unfold in reality. The subsequent battle at the Demon Well claimed countless lives within the Arcane Society. In a defining moment, Elsa used ninety percent of her cultivation to seal her life’s essence, her fated sword, into the well, locking it once more. Having only one-tenth of her strength left, she lost her core weapon and was ambushed by The Enchantress—an avatar of the Society—which left her severely injured. As Elsa trembled and retaliated against The Enchantress, she was met with a sickly sweet smile, a mixture of malice and seduction. "One day, Archmage Aeloria will understand the advantages of being The Enchantress." At that moment, drenched in blood and bordering on unconsciousness, Elsa could not grasp the meaning behind her words. However, with time, the truth became clear. The Enchantress's dagger was imbued with a venom that became a part of her very essence, cruelly merging with her life force. This dark poison tortured Elsa for a century, rendering her incapable of cultivating her powers. Any exertion set her blood ablaze and left her weak, her bones turning to jelly. If it weren’t for Lord Gale Everhart, the current master of the High Order and also her mentor, Lyra Cloudwhisper's predecessor, who developed a special medicine to suppress the allure of the enchantress's poison, she would have already been driven to the brink of insanity. Every three months, with acupuncture and an infusion of true energy, he fortified her life essence against the creeping poison, but it continued to haunt her. Options for curbing this dark toxin were few; one was the essence of pure Yang—notoriously hard to come by. Master Gale had sourced nearly every conceivable item but found them merely useful in managing symptoms rather than providing a cure. The only true essence was the blood of a dragon, but extracting that from the royal lineage, which shimmered with an aura, could disrupt the delicate balance of power.
Chapter 4
Lyra Cloudwhisper had previously mentioned Isolde Gembrook, the deposed prince of the Kingdom of Chen, who, like them, carried the blood of dragons. Once favored, he had now lost all privileges and protections, making his blood extraction seem less of a big deal to them. Elsa Winterborne, while hesitant about this plan, didn’t strongly oppose it either. After all, as Lyra had pointed out, if they didn’t retrieve Isolde, he would face certain death. If Isolde was willing to give blood to help him recover, Elsa was prepared to part with a cherished treasure he had kept for years, allowing Isolde to remain at The High Order to cultivate his skills. But everything changed after the dream Elsa had last night. In his dream, he found himself as a character in a story. The protagonist of that tale was none other than Isolde Gembrook. Elsa had initially thought that this blood extraction was an opportunity for his healing, but soon realized it was all a gamble at Isolde's favor. In the narrative, Isolde had used the blood extraction opportunity to seduce Lord Gale Everhart and Alaric Ravenshadow, Lyra’s and Elsa’s senior brother, manipulating them into aiding him in reclaiming his throne, uniting The Arcane Society under his rule. However, the story depicted Lord Gale and Lyra's group in a poor light, portraying them as indifferent characters who treated Isolde like a mere replacement for Elsa, engaging in underhanded dealings every night. Isolde nursed a grudge and, after using them all, took his revenge by destroying their powers or even worse, cruelly eliminating their very essence. As for Elsa in that tale, he suffered a gruesome fate at the cold gaze of Isolde, succumbing to the charms of a terrible toxin and dying a horrific death. Elsa Winterborne was left speechless. Originally, he thought this nightmare was a ridiculous figment of his imagination, perhaps just his subconscious amplifying his doubts about the entire situation. But then Lyra had come to him today, recounting the very words from his dream, replicating the same actions, even gifting him a pendant that matched the one from the story. In the narrative, that pendant had not been given out by Lyra; instead, it had been rejected by Elsa and handed over to Isolde, only to be crushed mercilessly by Isolde at the tale's conclusion. Only then did Elsa start to comprehend. This was another predictive dream… With a flutter of his frost-tipped lashes, Elsa Winterborne slowly opened his eyes amidst a torrent of thoughts. The soft gleam in his light-colored irises flickered for a moment before settling into calmness. If this was indeed a prophetic dream... Then he would not allow any of this to transpire. No matter how badly the narrative sketched the characters of his master, his senior, and his apprentice, he could not bring himself to believe that those distorted descriptions reflected their true natures. If all of this stemmed from Isolde, he would rather forsake the chance to heal. With that thought, Elsa’s long fingers grazed the edge of the armrest of his wheelchair. He deftly tapped a hidden latch, causing a small white jade vial to tumble out from the concealed compartment. He removed the seal from the vial, slowly pouring three dark blue pills that emitted a faint, refreshing aroma into his palm. Tilting his head back, he swallowed all three pills in one go, his long neck tightening. Gradually, a pained expression surfaced on his pale visage. After a long moment, he sighed wearily, his shaking hand supporting his thin frame as he rose from the wheelchair. If Lyra Cloudwhisper had witnessed this scene, her face would have likely turned pale as she rushed to prevent Elsa from this self-destructive act. Although this medicine was potent, it also carried toxicity, and consuming too much was akin to quenching thirst with poison. But he was alone now.
Chapter 5
Elsa Winterborne finished taking her medicine and felt a brief resurgence of her inner strength. With a determined breath, she turned and strode into her home, shutting the heavy door behind her. --- That night Clad in a flowing white robe, a gleaming sword in hand, Elsa moved silently through the whispering pine trees, gliding into the shadows of The High Order’s back mountain. The infamous Water Dungeon, known for its treacherous depths, was more accurately a chilly abyss. Within this pool lay jade-like stones, and as Lyra Cloudwhisper had once said, the cold water was ideal for suppressing the draconic energy radiating from Isolde Gembrook. Now, as the thick mist began to dissipate, the moonlight cast a pallid glow over the pool, illuminating its eerie depths. Until that moment, Elsa had only read about Isolde in stories—descriptions of his breathtaking appearance filled her mind with fantastic images. Yet upon finally crossing through the fog and laying eyes on him, she realized how those exaggerated praises paled in comparison to reality. Soaked in a drenched black garment, Isolde leaned casually against a stone pillar immersed in the depths of the pool. Enormous, dark gold chains wrapped tightly around his slender form, creating an unexpected allure of torment. His raven-black hair spilled over his shoulders, fanning out over the water's surface, partially concealing his striking, pallid features. All that was visible was one elongated, deep violet eye and an exquisitely elegant nose that was nearly as pale as his skin. As he sensed Elsa's presence, his long lashes fluttered, revealing a captivating light that sparkled like the night sky, momentarily captivating her. Staring into those astonishing eyes, Elsa felt a rush of emotion that nearly swept her away. Quickly regaining her composure, she frowned slightly and lowered her gaze, settling it on the stone pillar before her. At the very moment she looked down, she missed the fleeting change in Isolde’s expression—a shimmer of contemplation replaced that enchanting spark in his eye. Before she could speak, a soft voice, tinged with melancholy yet enchanting, broke the silence. “Is the renowned Archmage Aeloria here to take my blood personally?” Taken aback, Elsa frowned slightly, contemplating her response. “You must be mistaken,” she murmured, hoping to dispel his concerns. Isolde raised his head, his gaze fixed on the gleaming sword in Elsa’s hand, his lips pressed into a thin line. A hint of sadness shadowed his violet eyes, though fear was absent. The mist clung to his long lashes, giving his lips a faint blush that made him look almost mournful. Seeing this vulnerable side of Isolde, Elsa's heart fluttered. She found it difficult to connect him to the tyrannical emperor portrayed in the tales she'd read. An odd sensation stirred within her. Resolving her own thoughts, she took a moment of silence before speaking again, pushing the strangeness aside. “You want to get away from here, then?”
There are limited chapters to put here, click the button below to continue reading "Bound by Blood and Shadows"
(It will automatically jump to the book when you open the app).
❤️Click to read more exciting content❤️