"Every beginning is the end of something else, and every end is a new beginning. Our coven's history is written in the stars and in the shadows. Remember, it is in the darkness that we find the strength to embrace the light."
* Isabela de la Luna, Journal of the Coya, 1673
The night was fragrant with the smell of promised rain. The unmistakable scent of Texas Mountain Laurel blossoms hung in the air like a cloying perfume. The full moon shone brightly overhead, a perfect orb of silver light casting long shadows across the clearing. The wind shivered through the trees as if even they could feel the anticipation of the upcoming ritual. For this was the night Almas Encantadas, The Enchanted Souls, gathered for their most sacred ceremony, the Ritual of Ascendance. A night when magic, and therefore the entire coven, was at its strongest.
Marisol stood at the center of the clearing, her raven hair cascading down her back, catching the moonlight in a shimmer of silver and dark purple. Her eyes, dark and deep, reflected the glow of the moon, giving them an ethereal appearance. She was the Maiden, the heart of the coven, the embodiment of potential and innocence. Her dark skin contrasted sharply with her pure white gown as it danced in the breeze.
Tonight, she was to lead the sacred Ritual of Ascendance, a profound ceremony performed only once every 52 years, aligning with the ancient Aztec’s Calendar Round. This ritual was steeped in tradition and magic, and it was a cornerstone of the Almas Encantadas coven's identity and continuity. The significance of the night was immense; it marked the moment when the coven's leadership would undergo a transformative shift. Marisol, the current Maiden, was to ascend to the role of Mother, embodying nurturing wisdom and guidance. Isadora, the current Mother, would become the Crone, a revered figure of profound knowledge and prophetic insight. Meanwhile, Sabia, the Crone whose wisdom had guided them for decades, would step down into the revered position of a wizened elder, respected and honored but no longer holding direct power or influence. The transition was a delicate balance of power, responsibility, and continuity, ensuring the coven's strength and stability for the next half-century. Marisol felt the weight of centuries of tradition on her shoulders as she prepared to lead the coven through this most sacred of nights.
Beside Marisol stood Ana, a young woman with a gentle presence and a spirit that shone brightly. She was the chosen one to step into the role of the Maiden. Ana’s eyes sparkled with excitement and nervousness, her auburn hair a fiery halo around her head. She embodied the pure potential and energy that the Maiden was supposed to bring to the coven.
As they closed the circle in preparation for the ritual, Marisol took a moment to gaze at her coven—her family. The people she was closest to in the world. She noticed the unease in their eyes, a reflection of her own concerns. For years, visions of terrible things happening had haunted their dreams, foretelling a night of great importance and grave danger.
This night, this moment, carried with it the weight of destiny and the fear of an uncertain future. The Ritual of Ascendance was not just a ceremony; it was a beacon of hope for the coven's resurgence, a chance to restore their strength and unity. Yet, the shadows of prophecy loomed large, casting doubt over their hearts.
Isadora, was an example of perfect poise. Her dark curly hair, streaked with grey, was pulled back in a bun; a few unruly hairs having escaped and framing either side of her oval face. She stood barely five feet tall, but her demeanor reflected both a soft love as well as a stern command. Isadora was a woman who was used to being in charge and leading. Her deep green robes cascaded gently down her form, with various symbols of fertility from various cultures traced in gold.
Sabia, towered over all but a few of the men in the coven, despite her hunched state. Her hair was entirely gray and hung loose and limp around her sharp angular features. Despite her many years of life, not a single blemish or wrinkle could be found on her smooth cream-colored skin. Her pale blue eyes, the color of an iceberg, shone with joy. She was a woman who knew pain and loss, but also love and resilience, her heart bearing the scars of a life lived fully and with unwavering determination. Rich purple robes hung limply from her spindly form, with a pattern of stars and constellations embroidered in cerulean stitching. She wore a pendant of polished amethyst set in a delicate silver filigree, graceful and glittering in the circlet on her brow. Estrella de la Noche, it was called, and it was believed by most to enhance her already prodigious divinatory and prophetic abilities.
As they closed the circle in preparation for the ritual, Marisol took a moment to gaze at her coven. Her family. The people she was closest to in the world. She looked forward to serving them as The Mother and helping choose a new candidate to fulfill her role.
To her left stood Carlos, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a calm and reassuring presence. His dark hair was streaked with silver, and his deep brown eyes held a wisdom that came from years of experience. Carlos was the coven's healer, known for his gentle touch and soothing voice. His connection to the earth and its natural remedies made him an invaluable member, especially during times of turmoil. Tonight, however, even Carlos seemed more tense than usual, his brow furrowed in concentration.
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Beside Carlos was Hana, a vibrant young woman with a mane of curly red hair that framed her freckled face. Her green eyes sparkled with curiosity and determination. Hana was a fire elementalist, her magic as fierce and unpredictable as the flames she commanded. Normally full of laughter and energy, Hana was unusually quiet, her hands clenching and unclenching as she tried to quell the anxiety bubbling within her.
On Marisol’s right was Elena, a serene figure dressed in flowing blue robes that matched her striking blue eyes. Her long blonde hair was braided with delicate strands of silver and gold, symbolizing her role as the coven’s guardian of water. Elena’s voice was often compared to the calming sound of a babbling brook, and her magic brought clarity and peace. Tonight, though, her serene mask was slipping, and a flicker of worry darted across her face.
Across the circle, near Isadora, stood Malik, a powerful sorcerer whose affinity for air made him a formidable ally. His tall, slender frame was accentuated by robes that billowed as if caught in a constant breeze. Malik's dark skin contrasted beautifully with the white and silver embroidery on his robes, and his sharp black eyes missed nothing. Usually a source of levity and wit, Malik was unusually somber, his focus entirely on the task at hand.
At the edge of the circle, almost blending into the shadows, was Talia, the coven’s skilled illusionist. Her short, dark hair and piercing grey eyes gave her an enigmatic appearance. Talia’s magic was subtle, often going unnoticed until it was too late. She was the coven’s protector, using her illusions to mislead and confuse their enemies. Tonight, her eyes were darting around, ever watchful, as if sensing an unseen threat.
As Marisol looked at each member, she felt a deep sense of gratitude and responsibility. These were the people she trusted with her life, and tonight they would all need to draw upon their strengths to restore the balance. The weight of the disturbances in the ley lines hung heavy over them, but Marisol took a deep breath and steeled herself. Together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead.
The coven members formed a loose circle around her, Isadora and Sabia. They formed the three points of a triangle with the coven circling around them. The air thrummed with energy as the coven began to chant, a symphony of the natural forces in the earth converging on this single point. Marisol lifted her arms, calling upon the Moon Goddess, the Earth Goddess, and even the ley lines that crisscrossed deep beneath them, her voice clear and strong. She half-sang and half spoke the beginning incantation, first in Spanish and then in English, as was their custom:
"En la armonía de los elementos,
En la danza de luz y sombra,
Concede equilibrio a nuestro ser,
Que el poder del cosmos nos guíe.”
“In the harmony of the elements,
In the dance of light and shadow,
Grant balance to our being,
May the power of the cosmos guide us."
The coven joined hands and slowly swayed side to side as they all began to chant the incantation. So engaged were they, that they didn’t notice that a member had disappeared from their number.
They didn’t hear the soft rustling in the trees just beyond the clearing.
No one saw the glint of the moonlight from a pair of eyes in the shadows.
After repeating the chant nine times, the sacred number of three sets of three, the Almas Encantadas closed their eyes in a moment of self-meditation as they continued to hum and sway.
This was the moment that the figure was waiting for. This night had been chosen carefully. The power of the full moon made the coven stronger, but it also made them vulnerable.
A sudden silence fell heavily over the clearing. The temperature dropped sharply, and the moonlight dimmed as if a cloud had passed over it. A sense of fear and dread fell upon each and every one of them.
The Crone’s brow furrowed in confusion and the Estrella de la Noche burst into a brilliant purple glow. Sabia’s eyes snapped opened. A look of fear crossed her ancient face as she opened her mouth, preparing to shout a warning.
Before she could utter a single sound, the shadowy figure burst into the clearing, a blur of dark motion. Quicker than any normal human or even most magical creatures, it crossed the clearing in the span of seconds. It broke the circle, shoving members of the coven to either side as it sped through. The figure burst through the other side of the circle before anyone had a chance to react. As suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.
It was gone before the first person could open their eyes.
A scream tore through the night, causing the very earth to shake. It was full of pain, betrayal, and mourning. Sabia had crumpled to her knees next to the body of Marisol. The light in the Maiden’s eyes dimmed as the life had already drained from her body.
Another scream joined the first as Elena knelt by Ana’s body.
A dark circle of blood slowly spread out from both women’s bodies, soaking the moist earth beneath them. Their lifeless eyes stared up at the night sky.
The coven was left in disarray, their hearts heavy with loss and uncertainty. The moon, once a symbol of hope and guidance, now seemed distant and cold.
Isadora knelt beside Sabia, tears streaming down her face. “What do we do now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sabia looked up at the moon, her eyes lost and empty. “I—I don’t know.” She looked down at the face of the woman’s head she cradled in her lap.
For the first time in hundreds—if not thousands—of years, the coven was left without a Maiden. The leadership of the Almas Encantadas was shattered. It would be 52 years before this rift could be repaired, if that was even possible.
In that moment, the coven knew that their world had changed forever. The loss of both Ana and Marisol was a wound that would never fully heal, but it was also a call to action. They would honor her memory by fighting to protect their coven, their traditions, and the balance of their magical world.