Sanctum Noctis

Vladimir did not fall from grace, he was cut from it.

When his father Thaddeus named Gideon's half-brother heir, the crowd gasped, but the priest did not falter, the bride’s fingers trembled ever so slightly as she stood alongside her newly named fiance. And the prophets, those cursed, precious witnesses, sucked in air like they had breached the surface of something deep, black, and ancient.

The vision hadn’t seized Gideon like the others. It had claimed him. Branded him behind the eyes. Gideon knew from the start that seeking his father's throne was an act of hubris that would not end well. His violent proclivities set him apart from even his more broken kin. But unlike Pride, he always had the name to hold over his ambitious sibling. Gideon allowed himself to be cast aside from his birthright—honored in name, and feared. That was enough for him, as long as someone suffered. But the sea in the vision... those women in the water recognized him and he was not sure if they were screaming or pleading. He saw the old Seer's grin beneath those seven moons, a symbol of a distortion in time. He saw his bloodline failure etched in each hand that clawed from the surf. He saw his bloodline in that standing figure—white hair, not like his yet but one day, unseeing eyes that felt familiar, but alien in all the ways that mattered.

What was this? He did not understand the warning. He was fighting the vision, trying to will himself back to the church. He understood how visions were a moment of vulnerability. He wanted to face his father. To understand how long had Thaddeus been preparing this reclamation, this perversion of inheritance? Was that what the ceremony had been all along—a spell? A sacrifice? A theft? He had never seen a marriage within his own family, the men usually take women temporarily into their beds for the sake of heirs.

Giddeon's fists clenched behind his back. The applause rang hollow in his ears, a mockery of everything he’d bled for, lied for, allowed his brother to die for. His brother had died for less. And now this pale, glassy boy, Mathias, had taken the name like a ribbon-wrapped gift.

Vladimir had never been heir. He was simply the prelude. If Thaddeus thought this story was over, he had forgotten the one rule of prophecy. What cannot be buried, will one day rise.

Aamon was a tough boy, even if he did not look like it. Oh, how powerful he was because when the vision came, the youngest Athanatos in attendance didn’t fall.

How brave of Aamon. While Seers swooned as visions took them on a journey, the young Slytherin stood there like a well-dressed statue while the entire ceremony spiraled into a mythic fever dream. Once that mirror was shattered by and a flash of light plunged them into a sea of creepy ladies and too many moons. Then Winnie became a child and Mathias died. This folks is why you don't eat sugar before bed.

But let’s not pretend Aamon took this in a dignified manner, but Merlin he tried. When Mathias Pride was renamed Athanatos, Aamon gasped. Aamon gasped like a Victorian lady confronted with indecency, then when the flash of light plunged him, like the other Seers packed into this wedding venue into some mediocre nightmarescape. Aamon refused to swoon in front of every person he had ever met and a bunch of people he probably should have met. Aamon stubbornly locked his knees, his pride was the only thing keeping him vertical. No tears, no tantrum, just shadow-drenched brooding and a very tight jawline.

The vision of the mirror left him at the shore of a black sea. There were veils, a creepy lidless luminous stare... honestly, the whole thing felt like the universe wrote Aamon Athanatos a personal rejection letter in iambic hexameter.

“Not Pride,” came the voice of Thaddeus Athanatos, sharp as breaking ice. “Athanatos. I name him my heir.”

Jürgen Hess was not did not flinch when Thaddeus mase that reckless, perhaps even desperate declaration. While this was a show for the lesser nobles, whose minds were still catching up to the shape of the words they had just heard, Jürgen saw this entire charade for what it was: an attention grab. His uncle did not plan over the span of weeks, months or even years, but rather decades. His parents has warned him since he was young of three important rules when dealing with the main line.

1. Agree, help exactly as much as necessary. No more, no less.
2. Do not draw attention to oneself.
3. Do not ask for or accept favors, deals or contracts.

It sometimes felt as if they were dealing with a family of demons rather than young men. He knew that the house was queer in ways he did not wish to understand, what little he knew validated his parent's warnings to steer clear.

Jürgen’s face remained impassive, save for a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth. Just irritation. "So. Mathias. The new prince." Jürgen had long suspected Thaddeus would elevate someone, usually from the main line. Always the most powerful, the one with the greatest perceived or 'fated' potential. The Athanatos line abhorred a power-vacuum almost as much as they feared prophecy spoken by the wrong mouths. Still, he’d expected someone more pliable. Someone less... blunt, like Aamon. As young as he was, in time, with the right teachers and opportunity, he had the potential to be powerful. Or even him, he thought selfishly. His mother would have been horrified, she had sent him numerous letters begging him to fail a class, suffer a non-fatal, mildly maiming accident. It seemed a bit, no a LOT extreme he always thought before he comforted her with a convenient lie about not doing well enough in charms and that his prophecies were always drained of color. Lies that would have distressed any other mother, bt not his.

Hess let the applause wash over him like cold water. He did not join it.

Then came the light and the vision that only Seers could see. When the mirror shattered, the world tilted. Not metaphorically. The air groaned sideways, and Jürgen was no longer in Sanctum Noctis. He stood on a blackened shore, steam hissing at the base of a moonstruck sky. His breath caught. His vision opened, not in front of him, but all around.

This was not like the visions he had known from childhood until now. The visions he saw until this point were like stage scenes without context, sometimes with but often without sound. Then it would be up to him to determine the journey that was required to reach this point and wonder until almost the final moment if intervention could divert fate's journey. This was not a scene of what would be, there were too many moons. The water was wrong, this was more like a nightmare than a vision. He had heard of such things, sometimes mentioned by elders. Of old visions and raw magic.

He saw the veiled figure in the surf. White-haired. Lidless. Familiar. Not a reflection, but a warning or perhaps a memory.

And then the hands.

Tens of thousands of them, clawing upward, not for help but for claim. Each hand bore a ring. Each ring a crest. Each crest, a name. The lace, he felt was notable. Too delicate for the likes of him and his brothers, his uncles, his father.

He felt one touch his shoulder.

And then the voice.

“The mirror shows no future. Only the memory of what could not be buried.”

When he blinked, he was back in the chapel.

But not quite.

The bride was a child again, too small for her elaborate dress. The groom a rotting husk. The priest was still there, only he bore blood that was still bright on his collar. And the guests, all but the Seers, had turned to stone. The symbolism was quite morbid.

Then breath returned. The illusion fractured. The world righted itself.

Mathias and Winnie stood hand-in-hand, kissed and blessed, beneath the full and terrible weight of their inheritance.

Jürgen drew a slow, measured breath. He was sweating, but he would never allow the robe to cling. Not here. Not now. He would not sway, he would not fall, he would not react and draw attention to himself.

The ceremony would carry on. The guests would praise the drama of Thaddeus’s announcement. They would call it destiny, legacy, power reclaimed. People loved a good story and being a part of a pivotal moment, even if it was scripted. But Jürgen knew what it truly was: Control.

The Athanatos line had always mistrusted women. Not for weakness, but for what they might see. Sight belonged to the patriarchs, to the chosen sons, to those permitted to carry the burden without defiance. Winnie was safe because she was unseeing. From the family at least, Pride was a different story. Erin was dangerous because she refused to be blind but saw monsters where there was none and failed to understand what she did see. Taylor, she was at risk, but she was she seemed to have the social graces many of his kin lacked. He was not sure if that was a relief or a reason to be nervous. If young girls like her were the reason for their apprehension.

And now, Mathias, suddenly heir, suddenly burdened with a name he believed he had earned would shine. Briefly. Like so many before him. And then, inevitably, he would fall.

Jürgen had no doubt the mirror had shattered for a reason. Not for romance. Not for ritual. But as warning. And none of them had listened.

Erin's insides fluttered like ribbons in a summer breeze. She felt this strange warmth that bloomed in her belly like a flower opening to ash. Some old part of her, that she did not understand, responded to power like a dog to a whistle.

Her stomach thrilled.

Her skin tingled.

But her thoughts did not agree.

She was surprised, but not because it was unexpected, but rather because she did not care so had no such expectation. So she was not shaken by the spectacle. The old man had spoken, and something older still had listened she suspected. The air in Sanctum Noctis bent around Thaddeus’s words. A spell might not have been cast, but the laws of some arcane treatise she did not understand was now being enforced. Like gravity. Like death.

Athanatos. Not Pride.

A name like a knife and a kingdom all at once.

She blinked. The applause rang distant in her ears. Behind it: glass. Shattering. The ceremonial mirror held by the eternal priest fractured in accordance with an ancient rite she was unfamiliar with. That which is broken may still see. No truer words.

She wondered, not for the first time, what her own reflection might say, shattered. It screamed without her. It scraped and clawed at the portal that parted them. She wondered if the piece inside the mirror was even her at all.

Around her, the crowd shifted, some swaying, some swooning, like sails caught in a wind that hadn’t arrived yet. Others, like her, who lacked the power of sight, felt nothing. They were just left confused by their glassy-eyed cohorts. While she had never lived it, she recognized it. Prophecy. Too much of it. Too many threads pulled taut at once. It was dangerous, letting this many vision-touched bloodlines share space. Erin had said so. Father had waved her off.

And now she felt it. Not a vision. Not exactly. Just... resonance. A knowing. The kind of feeling that lived in bone and shadow. The kind hags used to whisper about. That time is not a line, but a spiral, and sometimes you catch yourself brushing against the skin of a future that hasn’t been born yet and an unknown past that could still influence fate from generations earlier.

Mathias didn’t flinch when Thaddeus spoke, he grinned. That was the difference between him and the rest of them. While family, friends, rivals and onlookers gasped. Some politely clapped, happy to be a part of something, even if it has nothing to do with them. The prophets stirred. Even the shadows shivered.

But Mathias? He stood tall at the altar like it was his throne.

"Not Pride. Athanatos." His father, the patriarch of the Athanatos line proclaimed.

Mathias Pride no more, he had waited his whole life for that line. That awesome moment where he was given the recognition and the name he deserved. What better day than his day. Let those words of affirmation echo across every bloodstained stone of Sanctum Noctis. Let it burn itself into the bones of every pureblood pretender who ever turned up their nose at him, failed to recognize him as their better.

He was heir now. Not by marriage. Not by accident. Not even by blood as he had expected. But by proclamation.

"Fuck yes," Mathias uttered, not loud enough for the crowd to hear but certainly Winnie and the officiant. Shouldn't he be kneeling? The newly dubbed Athanatos considered.

The name clung to his shoulders like armor, cold and glorious. Mathias Athanatos. At last.

And just as the weight of ancient magic stitched the name into reality, the mirror shattered behind him, a crystalline explosion of fate and finality.

He didn’t hear the glass break. But oh, he felt it.

It was like something exhaled inside his skull. Like someone yanked the thread of time and dragged him halfway off the map. He should have be ramming his tongue down his new wife's throat, but his trembling bride untouched by prophecy would find Mathias looking through her. Instead of ending this ceremony in a kiss, he was being watched and he was doing the watching. Not by his father. Not by the guests. Not even by the gods of this damned cathedral. No, it was something older. Something in the tide. Something with many hands or lidless eyes.

The sea of hands, the veiled figure in the surf, the rings on those gloved hands. He saw it all. But he did not meet these visions with fear. Not even awe. He saw it with a grin on his lips and a flicker of interest in his eyes.

Because that ring? That symbol? He knew it.

When his sight snapped back into place and he saw Winnie before him again, glowing and gorgeous in her sugar-sweet dress, Mathias didn’t hesitate. He leaned in. Dipped her low and kissed her like a war declaration.

"That’s right,” he muttered low against her lips after, just loud enough for the bloodlines to hear. “No takebacks.”

Then louder, for the crowd: “And if any of you lot had a problem with this, you should’ve hexed me when I proposed. It is too late now.” He turned to his stunned audience, beaming like a god crowned in flame. He had the name. He had the bride. He had whatever that prophecy was. And he had absolutely no intention of playing by the rules when he wrote them.

Outfit
@Cassius Eden @Vladimir Athanatos

As Opeila's gaze repeatedly swept over the guests, of course she would eventually find Cassius. She had assumed he would be invited, but not been entirely sure if he would attend. Meeting his gaze, she felt herself relax a little and returned his smile.

Well, at least until the priest was finally interrupted. Opeila straightened her back in her seat to see the source of the snap, raising her eyebrows a little when she found it. The head of the Athanatos family himself? The little spark of hope she felt was crushed painfully when the man did not oppose the wedding. No, quite the contrary, he announced Mathias as the new heir of the family. Automatically Opeila turned around to look at Vladimir.
Why had Thaddeus Athanatos picked the wedding for this? Did he want to humiliate his son in public so bad? From the corner of her eyes she could see Lord and Lady Virtanen, stonefaced as expected. Never would they do anything like this to Lysander.
For a moment Opeila felt like she was getting a glimpse at how the Athanatos' childrens' childhood must have been. Pawns whose performance was valued above all else in a family whose good name was valued about the individual.

... She felt a concerning amount of sympathy for the eldest Athanatos lately, given that his actions had directly almost killed her.

The priest's voice pulled the young woman out of her thoughts, continuing the ceremony. Opeila turned a little, trying to catch Cassius' gaze again. The calm she had felt for a moment was gone, dread settled in her stomach once more. If Cassius looked back at her, he would be the first to see his girlfriend flinch at a sound he could not hear.

A shudder went through Opeila, as she was struck by a vision. Her lips parted in surprise, her eyes widened and glazed over, then her entire face froze in an expression of horror.
Annika, still holding Opeila's hand, noticed her tensing up and nudged her gently. Quickly she realized that something was very wrong and nudged her fiancé on her other side, who swiftly left his seat to crouch down next to his adopted sister and carefully tried to snap her out of what he knew to be a vision.

Opeila couldn't feel or hear any of it. She was no longer in the cathedral, but stood at the shore of a black sea, the only source of light seven moons in the sky. Noticing her own rapid breathing, she pressed a hand to her chest, right where the silver charm rested. Panic crashed down on her like a wave, she could hear her own galopping heartbeat. Automatically Opeila found herself looking for him. He had been there for her last two visions and while his presence had been frightening... she only realized now how comforting it had been to not be alone when she lost control.

The call came out as a breathless sound, only slightly above a whisper. Yet in this dark, quiet place it sounded almost too loud. "Vladimir!"
It was foolish really. He had told her not to trust him. She knew better than to want his help.
Yet she did.

She was about to say his name again, when she saw a figure in the distance. For a second relief washed over her and she took a step in the figure's direction. "Vla-"
The word died on her lips. That was not Vladimir. Opeila froze when she recognized him. It was strange sometimes how one was often not aware of the safety of crowd invisibility, until it was stripped away. Just like Opeila had not appreciated, that she had been able to only listen to the unsettling words that were spoken today, hidden between the Virtanens, until his eyes found her. She had felt from the start that she was looking at a threat she could not quite define and now that threat saw her too.
Nausea gripped her, threatened to overwhelm her when the figure stared back at her, his reflection stared at her, unblinking until-
The first hand emerged.

With a shriek of horror, Opeila stumbled backwards, one trembling hand fumbling for her wand, despite her being unable to think of a single spell. A hand pressed onto her shoulder and Opeila tried to shake it off. That ring... she knew whose hand this was.
"Let go!"

"The mirror shows no future.
Only the memory of what could not be buried."

... What?

The vision faded away and dizzy with relief, Opeila woke up in the cathedral again. Her hands in the grasp of two stone statues crouched in front of her, one of which had a hand on her shoulder as well. She was trapped.

Lysander. Annika. Was this real? Opeila looked around, at the other stone statues in the room. Cassius. "No..." Was the priest killing them all?
The laughing finally drew her attention away from her loved ones turned stone.

Opeila choked on a scream at the disturbing image in front of her. Mathias Mathias was dead. And Winnie- And the priest-
"What did you DO?!" Finally Opeila managed to fight down some of her panic, struggling to get off her seat. She wasn't even sure her legs would carry her, but Annika's and Lysander's hands made it impossible anyway. Her scream echoed through the cathedral, unheard by anyone except the other seers present.

She didn't get an answer. Instead it was all over in the blink of an eye, the stone statues gone, Winnie, Mathias and the priest back to normal. Lysander's and Annika's touch warm and gentle and comforting and human again.
Opeila was drenched in sweat, her skin nearly as pale as her hair. Was she going to pass out? "Opeila, hey, look at me." Lysander's voice sounded like they were under water. Her eyes finally met his, wide, frightened. "Winnie. We have to save Winnie. They can't..." Lysander and Annika exchanged alarmed looks and motioned for Opeila to quieten down, but the applause was too loud to hear any talking anyway.

Finally Hilja intervened. "Lysander, get her out of here. Now." They had been there for Opeila's nightmares, the occasional panic attacks after her latest visions and they would not take the risk of Opeila losing it inside the cathedral.
Annika and Lysander obeyed, taking Opeila's arms and leading her to a chair near the entrance. "What's going on, love?" Annika grabbed a handkerchief and started wiping sweat and tears from Opeila's face, trying to ruin as little of her make up as possible.

Opeila couldn't answer, hell, she could barely think. "He is dead. Mathias- Winnie is in danger..." The words tumbled out of her in an urgent whisper as she stared at Annika. They needed to understand, before it was too late!

It was too late.

“And if any of you lot had a problem with this, you should’ve hexed me when I proposed. It is too late now.”

Mathias words sounded like a taunt to her. There was a game being played that Opeila didn't understand, that she didn't know existed. And it seemed like her housemate had won it. Or had he? The image of Mathias' corpse appeared in her mind.
Did that make Winnie the loser? Was the priest a player? Thaddeus Athanatos?

Opeila slumped in her chair, more tears spilling over, pulled her hands out of Annika's and Lysander's and started rubbing her shoulder. The one where she could still feel the priest's hand. What exactly had she witnessed today? Lysander and Annika exchanged helpless looks and said some more surely comforting words, none of which reached Opeila. There was only one person she wanted to talk to right now.
"... Cassius. Please?"

Leaving with Cassius

Howard was just as unsettled and he was intrigued when the ceremony began. Each side of his nature playing tug of war, begging him to get up and run while pushing him forward in his seat eager for more. This all seemed more some kind of religious or cult ceremony than it was a wedding. When people got married they spoke of love and commitment, not blood and bone, coherence and binding. What ever was happening in the front of the cathedral was beyond Howard's scope, but why on earth had they invited so many witnesses for what was clearly some kind of ritual? He had no idea how closely tied to the Athanatos he was. Did a shared creator make you family? Would he ever know how Thaddeus had plucked his strings like a puppet?

A magical silence would wash over the room as the ceremony commenced. Only furthering Howard's suspicion that something unholy was going on here, but he wasn't wise or smart enough to begin to grasp it. His crimson eyes would drift around the room and soon they would land on Erin Ryan. It should have come at no surprise that she was giving Howard one of her weird looks. When didn't she look weird? But why was there suspicion in her gaze? Howard shot her a "what the hell?" kind of expression as his mind continued to turn. There perhaps was a time when he had hated Erin. Though hate was not the right word exactly. He was more afraid of her than anything else. Not because she might hurt him, which she very much could, but more that she could see his truth. Erin knew that monster within him before he became one externally. She drove him towards those shadows, not by influence or guile, but simply because she knew he wanted to be there. Just like he was now.

A creature of the night had no place among the elite of the wizarding world, yet he plopped himself right in the middle of whatever this was. A representation of everything they deemed unworthy, but knowledge was not what drove him here. Someone had invited him to this horror show and he was determined to figure out why. He looked to his lap as the deadly silence cleared away any intrusive noise and his senses began to feel their way. That when the note his oh so sensitive nostrils. A scent that he had smelled daily. The very smell of what sustained him. It was clearly the odor of blood that emanated through the air. Yet something was off about it. It came not from a single source. There was no fresh wound. It was all around him. It was the very building that stank of it. The scent was both enticing and revolting. Both spoiled and fresh as a new day.

Howard didn't care about the new heir. One half-bastard was now legitimate. He closed his eyes. No vision would come to as it gripped the seers around him. He would try to see another way. With a deep inhale through his nose he would try to detect the source of the blood. Where did it lead?

Stats: STA - 17 | EVA - 21 | STR - 17 | WIS - 1 | ARC - 0 | ACC - 21
Abilities: Fangs, Claw & Bite | Martial Artist | Unsettling Aura | Blindvision | Keen Smell | Terrible Presence | Blood Resurrection

‿︵‿୨✿୧‿︵‿

Interacting: @

Outfit: ✿

Mentioning: @

English | Irish | Internal thoughts

"Not Pride. Athanatos." Her now father-in-law announced, causing Winnie's eyes to go wide. What?! WHAT? No! This was really bad! ... She had practiced signing 'Winnie Pride' over and over again, hunched over a bunch of old parchment with her quill until her fingers were stained black. Now she would have to start all over again and learn how to sign 'Winnie Athanatos'. I don't even know how to SPELL Athanatos!

Her eyes flickered back to Mathias, but only found him grinning like the cat that had not only ate the canary but the entire aviary. ... Of course he was grinning. He had told her months ago that he had a plan, the foundation of a future he was building for them. She vaguely remembered that Gideon had once claimed he was the heir of the Athanatos family, and now he had been dethroned by Mathias.

Shit. Just another reason Gideon might come after the two of them. Things had been so much simpler when Vladimir was the heir.

"... Mattie?" Winnie whispered, her brows furrowing in concern. He looked like he was staring through her, his eyes fogged over as if he was in the middle of some sort of vision or had been unprepared for the weight of their vows. A chill ran through her body. She squeezed his hand gently, her thumb stroking over his knuckles and the golden Claddagh ring she had placed on his left ring finger just moments before.

Shit, had he just realized the vows they had made? Was he having second thoughts right after the priest had announced them husband and wife?

"Babe, are you al—" She squeaked in surprise as she was suddenly dipped down and kissed, her arms wrapping around his neck to keep herself from falling. She felt the flower crown she had carefully pinned on top of her head that morning slip off and tumble to the stone floor below. Rose petals and baby breath scattered like the remnants of her former life.

"That's right," his voice was low, meant only for her ears, "no takebacks."

She blinked up at him, her blue eyes wide, copper curls disheveled from the intensity of his kiss, a dark flush on her face. Winnie probably should have shuddered in horror, but instead she just smiled and planted a soft peck on his cheek. "Wasn't planning on it anyways."

Then he turned to the crowd. “And if any of you lot had a problem with this, you should’ve hexed me when I proposed. It is too late now.”

The room didn't seem to know what to do. A ripple of nervous laughter that would not reach her ears with the silencing spell in place. She could see the faces of her family, most just looked at each other.

Then she saw her grandmother. Orla's eyes narrowed into blades aimed at Mathias. She felt her stomach twist nervously.

"H-He's joking!" Winnie quickly lied, swatting the Slytherin's shoulder playfully. She was used to his quips and remarks by now, but knew others could take them the wrong way.

She straightened her posture and turned to face the crowd with a beaming smile, "thank you all for attending, we hope you’ll join us in celebration at the reception!"

The music swelled again and she reached down to interlock her fingers with Mathias' own. They departed back down the aisle as husband and wife, stepping on scattered rose petals. She didn't dare let go of his hand to go retrieve her crown despite what it symbolized. She wondered if that version of herself, the sweet girl who draped herself in pink and dreamed of fairytales, would have any room in her new life or if maybe she had died the minute she said, 'I do.'

❤︎❤︎❤︎

The sound of Nepenthe's voice, that solemn pronouncement sliding across the marble like oil over ice. “Husband and wife. The contract has been sealed.” There was a finality to it, but not the joyful sort. No—this was something heavier. Older. A dirge disguised as a declaration.

The guests by now would be a mixture of joyful and concerned. The red flags seemed to emerge from every corner of this event, but the show simply went on. This would prove to be a beautiful disaster. Winnie would find on her ring finger a bezel-set lapis eternity band with in rose gold. Mathias would find a claddagh on his. Not a token exchange that was common in the Sanctum, but they were willing to modernize to an extent.

Mathias would make a defiant statement to the crowd. His confidence renewed it would seem with the bequeathment of the family name. he was not going to gain many supporters that way. He glanced towards Thaddeus and frowned slightly. Thaddeus mirror the unimpressed expression. Soon Nepenthe conceded. He cannot do much harm in the little time that remains. (@Evelynn Decipio - I did not forget about your wand.)

A wreath of green flames would engulf the platform and altar. It did not burn, it was simply a connection being made to the floo network temporarily. "The Augury Cloister," Nepenthe announced as he stepped outside of the wreath of flame and let the floo take the darling couple to the reception hall.

Note: Please feel free to walk up to the floo flames at your leisure. Moderation will slow in the reception because there will be active moderation. There may also be several trigger tags for content in use.

Left topic for the ballroom.