Chapter 137: The Ancient Incantations
Thelma Zane’s POV:
An unbearable pain wrenched me out of my spiraling thoughts, pulling me back to the dimly lit chamber where Hayley worked with unwavering precision. The sharp sting intensified, and I couldn’t suppress a cry of pain.
Hayley gave me a reassuring glance, though her hands, steady and firm, never wavered as she carved intricate seal scripts into my skin. The blade gleamed under the flickering light, its edge tracing patterns older than any of us could fathom. Each curve and line connected to the next in an unbroken flow, a delicate balance that, if interrupted, would nullify the ritual entirely.
The first section of runes on my left hand was complete, the skin raw and throbbing. Now, Hayley worked on my forearm, where the pain felt sharper, deeper. My wrist, fragile and thin, seemed to scream under the pressure. Yet, in some cruel twist, it hurt less than the carving on the softer, thicker parts of my arm.
“Please bear with it,” Hayley murmured as her pace quickened. “It’ll be over soon.”
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, forcing my thoughts away from the searing agony. The sensation was like being pinned under the wheels of a massive truck, the weight unrelenting Desperate for distraction, I panted out a question, hoping to redirect my mind.
“Did anything… interesting happen on your business trip to Asia?” My voice was strained but steady. “I’ve never been there. Only heard about it in geography class.”
Hayley glanced up briefly, her lips curving into a dry smile. “Interesting? Hardly. The entire trip was dreadfully dull. Anything involving ancient spells rarely sparks joy, only frustration.”
Though her tone was resigned, there was a flicker of pride in her eyes.
“Where exactly did you go? China? Japan? Thailand? Indonesia?” I pressed, needing to keep the conversation alive.
“Myanmar,” she replied, “right next to Thailand. Its spell culture is fascinating, though fragmented. I visited secluded masters and pieced together what fragments I could of their
ancient incantations.”
“What kind of spells are we talking about?”
“It’s complicated,” she admitted, pausing briefly before continuing her work. “The systems there are incomplete, or perhaps they were once whole but have since been shattered by time and neglect. Many spells are little more than whispers of what they used to be, rendered ineffective by their incompleteness.”
“That sounds disappointing,” I said, genuinely empathetic.
(Chapple (1) The Ancient bicantations.
She shook her head. “Not entirely. I did manage to learn a new language and cross another spot off my map of the world. That alone made the journey worthwhile.”
“Your map? Is this some ancient spell version of a world map you’ve been creating?”
“Not quite,” she said, chuckling softly. “It’s just a little hobby. I’ve been compiling a map based on the origins of ancient incantations. So far, I’ve covered most of the werewolf territories and made decent progress elsewhere. Asia was one of the last frontiers, so any discovery there felt significant.”
Her words momentarily dulled the pain as curiosity took over. “Why is Asia so difficult to explore? Do you rarely have the chance to travel across the seas? Maybe I could help you secure more opportunities through the Lycan King. You’re doing something important–he’d understand.”
Hayley smiled, touched by my offer, but declined with a slight shake of her head. “Thank you, Miss, but that’s unnecessary. His Majesty has always supported the work of werewolf grandmasters. I’m free to leave whenever I need to.”
“Then what makes it so challenging?”
“There are countless factors,” she explained. “Language barriers, differing customs, family traditions, and even the preservation methods used in certain regions. Asia, in particular, guards its ancient knowledge fiercely, unlike the Americas or Europe. There, spells aren’t as heavily protected, making them easier to access, though often in a deteriorated state.”
“It must be frustrating to encounter such resistance,” I said.
“It is,” Hayley admitted, her brow furrowing slightly. “But my purpose has never been to take these spells from their rightful guardians. I only hope to ensure they aren’t lost to time. Many have already disappeared, and that loss weighs heavily on those of us who understand their
value.”
She paused her work momentarily, her voice taking on a somber tone. “Do you know where you’d go to study ancient African spells?”
“Where?”
“The museums and libraries scattered across Europe and the Americas. Decades, sometimes centuries ago, they were stolen alongside gold and other treasures. Unable to comprehend the strange symbols and glyphs, humans labeled them as relics of ‘primitive cultures‘ and locked them behind glass cases.”
Her indignation was palpable as she continued. “They didn’t understand that these relics weren’t just artifacts–they were alive. Over time, without the rituals to sustain them, the magic circuits in these spells dried up. Now, they’re lifeless. Even if perfectly preserved on paper or stone, without magic, they’re no different from forgotten trinkets.”
A heavy silence fell over us. Hayley’s words carried a truth that was hard to ignore. So much of
Chapter 17: The Ancient Incantations
our world’s history had been stripped away, left to rot in places it didn’t belong.
After finishing the intricate carvings on my forearm, Hayley prepared a potion, her movements precise but tinged with hesitation. “I’m sorry if I got carried away. I tend to ramble when I’m passionate about something. Mary always scolds me for it.”
I managed a faint smile despite the throbbing pain. “Don’t apologize. Your passion is admirable. You care deeply about what’s right, and that’s a rare quality.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “Thank you, Miss. Your words mean a great deal. They give me the courage to continue my work–perhaps even to publish my map one day.”
“You’re thinking of publishing it?” I asked, surprised. “That would be monumental.”
“These spells are meant to be shared, not hidden away,” Hayley said firmly. “Knowledge is only precious when it’s used. Otherwise, it risks becoming forgotten, just another dusty artifact.”
“You’re an incredibly noble person,” I said, genuine awe lacing my words.
“You flatter me, Miss,” Hayley said with a shy smile. “These spells don’t belong to me. They’re the creations of gods and sages. I’m merely a custodian.”
Our conversation carried on well into the night. By the time Hayley finished her work, the pain that had initially seemed unbearable had dulled, replaced by an odd sense of relief. The long day’s ordeal was finally over, and though my body ached, my heart felt lighter, filled with newfound respect for Hayley’s dedication.
