Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 508. Patterns I
Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 508. Patterns I
Angel watched him carefully.
Edwin suddenly stopped moving for a second.
Then slowly looked at Angel.
A strange expression crossed his face.
Recognition.
Confusion.
Concern.
The old man immediately looked back down and continued working again even faster.
Angel noticed.
“So,” he said calmly, “let me guess.”
Edwin remained silent.
“You identified something similar to my dark power.”
Cley looked up sharply at that.
Edwin exhaled slowly.
“Yes.”
The answer landed heavily.
“But not the same,” Edwin added quickly.
Angel leaned back slightly.
“Explain.”
The alchemist adjusted the crystal needles again. Thin lines of dark mist rose from the vial now, twisting faintly above the surface.
“It resembles your energy signature,” Edwin said carefully. “But only structurally.”
Angel’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Meaning?”
Edwin searched for the right words.
“It feels…” he hesitated. “Disciplined similarly.”
Cley frowned immediately.
“That means nothing.”
Edwin shook his head.
“No. It does.”
He pointed carefully toward the dark mist spiraling above the vial.
“Magic carries habits. Patterns. Intent.”
Angel remained silent.
Edwin continued slowly.
“This tonic was crafted using dark influence methods very similar to ancient shadow disciplines.”
His voice lowered slightly.
“The same disciplines with your power.”
The room fell quiet again.
Not the same source.
But related.
Like students trained under the same forgotten school.
Angel’s gaze darkened faintly.
Seraphine.
The melody from the courtyard flashed briefly through his mind again.
The crystal’s reaction.
The old resonance.
Edwin continued examining the sample.
“The difference,” he said carefully, “is refinement.”
Cley blinked.
“Refinement?”
“Yes.”
He pointed toward Angel.
“His Majesty’s power is direct.”
Then toward the vial.
“This is layered.”
Subtle.
Manipulative.
Built to sink into the victim slowly.
Edwin exhaled softly.
“I suspect repeated exposure reshapes emotional responses over time.”
Angel’s fingers tapped once against the desk.
“Can it be reversed?”
Edwin hesitated.
“Yes.”
Cley immediately relaxed slightly.
Then Edwin added, “Partially.”
The tension returned instantly.
Angel’s expression did not change.
“Tell me everything.”
The alchemist nodded slowly. “This tonic does not overwrite memory completely. That would destroy the subject too quickly.” He carefully swirled the vial again. “Instead, it creates dependency.”
“Psychological?” Angel asked.
“And magical.”
Edwin pointed toward the residue.
“The victim gradually loses trust in their own instincts. Emotional reactions become easier to redirect.”
Roric.
Every word matched.
“The process is slow enough that the victim believes the changes are natural.”
Cley muttered quietly, “That’s horrifying.”
Edwin nodded grimly. “Yes.”
Angel’s gaze remained fixed on the dark liquid. “And the cure?”
Edwin inhaled slowly. “I can formulate a counteragent.”
Hope flickered faintly.
“But,” Edwin continued, “it will not instantly restore the damage.”
Angel expected that already. “The subject will still need time to mentally recover. Especially if the influence lasted years.”
Roric again.
Years.
Angel’s jaw tightened faintly.
Edwin looked toward him carefully. “There is another problem.”
“Speak.”
The alchemist hesitated.
“This tonic contains blood resonance.”
The room stilled.
Angel’s eyes sharpened instantly. “Explain.”
Edwin lowered his voice. “The magical signature was not merely infused into the tonic.”
He pointed carefully toward the dark spiraling mist.
“It was inherited.”
Angel went completely still.
Cley looked confused immediately.
“You mean bloodline magic?”
Edwin nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
The old alchemist swallowed once before continuing.
“The creator likely descends from an old shadow lineage.”
Angel’s mind immediately returned to Seraphine’s song.
The ancient resonance.
The crystal reacting instinctively.
Not coincidence.
Angel finally spoke again.
“…Ancient dark disciplines.”
“Yes.”
Edwin looked genuinely disturbed now. “I have only read fragments about this in forbidden archives.”
Cley frowned deeply. “Can you cure it or not?”
Edwin straightened slightly. “Yes.”
Firm now.
“But I need proper preparation. Rare herbs. Purification salts. And…” he looked carefully toward Angel, “…a trace of your own magic.”
Cley stared at him.
“…What?”
Edwin nodded slowly.
“His Majesty’s power, despite similar, but naturally opposes this structure.”
Angel leaned back slowly in the chair.
The implications spread quietly through his mind.
Seraphine’s bloodline.
The dark crystal.
The melody.
The wards.
All connected somehow.
And if Edwin was correct… Then Seraphine was not merely manipulating Pontus politically.
She carried remnants of something ancient.
Something tied to the same forgotten darkness sleeping inside him.
Angel did not react outwardly.
When something dangerous revealed itself, never let the room know how deeply the blade had entered.
So he only leaned back in the chair, gaze fixed on the small vial of darkened liquid trembling faintly beneath Edwin’s crystal needles. The tonic residue still curled into thin threads, like black smoke trying to remember the shape of a serpent.