Chapter 77 – The Crimson Bell Tolls
The gates of the Luther High Citadel loomed tall, carved from blackstone and marked by glowing runes etched by the First Patriarch himself.
Jean stepped through them with a heavy heart.
Behind her lay Valor's Hollow, the Third Spiral, and Silvia's wounded soul. Ahead—destiny.
Whitney padded beside her, eyes scanning every motion. "It's quiet."
"Too quiet," Jean murmured. "Something's changed."
Then, the silence shattered—a deep, sonorous bell rang from the tower above. Not the standard call for training or drills.
No.
This was the Crimson Bell.
Only rung once per generation.
Only for the Patriarchal Succession War.
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Jean raced through the inner grounds, passing familiar halls now filled with tension. Knights trained harder. Faces she once knew wore grim expressions.
At the Grand Forum, she found her grandfather, Charles Luther, seated upon the blackstone throne. His eyes, sharp as twin daggers, met hers.
"You return late," he said.
"I mastered the Third Spiral," Jean replied.
A murmuring filled the chamber.
Charles gave no praise. Only nodded.
"Then you will take your final trial in one week. If you pass, you will join the Envoy Knights."
Jean frowned. "And the war?"
Charles gestured to the six banners arrayed before him—each marked with the sigil of a Luther bloodline descendant.
Five had been lowered.
One remained folded.
Jean's.
"It begins," Charles said. "Silvia's banner remains out of respect—but she has sworn neutrality."
Jean's fingers curled into fists.
"And the others?"
"Your brothers have already taken arms. Rourke declared his challenge last night. Ingrid accepted at dawn. Cedric raised his banner at first bell. They are already making moves against each other. Blood will be spilled."
Jean stepped forward. "Then unfold mine."
The room went still.
"Are you certain?" Charles asked, voice lowered.
Jean's eyes burned with resolve. "If I don't fight… this clan will fall to ruin. I carry Celeste's light. I won't let us rot from the inside."
Charles smiled—not warm, but grim.
"Very well."
He signaled the herald.
With a solemn gesture, Jean's banner—silver on white, the mark of the youngest child—was unfurled for all to see.
The Succession War had a new contender.
The Emissary of Light had returned.
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