Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst
Chapter 73: The Memory of Lucian, A Lynx to the Past

Chapter 73: The Memory of Lucian, A Lynx to the Past

Oh no, no, no, no! They’re talking about the real kind of sacrifice. What did they have planned next?

The air in the chamber shifted again and my feelings shifted with them, from peace to need, to desire–not sexual, but somehow baser than that of even the most primal need. The torches burned lower, their flames dimming into smoldering embers, and yet the room did not darken. A presence hung over us, watching.

The speaker raised their hands once more. The crowd did not shuffle, did not murmur, only waited.

"The cycle continues. The old world withers, but we do not mourn. We nurture its decay. We guide its remains toward purpose."

A crack rang through the chamber like lightning. I nearly leapt from my seat, but the strange force that had hold of me managed to keep me in place physically–mentally my instincts were screaming at me to move, to react. My fingers curled at my sides as I forced myself to stay still, pretending that my pulse wasn’t slamming against my chest.

I dared to flick my gaze toward the altar, where two robed figures dragged a third into place—a man, bound at the wrists, his mouth gagged. His body twitched violently against his restraints, muscles bulging from the effort of fighting back. He wasn’t just a prisoner. He was a mage, perhaps a student, and definitely strong–or he would have been if he weren’t clearly drained of his mana. His skin was pale, his veins dark beneath the surface, which verified it for me–the telltale signs of mana being siphoned, and from the looks of it, it was long before this moment.

I felt cold, my fingers numb as I forced myself not to look too hard. I could be next if I made one wrong move.

The speaker stepped forward, standing just before the man, watching him with a detached calm.

"To be bound by fate is to break free of fear."

"To walk the path of clarity is to discard the chains of self."

"To nourish the roots, one must return to the earth."

A blade—ceremonial, curved, humming with restrained energy that was fed into it by intricately carved runes—was placed into the speaker’s waiting hands. The bound man let out a muffled cry, struggling with everything he had left.

The men held him up despite his thrashing, holding him in place for what was to come.

I had to do something, I had to stop this from happening, but part of me didn’t want to. I wanted to see him sacrificed, I needed to see him sacrificed and give his life to the greater good.

The dagger plunged into his chest in a single, fluid motion.

I felt it and hated how it made me feel.

It wasn’t just a death. It wasn’t just the taking of life. Whatever was happening, his death was feeding it, giving it power.

His body didn’t go entirely still, and yet it didn’t twitch either. The veins on his arms pulsed, glowing faintly as his very essence was pulled from him—not just blood, not just flesh, but energy. His mana unraveled before my eyes, torn from the very fabric of his being as he rose into the air, lifting off the ground as the two who once retrained him, now let go.

The room breathed in the energy, pulling from anyone and anything that did not have control over themselves and their flow of mana.

The torches flared with renewed vigor. The carved statues shimmered, as though catching the glow of unseen flames. My own skin tingled with an unfamiliar charge, my nerves reacting to something wrong, something ancient.

The man’s body slumped forward, limp, drained in a way that had nothing to do with blood loss, and then crashed down to the ground, crumpled in a lifeless pile. The two robed figures pulled him away as if handling nothing more than a slab of meat.

Another individual stepped forward, brought forth. This one was a woman. Her face was streaked with tears, but she did not fight. She understood and accepted what was to come.

"The path must be walked."

"The cycle must be completed."

"We do not bow. We do not kneel. We do not forget."

The dagger fell again.

And again.

The chamber seemed to drink the life from their bodies, the very essence of what they were, feeding an entity beyond my comprehension.

They weren’t just killing, they were building, they were feeding.

I kept my head low, my body still. I had already drawn enough attention by being new. If they even suspected

my unease, if they even felt my hesitation, I had no doubt I would be next.

The sacrifices continued until the basin at the center—once filled with dark, still liquid—began to glow.

The speaker’s voice rang out one final time.

"The gate weakens."

A thrill of silent exhilaration ran through the gathered cultists. I swallowed against the dryness in my throat.

I had heard enough, I was done here–people needed to be warned, Caidan needed to be warned.

As I shifted, still struggling with the desire to spring up and sprint for the door, I felt someone’s touch–the cold touch of fingers wrapped around my wrist.

It wasn’t hard, it wasn’t aggressive, it was a way to pull me from my mind and get my attention.

An older member, their hood low over their face, pressed something cold and metallic into my palm.

A small delicate charm now rested within my hand–an eye with a slash through it.

"Keep this close," the elder murmured. "It will remind you."

I did not ask what it was meant to remind me of, I only nodded and tucked it away.

Then, everything went black. Time passed by, I could feel it marching forward, but nothing else existed for me. I finally came to as those around me rose to their feet–so I rose with them. It appeared that the ceremony had come to an end as they began to file out of the temple–so I headed for the exit as well.

As I passed through the door, I found myself back in the Academy. My head was throbbing and details were foggy, but I still remembered the sermon, or whatever that was. I needed to get to Caidan–if he made it through his ordeal.

I wasn’t sure how long I was in that place, but by the sky through the windows, it was already dark. This didn’t help me feel any more comfortable, the Academy was already spooky at night, but now with everything that had happened, it was even more frightening.

I needed to be careful, maybe it was all in my mind, but I couldn’t risk anyone following me, or watching me.

I didn’t take a direct path. I wove through side corridors, ducked through empty lecture halls, and even slipped into a storage closet when I heard the familiar echo of a patrol making its rounds. I had never seen a patrol around this part of the campus before... Shit, did Caidan and Ronan get caught? Even if they did, there was nothing I could do. I had to have faith they would make it out, and make sure I was in his room when he returned. If he didn’t return, I could worry about what I would do next.

I doubled back at least three times, keeping my pace slow, and my breathing steady. If someone was tailing me, they wouldn’t find a straight route leading them to Caidan’s room.

By the time I reached his door, my nerves were frayed, and my patience was wearing thin. I tested the handle and... Unlocked.

I exhaled sharply. "Idiot."

Pushing inside, I shut the door behind me as quietly as possible and leaned against it for a moment, listening. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of magic from the enchanted lamps and the distant murmur of the academy settling for the night.

I huffed. "You really need to start locking your damn door, Caidan."

Of course, he wasn’t here to hear it, so I’d have to tell him when he arrived. Which would be god knows how long.

I sat on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, staring at nothing in particular. Caidan and Ronan were taking their time, which I couldn’t fault them for, I mean they were, ’doing a heist’ as Caidan would have likely referred to it. They had their own business to deal with, but it left me here, alone, and after that cult nonsense, I needed to keep my mind busy.

I tapped my fingers against my arm, I tried just waiting, waiting, staring at the door, and figured I would give waiting a second shot. I’m not patient enough for this...

After a few minutes, I sighed and slid off the desk, stretching out the tension in my back. My eyes drifted across the familiar space—the scattered papers, the expensive yet carelessly kept furniture, and the faint smell of something vaguely alcoholic lingering in the air.

Nothing was out of the ordinary, but from what little I knew about Caidan, I bet there was some juicy secret he was hiding–yeah, he was definitely the secret type.

I moved without really thinking about it, stepping toward his shelves first. I ran my fingers along the edges of a few books, noting the disorganized placement. He seemed smart enough, but it was clear he wasn’t the tidy type. There were a few documents scattered on the desk, but nothing that immediately stood out.

I opened a drawer, typical parchments, ink well, pen–dagger? Coins? Holy shit, there were a lot of coins, and platinum too! I quickly shut the drawer, my jaw still agape that I completely forgot to address the fact that there was a dagger in the drawer.

I snorted. "Could buy a small village with this, Caidan, maybe a large village at this rate.

Something was draped over the back of the chair. At first glance, I thought it was just another one of his cloaks—he had more than one, after all. But once I took a closer look, I froze, holding my hands up to my mouth as I felt it harder to breathe.

I reached for it carefully, fingers brushing over the black fabric. It was soft, impossibly smooth, but as my fingers traced along the edges, I noticed the faint shimmer of silver-threaded embroidery.

This wasn’t just any cloak, this was one I had grown rather familiar with, one I had shared several death-defying experiences beside. This was a Shadow Lynx Cloak.

These weren’t common and they sure as hell weren’t cheap. Just getting the fur alone was a monumental task. It took someone like Lucian–someone who could follow them through the shadows and take them out on their own turf.

So why the fuck did Caidan own it? Okay, okay, slow down Mara... Caidan is clearly very wealthy, and if he got this through any shady means he wouldn’t just leave it out.

I turned it over in my hands, scanning for any sign that this was just a coincidence. It had to be just another one. Maybe Caidan had gotten his hands on something similar. As I lifted it, I was hit with a blast from the past. It was so familiar, despite all these weeks, it was something intimately familiar. I raised the cloak off of the the chair and brought it closer to my face.

A scent, so light I almost missed it. Not perfume, not smoke, not blood, something so much more primal. It had faded, it had been worn away over time, but short of burning the thing, they could never get rid of that scent.

This wasn’t Caidan’s. This shouldn’t be here.

I gripped the cloak a little tighter, my mind racing through every possibility.

A creak from the door caused my heart to skip.

I spun on my heel, heart hammering, the cloak still clutched in my hands, there was no time to hide it, no time to think about an explanation. The seconds felt like hours as the door opened further. Despite my worry for the safety of Caidan and Ronan, I dreaded the thought of him walking in and seeing me here with this in my hands.

The door opened...