Bloodbound to the Witch Heir: Claimed By Four

Atlas’ POV

*****

The first thing that graced his consciousness... was pain. His throat stung as if a flaming ring had scorched it, his eyes too heavy to open.

But once he did—he almost wished he could close them back.

Around him was what seemed like a vast expanse. It was dark, yet he could make out the silhouettes of cave walls and a ceiling with iridescent light flashing repeatedly on its surface.

His wrists were suspended by chains that made him lose feeling in most of his arms. And when he tried gathering magic, he couldn’t even summon a spark, instead, he strained himself enough to grunt with frustration.

"Where in the spirits’ name am I?" He muttered, head lowered to the ground.

It had the same rocky surface as the rest of the place... except he noticed something different. Etched into the ground were symbols.

Upon closer inspection, he realised they were sigils. Which looked eerily similar to the ones that appear on Celeste’s arms. And also the ones he saw on the necks of the corrupted professors.

Under that same breath, he recalled everything that happened before he woke up here. From how he got to Bloodoak Academy. Noticing that the wards were almost completely dead, much worse than when the school was evacuated.

Then—the corrupted professors. The emptiness in their eyes as they tried to get him to leave before attacking. He had stood his ground, managing to hold them off on his own.

That’s before SHE came into the picture.

"Well, well," a silvery voice lulled, bouncing off the walls of the expanse. "You’re awake already. I guess even I managed to underestimate your resilience a bit."

He didn’t need any introductions to know who that was. His jaw clenched, fingers twitching as he looked ahead.

A figure approached from the shadows, each click of her boots echoing through the expanse. The iridescent light on the ceiling shone brighter, revealing enough of her once she was close enough.

Yes.

Amelia.

"Or," she grinned, "should I say stubbornness?"

Rage simmered in Atlas’ chest before he could conjure the will to stop himself. He lunged forward, thinking about nothing more than grabbing her and choking the life out of her. Like she did to him.

Alas, the chains held him before he could move past five steps, pulling him back with a violent tug until he crashed into a wall he didn’t even notice was behind him.

He hissed, vision blurring as a sharp pain stung the back of his head. He could barely make out the amusement flickering on Amelia’s round face.

"See?" She cackled. "Stubborn. And it’s that same trait of yours that’s going to lead the child of chaos right into my hands."

The mention of Celeste made Atlas’ head snap up again. "You leave her alone! Do you hear me?"

Amelia scoffed. "You should be thankful I didn’t kill you. You’d be more useful as," she inched toward him, her fingers catching his chin, "bait. Celeste wouldn’t be able to resist finding you."

He struggled to slip his hands out of the chains but it was no use. He didn’t possess the strength of a wolf or a centuries-old vampire. Not to mention his magic—

"Those chains," Amelia gestured at them with pride in her eyes, "are our finest creations. Made from pure Vein energy, designed to lock the magic of witches and hybrids."

Through the haze of his frustration, Atlas realised something.

She said... ’our’.

"Our?" He repeated, brows knitting together. "Who... who are you—"

"Ọmọ Ade"

A new voice chimed from the shadows as the iridescent lights reached a new peak, expanding until they covered the entire expanse in their brilliance.

Atlas squinted, recognising that new voice.

Once he got back his sight, he was stunned to see that the expanse wasn’t actually empty. It had hills of sedimented rocks rising from different corners, each about ten feet high.

These hills were riddled with holes that gave them the appearance of honeycombs. At the other end of the space stood a circular stone structure, towering just slightly above everything.

It looked ancient.

Not just old—but forgotten.

The surface was carved from dark, weathered stone, etched with sigils that spiralled inward like veins. They pulsed faintly, dim light crawling through the grooves as though something beneath the stone was breathing.

The ring itself was hollow at its centre. Empty.

But not really.

The air within it shimmered unnaturally, warping the space behind it like heat rising off asphalt. Shadows bent toward it, stretching just a little too far, like they were being pulled.

As magnificent as all this was, it paled in comparison with the man standing beside the stone structure. He had dark skin, wore a crimson suit and had a thick moustache that was prominent even from all the way here.

He held a walking stick which he used to move closer. With each step, Atlas felt the pressure in his chest magnifying, disbelief, confusion and a plethora of other emotions flooding through him.

Ọmọ Ade.

Only ONE man called him that. He was faced with that man right now but refused to believe it was him. It just couldn’t be.

"Atlas," the man spoke again, close enough now for him to notice the slash scar on his left eye. "My crown. You’ve grown... so much."

Atlas’ eyes trembled, something hot and wet bubbling behind them. The tears trickled down his cheeks, unwanted and abundant. He choked out a sob, head swerving to Amelia.

She only gave him a disdainful look before turning away from him. "I believe you two need a moment."

As she left, the man straightened, a sterner, more serious expression setting on his features. Those features that Atlas has heard he’s mirrored all his life from people around him.

Memories rushed through his mind like a violent wave, the corners of his sight going dark. "This can’t be real." He shook his head. "It... how..."

"... Papa?" He croaked. "H–How? Y–You... you were attacked. Vein beasts. Everyone said you—"

"Died?" His father chuckled dryly, spreading out his arms. "Well, son. As you can see... I have not joined my ancestors. Not yet."

For the first time, Atlas found a word playing at the tip of his tongue. It rolled out before he could stop himself, his stomach tightening as a cold realisation hit him.

"Shit..."