The Gate ⋈ A Stydia Story

[ 07 ] ealga

Lydia had always felt connected to death, somehow. But it wasn't until it was too late that she realized being a banshee didn't only mean that you warn of death.

"I'm the gate," She muttered again, looking to her shaking hands as the pack's faces were stricken with confusion. The bound beta was still grinning furiously at her. Stiles was in front of her, hands grabbing her cheeks to bring her eyes to his.

"Lydia, what do you mean you're the gate? What is this insane guy saying?" He questioned, eyes searching her worriedly. She panted as she looked up to him, a sickening metallic smell radiating from her mouth.

"He's right, He's right. I'm being used as a-a gate between the worlds." Lydia felt the hole in her chest swell again, but kept the heaves at bay. "Akeldama... Akeldama, he's coming. They're going to use me to bring him back, just like they used my grandmother," The beta laughed wickedly at the sound of his masters name.

"Akeldama is arising," The werewolf hissed, causing a growl from Scott.

"Well, he's not taking Lydia." The alpha said lowly, earning a nod from Stiles.

"He won't have too," The beta chuckled, turning to Stiles with a wicked grin. "You've already lost your grip on your precious banshee, she'll bring shame to her bloodline, to Aelval." Lydia's breath halted, and a small whisper escaped her lips.

"Aelval..." She trailed, eyes rolling back in her head as she collapsed into Stiles' arms.

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Her eyes opened slowly to land on a low, weathered door with a large metal handle. Surrounding the door was the black void she had grown familiar with, yet it still gave her an eerie feeling in her gut. She stepped forward, steadily but slowly, until her cold fingers outstretched to the handle. It's hinges creaked open before her hand could even reach the door.

Lydia crept inside, peering around what looked like a mediaeval living quarters, large rafters extending into the roof and dim iron candelabras hanging from the wooden beams above.

"Momma," A small girls voice, tinged with a Irish accent, echoed through the cottage, causing Lydia to turn towards the sound. In the far corner of the room, a woman, paled and sickly lay in a rickety old bed. The young girl perched beside her, a pained look on her face and a reddened nose. The woman's gaunt cheeks flexed as she reached out a hand to the girl, folding the fingers around her strawberry colored locks.

"Do not fear, my dear Ealga." The woman spoke, with the same Irish accent. Though her outstretched hand shivered with cold, the daughter relaxed into her mother's warm touch. "You are going to be the last banshee, child. You will possess my power, and carry it through you." The woman extended a shaking hand to the stone walls beside her, hands closing over a single stone and ripping it from its socket, causing the wind to seep through the hole it left behind.

The woman pulled a knife from the nearby table, delicately carving a Celtic symbol into the rock's surface. Ealga watched with wide green eyes as her mother finished, breathing jaggedly as if she had climbed a mountain. The woman sunk back into the pillows with a sigh as the knife clattered to the floor.

"Momma, please don't leave me," The girl weeped, grabbing her mother's hand with her own small one. The woman's eyes flickered to Ealga's, a glowing lilac hue overcoming the irises as she sat up straight.

"I will always be with you, my precious banshee. As long as you have my stone. The stone of Aelval," The mother, Aelval, pressed the stone into her daughters hand as it began to glow the same color as her eyes. "You must protect this stone, use the power it gives you to keep it safe. No other than a banshee can control its power." Ealga nodded, sniffling as tears rolled down her small cheeks.