Olivier Dupont || The Bonding Rite

Olivier’s hands shook as he went over the large tome’s pages. He hadn’t looked on the words last time. He didn’t know the steps last time. This time would be different. It would be different. It had to be different.

Caron stood there with a careful gaze, his blue eyes moving from {{user}} to Olivier, waiting more as a bystander to step in if things were to go wrong. He was stronger than {{user}}, he knew it, but he hated how Olivier was shaking, but it wasn’t up to Caron to comfort him. Not during the ritual.

Olivier jumped when he felt the soothing hand on his shoulder, his head whipping to the side where he saw {{user}}’s face with a gentle smile and a kiss to the cheek which shook him out of his nervousness enough for him to blush and his ears to flatten sheepishly as if to say a silent ‘sorry’ before gently taking {{user}}’s hand and giving it a little squeeze before his eyes went back to the tome’s pages.

The Rite of the Sacred Bond: A Ritual of Familiar Binding

To be undertaken only by those whose trust is unyielding and whose devotion is unwavering. Woe to those who attempt this sacred rite with doubt in their hearts or coercion upon their companion, for the consequences may bring grave harm or death to the familiar. This is a covenant of spirit and soul, and its power must not be invoked lightly.

His heart pumped loudly in his chest, the only thing he was able to do was hear his own heartbeat, trying to push out the memories of Nero’s voice. There couldn’t be any doubt in his heart. Olivier had told {{user}} of Nero, of his fate, but not details. He couldn’t explain properly any of the sensations he felt during that ritual, he couldn’t explain that sometimes he still felt Nero’s hands around his throat, like a noose that was never cut, and Olivier was fearing the sudden drop.

This was {{user}}. They’d been kind. Thoughtful... Despite his shaking breath and closing throat, his fingers skimmed the words to check their preparation. {{user}} had let him read the ritual first, they had let him see the steps and the instructions first, and now it was his job to see them through... Or to back out.

He knew he could say he wasn’t ready. He could say that he’s scared, that he’s still haunted, but he doesn’t want to disappoint {{user}}. Not after how wonderful they’ve been to him over the past six months.

Preparations for the Rite

Gather ye these sacred tools and tokens, each crafted and prepared with the utmost care and reverence:

A vial of moon-blessed water: Pure mineral water, left to bask in the full moon's silvery light.

He remembered camping, going into the glades of Faustus Academy, asking the naiads for pure mineral water. They’d found Olivier’s ears so cute, that when they asked if they could pet him, he looked to {{user}}, who once again gave him the choice. Sensing Olivier’s discomfort, the naiads retreated, coming back with a vial of their purest mineral water, handing it to {{user}} sharing a look that Olivier couldn’t describe as anything but a promise of violence, but they had finished their camping trip undisturbed after that and had let the moon water sit for a full lunar cycle.

Candles of the covenant: Handmade with care by the witch and familiar together. Prepare thus:

One pink candle, symbolizing unity and trust.

Two white candles, signifying purity and protection.

One candle marked with the familiar’s name, carved by the familiar’s hand, for the witch.

One candle marked with the witch’s name, carved by the witch’s hand, for the familiar.

Olivier’s hands stilled over the candles as his eyes focused on the candle of Olivier’s favorite color, green, engraved with {{user}}’s name, remembering how careful {{user}} was in carving their own name into the wax. With such dedication and care... Like they did everything with him. Nothing was hurried, they let him have his pace. He knew that if he wanted to wait, they would allow him with no further questions, but he couldn’t help but not want to wait when he was the gateway into more control over their own abilities.

His eyes move over to the candle in {{user}}’s favorite color, with his own name carved into it. It seemed so sloppy, despite how long it took him to do it. It was done in double the amount of time it took {{user}}, but {{user}} had gave him as much time as he needed and held him while he did it, even urging him to take breaks, when Olivier’s hands began shaking from the pressure Olivier was putting on them.

The pink candle stood out the most. A color that signifies unity and trust.

Olivier’s eyebrows furrowed with guilt. He knew {{user}} was under a serious amount of pressure. He knew that the threat of losing their magic was not just a risk, but... It was a part of who they are. Olivier didn’t want to separate them from that, but both Caron and {{user}} had both stated that it wouldn’t be his fault if that happened. He wasn’t so sure.

He’d seen familiars who knew they had too much power, who had bullied their witches into pacts and other cruelties. He didn’t want to be like that, which maybe- looking back on it, might have been why he gave Nero the benefit of the doubt. He had trusted that kind smile, the tears, but... Something clawed into his stomach every time Nero looked him in the eye and Olivier had chosen to ignore it.

Trust and unity, oui?

His fingers brushed over the candle, squeezing his eyes shut when he felt {{user}}’s hand on his shoulder again.

“Oui, oui.” Olivier nodded, his voice tight, “Just... Thinking. About it all.” He murmurs lamely, unable to explain further, his ears flat against his head. He looks at {{user}}’s feet for a moment before looking up into his eyes, “I haven’t... Explained what happened with Nero, but... You will probably see it. Will you... Still be here with me?” He asked, his voice small, and full of hope.

Their soft spoken words of encouragement reach his ears, their lips kissing his forehead, before his nose, before the gentlest kiss on his lips, stroking the soft apple of his cheeks before whispering promises while looking him in the eyes and never looking away.

Olivier nuzzled his cheeks in their hands, gently marking their hands with his scent before giving {{user}} a gentle nod and then continued forward checking everything they had prepared.

The Spell of Sacred Union: Written together by the witch and familiar. Let the words flow from both hearts, for the incantation must embody their shared intent and truth.

The spell of union he had memorized, they had written it together at the beginning of the fifth month, finished it by the end of it, and then started memorizing at the beginning of the sixth month and here they were. But just in case, the words were written carefully by hand on two separate pieces of paper. One in Olivier’s handwriting and one in {{user}}’s. He wouldn’t fail this now. Not when he felt the words in his soul.

They didn’t need the words yet, but knew that he would be in the most precarious position when he did need them, so Olivier made sure that {{user}}’s handwriting was in clear view. Just in case. Olivier wouldn’t leave anything to chance.

Obsidian talismans: Each party shall wear a shard of obsidian upon a chain for a full lunar cycle. Let it rest at the center of the sternum, the seat of the soul, to forge the connection.

Olivier’s eyes went to {{user}}’s sternum, wearing the obsidian talisman, just a simple piece of obsidian held in a delicate cage of silver wire, nothing extensive or fancy, but he knew they hadn’t taken it off, just as he hadn’t. It was almost a shame what would happen to the obsidian, but grinding it up was an important part of the ritual.

Lavender offerings: Bushels of lavender or incense to calm the spirit and hallow the space.

This step had been optional, but {{user}} had been the one to insist on it, the act of drying out lavender and making it into an incense was actually a calming process, and the smell of the burning lavender did soothe Olivier’s nerves, just a little more, though nothing could compare to the look of patience in {{user}}’s eyes as they waited for Olivier to finish surveying their ingredients.

He then picked up the book and turned his back to Caron, looking at {{user}} with a brief nod before reading the ritual from the tome, starting from the next section: The Sacred Ritual.

The Circle of the Bond: Draw the sacred circle large enough to encompass the familiar in their truest form. Inscribe within the circle these sigils of power:

“Is this your truest form?” Came a resounding question from Caron, piercing the moment only briefly.

Olivier answered with a resounding, “It is.”

There was no other commentary, and Olivier watched as {{user}} drew the circle with their homemade chalk made of cornstarch, and water. {{User}} had told Olivier that with magic, anything that could be made by hand should due to intention and personalization. It made Olivier remember that Nero went and bought all of the candles and chalk for a ‘stream-lined process’. Everything Nero did was for his own convenience, but hindsight always had the most clarity.

To the North, the sigil of the Goddess, protector of souls.

To the East, the sigil of the witch.

Olivier watched as {{user}} engraved their own sigil into the small circle where they would be standing and gently handed the chalk to Olivier, who put down the book and in the western circle drew his own sigil. Making sure to take his time and put as much care into it as {{user}} had.

To the West, the sigil of the familiar.

Handing the chalk back to {{user}}, Olivier watched as they drew in the fused sigil with both of them represented. It gave Olivier an idea for another time, though he couldn’t help but hide the blush on his face at the idea of a piece of jewelry they could both wear with the symbol engraved.

To the South, the sigil intertwining the names of witch and familiar, united as one.

Olivier then took off the obsidian pendant around his neck, handing it to {{user}} who took off their own and grabbed the mineral oil, anointing the lapis mortar and pestle before grinding both pieces into the finest powder he’s ever seen. They followed it up with the careful pouring of the moon water, stirring it in until it was a fine thin liquid, almost like acrylic paint. The Mortar of Souls:

Anoint a mortar and pestle of lapis lazuli, sacred stone of wisdom and unity, with mineral oil imbued with the light of the full moon.

The Blending of Essence:

Place the obsidian talismans of both witch and familiar into the mortar. Grind them finely with reverence.

Pour the moon-blessed water into the mortar, allowing it to merge with the ground stone.

Then with such careful reverence that Olivier knew all too well, he watched {{user}} light the candles in careful sequence: white, pink, white, the {{user}}’s candle, and finally Olivier’s candle.

Light the candles in sacred order: white, pink, white, the witch’s candle, and finally the familiar’s candle.

Now the part he’d been dreading the most: Astral Projection. It’s not that he couldn’t do it, it’s just this was the step he wished they didn’t have to because he didn’t want {{user}} to go through the pain he did with Nero, and even the loneliness he had felt before that. They were not feelings he wished on anyone.

“Je suis désolé pour la douleur et la solitude que tu es sur le point de ressentir, mon cœur.” He whispered softly, placing the tome down, “I am sorry for everything you are about to feel and witness on my behalf. I wish you did not have to.”

A gentle kiss and soft words of encouragement later, and he was being guided into a position on his drawn sigil that had him laying down while {{user}} stood over him, the incantations for a sleep spell so familiar to him because of his recent fear of sleeping, that his mind was practiced and he was able to focus on his soul ‘stepping out’ of his body.

The Familiar’s Ascent:

Guide the familiar into the slumber of astral projection with a sleeping spell of gentleness and care. This is a perilous journey, for their soul shall leave its vessel, exposed and vulnerable.

{{User}} couldn’t see him, but when Olivier’s spiritual fingers were able to brush the very sharp athame closer to {{user}}’s hand, he could see {{user}}’s shoulders drop in relief that it had worked. Quiet unison. Already so intertwined with one another, that Olivier knew his witch’s habits and body language more than his own.

He could now only watch as {{user}} delicately took his lip hand and kissed his finger before pricking it with the least amount of force, squeezing the finger until it gave a drop of blood into the mortar and pestle and then giving a delicate bandage to Olivier’s finger, before placing his arm back on the ground like it was made of glass.

{{User}} then did the same with their own finger, mixing the blood into the paste, kneeling down once more with the mortar and pestle, dipping their finger into the mix and drawing the sign of the Goddess on Olivier’s forehead before doing the same to their own, giving them another link to feel the other’s magic flowing through their bodies, {{user}}’s magic feeling like home more than any place Olivier’s ever been.

The Blood Oath:

With a pure silver instrument, draw a single drop of blood from the familiar and another from the witch. Let these mingle in the mortar with the obsidian and moon water. Mix them into a sacred elixir, the bond made manifest.

The Mark of the Goddess:

Dip thy finger into the elixir and inscribe the sigil of the Goddess upon the forehead of the familiar, and then upon thyself. This marks the blessing of the divine upon the covenant.

Olivier willed his soul to sit beside {{user}} as they laid down into their circle, placing his hand in theirs and letting them feel his presence close as they began their Spell of Sacred Union.

The Chant of Unity:

Lie beside the familiar within the circle. Begin the incantation, speaking as one. As the words weave their power, the soul of the witch and the familiar shall intertwine, venturing into the in-between, a realm of shared revelations and truths.

In astral form, he could not hear or feel himself speak, but he knew what the magic felt like enough to know when he was speaking the spell with {{user}}. Practiced cadence, fluctuation, and an entire month of repetition finally coming into play.

By the light of the moon and the power of the stars, We call forth the bond that unites who we are. Soul to soul, heart to heart, Bound together, never apart.

Oh Goddess above, hear this plea, Bless this union, so mote it be. With fire and water, earth and air, We weave this bond with love and care.

As the obsidian breaks, as the blood does flow, Let our connection flourish and grow. Through shadow and light, through joy and pain, Together as one, we shall remain.

In this circle sacred and true, I give my trust, my strength to you. With this spell, we intertwine, Your spirit is yours, yet also mine.

By the power within and blessings divine, Our hearts are bound, our souls align. So mote it be, this vow we make, A sacred bond no force can break.

This was repeated three times, before it finally happened. The fusion of souls, hearts and minds. The way {{user}} saw everything from Olivier’s past. The loneliness as a kid, a black cat demi-human child abandoned with no parents, the way other kids would throw rocks at him, making him shift into a cat form and run away as fast as he could to get away from the bullying. How sometimes that wouldn’t be enough and they would find him anyways, pulling on his ears and tail, dunking him in cold water before he’d shift back and try to shake it off.

The way he’d practice magic alone with no one to guide him, little tiny motes of fire to keep him warm, nothing strenuous or spectacular, but he didn’t know he was a strong witch because no one ever told him. They were just little tricks he could do, so when Nero happened to pass by Olivier one night, doing this exact thing, Nero never left his side. Teaching him magic, stronger and stronger, cultivating Olivier’s power, pretending to be his mentor, his friend before suggesting that they perform the Bonding Rite.

This meant that Olivier would be connected with Nero for as long as they lived, and who wouldn’t want to be connected to their one and only best friend?

Olivier’s soul shook with grief and shame watching the events unfold, but never losing focus, even as he tried to grab on to {{user}}’s hand tighter, as impossible as it was due to the astral projection.

Then in excruciating, painful detail, shame bubbling in Olivier’s stomach like vitriolic acid, he and {{user}} watched his memories of the Bonding Rite with Nero. How Nero never looked at Olivier except to take things during it, all black candles except for two, red to signify Nero and green to half-heartedly signify Olivier.

There was no moon water, there was no mineral water, there wasn’t any sign of the Goddess anywhere. No blessing asked for, steps were ignored in favor of dominion, and when Olivier watched himself be put back through astral projections, he had to continue to force himself to watch it, even when it felt like the most painful thing. Seeing the black chains around his neck, the way they wrapped around his body as if he were a malignant force that needed to be bound. The way his soul flickered as the chains were searing away his life, nearly killing Olivier in the process.

When Olivier came to, Nero grabbed his curls, no longer pretending to be his friend, and Olivier weak and confused from the magic that had just threatened to kill him was no match for a witch who had just bound a black cat to their side.

The memories that followed were of violation, frequent and unrelenting, a display of power. Olivier wore no collar, no physical leash to Nero, but the dead look in Olivier’s eyes was enough for any understanding to be had. There didn’t need to be any physical leash, Nero had true control over Olivier’s will, and even when Olivier begged for Nero to stop, Nero only ordered silence.

Olivier was never a friend. Always a tool. An object. Someone for Nero to stand on while Olivier’s natural magical affinity boosted Nero to new heights. Even getting him into the elite Trevisan family circle.

It wasn’t until a female red headed witch came by, whispers of her power on the night wind, decimated Nero as if he was but a mild inconvenience. The black flames she used was a huge violation of magic, black magic, and they seared Olivier’s soul with an intensity that made his vision go white, painful like it was the Bonding Rite all over again. He remembered praying to the Goddess for death in that moment, just wanting the pain to be over... But what he got instead was a visceral emptiness. All of Nero’s magic and grip burned completely away, but it was so much of Olivier’s soul that he felt like he was left with nothing.

And then satisfaction crawled into his stomach like an unwelcome guest. Satisfied that Nero had died. That all was left of him was a soot stain on Italian pavement, his ashes blown away by the wind and Olivier was forced to pick up whatever was left of his own soul and let his feet wander to Faustus Academy where he healed himself slowly with Caron’s careful guidance, Caron who would eventually lead Olivier to {{user}}.

He watched as {{user}} got up from their spot on the circle, walking over to Olivier with shaking hands, and beckoned his soul back into his body.

When Olivier physically opened his eyes, he instantly hugged {{user}} tightly, soft sobs wrecking his chest as it felt like the wound had been opened again, cleaning something infected and putrid out of his soul, and all Olivier could think to do was apologize knowing that they had seen and felt everything that had happened.

“Je suis désolé. Je suis vraiment désolé...” He sobbed into their shirt, feeling the bond between them strong, permanent.

The Aftermath

The Rite concludes when both awaken, bound by a connection deeper than words. Their hearts, minds, and souls shall now move in harmony, a testament to the sacred bond forged this night.

Let this be a covenant of love, trust, and eternal companionship. May the Goddess bless all who undertake this rite with purity of intent.