The horses thundered through the broken forest paths, hooves stirring fog and damp earth. Lora gripped her saddle, the ruins far behind, her heart still hammering from the vision of Saraphine, as she spread her wings.
Her daughter. the only thing which matters to her now. If only she could hold her for a second.
Saraphine....
The child who was believed to be born from pain, betrayal, buried far away?
Dorian rode ahead, too quiet. She hadn't spoken to him since her outburst—too many truths had been spilled, and too many still twisted in his silence. The wind bit at their cloaks. The moon was a broken coin above them.
But something else rode the night.
They felt it.
It follows them lightly without making a sound.
"We're being followed," Dorian murmured.
Lora turns sharply, her head arches as she turns to the back to confirm. "From the Court?"
He didn't answer.
They reached a clearing thick with old ash trees, their charred limbs clawing at the air. Dorian raised a hand—halt. Lora dismounted, fear filled her mind rapidly, and her fingers went to the dagger hilt at her thigh. The silence was suffocating
Someone was actually there. But who could it be?.
And then she saw her.
A woman stood in the center of the clearing.
Long blonde hair cascaded over black leather armor. A scar crossed her lip like a cruel smile. She held no weapon.
But her eyes burned—amber with ancient blood. She walked towards them with a light pace, her hips swinging to the left and right.
"You've aged, Dorian."
His face paled. Lora had never seen him… afraid.
"Velara," he breathed.
The woman took a gradual step forward. "I expected more guards. Or perhaps… less emotion."
Lora's pulse spiked, suspicion welled in her. She stepped between them. "Who are you?"
Velara tilted her head. "His first oath."
Dorian cursed under his breath. "Come on, Velara. You and I know that's not true."
"She was the assassin queen of the southern dynasty. I served under her before the Crimson Court claimed me, That was before we met Lora". He muttered
Lora's eyes widened surprisingly "You served her?"
Velara smirked. "He was my blade. My shadow. And my lover… once."
Lora slammed her fist on a tree beside her as she glared at her.
Dorian said nothing.
Velara drew a silver dagger from her boot. "I was promised freedom in exchange for your head, Dorian. But I chose to save you, remember?
But I confess… it might be more satisfying to slit the girl's throat in front of you."
In a blink, she lunged.
Lora barely dodged. Dorian shouted, drawing his sword—steel and moonlight clashed.
Velara was impossibly fast. Their blades danced, ancient styles meeting fury.
"She bound you again, didn't she?" Velara laughed as she clashed with him. "You let her make you weak."
Dorian growled. "You don't know what you're talking about. What is going on Valera, I thought we were friends"
But he was weaker. He was slowing.
Velara spun and kicked him hard—Dorian crashed into a tree, blood on his lips. Lora ran to him, but Velara grabbed her by the hair and flung her down.
"You don't deserve him," Velara whispered in Lora's ear. "He burned a kingdom for you. And you came back only to curse him again."
Lora's eyes flared. Her blood screamed. And something broke.
She screamed—and the wind obeyed.
Velara was thrown backward by a sudden pulse of power. The trees shook. Lora rose slowly, her eyes now glowing faint silver. Silk-binding snapped like old thread.
"I remember now," she whispered.
She raised her hand—and Velara gasped as vines of darkness shot from the earth, binding her limbs.
"Impossible…" Velara hissed. "The binding—"
"You were never his first love," Lora said. "I was. I am. And I remember everything."
But Velara laughed even as the vines crushed tighter. "Then you remember this too—your daughter's blood carries a curse. One day, she will kill one of you."
Lora's heart stopped.
"What do you mean?"
But Velara said nothing else. She bit down on something hidden in her cheek—her body convulsed.
"Welcome to my jungle, I am Queen Valera of the Southern Dynasty." She said, smiling as she bowed in loyalty to them both.
"Dorian, she's so beautiful" I've heard of her for over centuries now. Never knew I would ever meet her in person."
Lora was surprised by the woman's change of tone and attitude.
Ashes fell where they stood.
Lora dropped to her knees. Dorian pulled her into his arms, but she was trembling.
"She must be tired, Valera said, " she makes way for them. Come, let's her rest at the comfort of my chambers".
Right from the forest, women guards surrounded them, ready to follow them to their camp.
---
The Awakening of Saraphine
The sun had barely risen when the monks and nuns of the Eternal Doom gathered in the grave far beyond the monastery. Their robes, damp with morning mist, clung to their bodies like guilt. Each face was drawn with fear and reverence. They stood before a grave hidden beneath gnarled elm roots—one untouched for nearly a century.
This grave was a legend and a curse alike.
Shovels bit the earth. With every shovelful tossed aside, the air grew colder. Whispers floated through the trees.
"She lies beneath," murmured Sister Agnetha as she trembled out of fear. "The cursed child. The daughter of blood."
The final layers of soil revealed a coffin—silver-thorned, bound with silk-woven runes meant to seal even death. The sight alone silenced every breath.
"She was only ten," whispered Sister Caldreth, wiping a tear. "So innocent. So feared."
They pried the lid open.
Inside lay Saraphine.
Her small frame rested as though merely asleep, not entombed for a hundred years. Her skin shimmered faintly in the morning light, and then—her fingers twitched. A shudder ran through her limbs.
The sisters and priests made chants for over an hour with holy water and a rosary around the grave, fearful. Aiming at casting demons around Saraphine.Not until.....
Her violet eyes fluttered open.
"Where is my mother?" she asked, the words raspy with age and wonder.
They refused to carry her.
"She must walk," said Sister Morganna. "Let her feel the weight of destiny."
Saraphine stumbled onto her feet for the first time in a century.
Her legs were weak, her voice softer than wind, but her gaze held ancient clarity. Every step on the forest path seemed to pull time toward her. Her limbs stretched. Her hair lengthened, forcing her to walk towards the monastery.
On the first day, she looked eleven.
On the third, fourteen.
By the seventh day, she stood as a young woman of seventeen.
"She's growing too quickly, such an evil spirit, so cursed," Sister Caldreth murmured sadly with hate.
"She was supposed to remain ten," Morganna spat. "She was easier to control that way."
Saraphine heard them. She walked between them with quiet fury.
"Why do you hate me?" she asked.
"Because you are the turning point," Morganna answered. "You are the one who can end us-or remake us."
On the seventh day.
Carved into obsidian cliffs, the monastery loomed like a scar on the world. Thunder cracked overhead. The gates creaked open to swallow the girl who was no longer a girl.
The nuns and monks refused to speak to her directly. They herded her into a stone chamber where the candles wept wax like tears. She sat in silence.
"She's wrong," Caldreth hissed confused at her rapid growth. "She shouldn't have grown. Not this fast."
"But the prophecy never said what form she would take," Agnetha countered. "Perhaps this is what it means to awaken."
"She is becoming something else," Morganna said darkly.
That night, Saraphine closed her eyes—and the world opened.
She dreamed of flames devouring a nursery. Of blood dripping from crowns. Of her mother, Lora, whispering through smoke, "Forgive me, little one."
She saw Dorian. Screaming. Searching.
"You are the ruin and the salvation," the prophecy whispered. "The blood-wrought bridge."
She awoke trembling, tears on her face.
"I didn't ask for any of this," she whispered into the darkness.
___
The next day Sparkle Hatred in Holy Halls
The next morning, the halls were colder.
"She's cursed," Morganna snapped.
"She should never have been woken," Caldreth agreed.
"But the world demands it," Agnetha said. "And we are desperate."
"She's just a girl," a young novice whispered with a smile on her face. "She didn't choose this."