Darkness pressed gently around her, warm and thick like velvet.
Adira floated.
There was no bed beneath her, no air, no pain. Just stillness… and a distant, rhythmic thump.
A heartbeat.
Not hers. Not human.
Thump. Thump.
It echoed in her chest like a second pulse, deeper, older. She stirred in her sleep, brow furrowing.
Suddenly, light bloomed behind her closed eyelids—sharp, runic, pulsing.
Her body, still sprawled across the bed, shimmered with unseen power.
The glowing symbols etched into her skin—those dormant sigils on her back, collarbone, and hips—flared to life, casting shadows across the chamber. Faint whispering began to stir the air, curling like wind through unseen cracks in reality.
The demonic runes on the walls answered in kind, flickering with reddish gold.
Books vibrated on shelves.
A mirror across the room warped, its surface rippling like disturbed water.
And then, levitation.
Adira's body rose several inches above the bed, arms relaxed at her sides, hair fanned out like she were underwater. The towel slipped slightly, forgotten.
Her lips parted.
She murmured a name.
Not one of her husbands.
Not one from this world.
"…Liana…"
The name vanished into the crackling energy like a stone thrown into a storm.
The magic surrounding her pulsed, briefly lifting furniture, rattling the chandelier. One of the stone vases by the door cracked with a sharp pop, spilling ash-colored petals onto the floor.
Outside, in the corridor, Ford skidded to a halt, his horns twitching at the sudden spike of demonic energy. He reached for the door, then froze, eyes wide.
"By the Nine Hells…"
Inside the room, Adira hovered still unconscious, but surrounded by a whirlwind of raw power, so ancient and wild that it responded to instinct, not intention.
And then—
Silence.
The runes dimmed.
The heartbeat stopped.
Adira fell back onto the bed with a soft thump, like nothing had happened.
Sunlight streamed through the crimson velvet curtains as Adira stirred awake, limbs sore in strange places.
She blinked at the ceiling.
"...Did I sleep on a rock?"
She pushed herself up groggily and paused.
Her sheets were half-scorched. The rug beside her bed had a perfectly circular burn mark. And her towel?
Still on, thank God. But only barely.
"What the…"
A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.
"My King?" Ford's voice was cautious, hesitant. "Are you... stable?"
Adira let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of her neck. She glanced at the mirror again, at the faint glowing runes marking her skin. It felt like an illusion, a half-formed version of something she couldn't fully control.
"Stable?" she muttered, almost incredulous. "Is that even a reasonable question to ask me right now?"
Ford's response came quickly. "A significant one, Your Majesty. You may want to come and see for yourself. Breakfast is prepared, but... there is damage throughout the chamber."
She groaned, rubbing her eyes. "Fine. I'll be out in a moment."
Ford's footsteps retreated, but Adira stood motionless for a moment longer, her mind racing. She wasn't sure what had happened last night, but one thing was clear: whatever it was, it had left a mark.
On her. On the room. On the castle.
As she walked toward the door, her fingers brushed the faintly glowing symbols on her skin. She could still feel them. Still feel the pulse of energy beneath her fingertips, like a heartbeat that wasn't her own.
The door opened. Ford stood there, looking uneasy. "Your Majesty," he said softly, not meeting her gaze. "Please. Come quickly."
Adira stepped into the hallway, eyes widening at the sight before her. The walls of her chamber seemed to shimmer faintly, the air itself holding a residual charge. She noticed the deep burn marks on the rug and scorch marks near the window. But it wasn't just the physical damage that caught her attention.
It was the energy in the air. It still lingered, a low hum just beneath the surface, like a force that had bled out of her body and into the castle.
"Last night… What happened, Ford?" she asked, her voice low, tinged with both wonder and concern.
Ford glanced at her, his face unreadable. "Your core magic, Your Majesty. It activated on its own. It surged through you in your sleep. The castle felt it." He looked around, wary. "I... think it's more than what you've done before. Much more."
Adira bit her lip, eyes narrowing. Her hand still tingled with the memory of that power.
"Tharros," she asked, her voice sharper than she intended. "Was he the only one who noticed?"
Ford hesitated before nodding. "He was the first. He stood outside your door… He said something, Your Majesty."
Adira's pulse quickened at the mention of his name. "What did he say?"
Ford hesitated before speaking. "He said 'She's different'
Adira's chest tightened at the words. Different. She couldn't tell if the words were a compliment or a judgment. But there was something in them, something that made her heart skip.
"Different…" Adira murmured under her breath. It felt like a stone sinking deep within her. She had expected many things, but this? This was new.
Ford's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Perhaps you should speak with Lord Tharros, Your Majesty. His reaction was... unlike others."
Adira straightened, her face a mask of composure. "Later. First, I need to understand this power. If last night wasn't some accident, then I need to control it."
Ford bowed his head respectfully. "Of course, Your Majesty."
Adira turned away, stepping back into her chamber. Her mind was buzzing with questions, but one thing was clear: this new power, whatever it was, had to be controlled before it overwhelmed her—or worse, spiraled out of control again.
She sat on the edge of the bed, the scarred rug beneath her feet still warm from the magic she had unleashed. The symbols on her skin were still glowing faintly. She could feel them, feel the energy pulsing through her veins, but it was unpredictable. She couldn't summon it at will. Not yet.
She closed her eyes, trying to block out the noise of her thoughts. Focus. She let her fingers brush over the marks on her skin again. It felt like an ancient language, one she didn't fully understand.
"Come on," she muttered to herself. "You've conquered worlds, you've commanded armies... This should be nothing."
But it was something. And the truth of it lingered in the air, crackling like a storm.
She closed her eyes once more, whispering the word that had come to her in the quiet: "Flare."
This time, something happened. A flicker of flame—nothing grand, but enough to ignite a spark in her chest. The marks on her skin flared briefly, glowing bright, before dying down again. But this time, she didn't let go. She held on.
Progress.
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