The night was blind.
No stars. No moon. Only the black ceiling of clouds pressing down and the endless chorus of branches breaking under her desperate steps.
Seraphina Astralis ran.
Every breath tore her chest raw. Her gown—once white silk, now little more than rags—clung to her with sweat and blood. She had long stopped caring about the scratches on her arms or the blisters splitting her feet.
All that mattered was the bundle clutched to her chest.
The child within did not cry.
His eyes, too wide, too calm, stared out from beneath the folds of cloth. They followed the sway of branches and the tremble of shadows. A newborn should have known nothing. Yet those eyes seemed to know everything.
"Shh, Seren…" Her whisper cracked like old parchment. "Just a little longer, my love… please."
The forest around her whispered back with menace. Far behind, too close for comfort, came the iron rhythm of boots. Wolves howled in unison, low and guttural, their voices carrying hunger. And underneath it all was the faint rattle of chain, steady as a heartbeat.
The hunters of Drakoria were closing in.
Seraphina stumbled over a root. Pain tore through her knee as she struck the ground, but she refused to loosen her hold on the baby. She curled around him like a shield, rolling once before pushing herself upright again. Her breath came in ragged gasps, but her grip did not falter.
The child did not wail. His eyes studied her face, unblinking. It was not the gaze of a helpless infant. It was the gaze of something aware.
"You understand, don't you?" Her voice was a broken laugh. "Even you… even now."
For five years she had lived under a false name—Seraphina Valeria, a woman stripped of her legacy. Her mana sealed by an ancient curse, she had lived like a shadow, hidden from the world. The seal had been her protection, and her prison.
But the day her son was born, everything changed. The Astralith blood that slumbered inside him had stirred. And when it stirred, Drakoria felt it.
She had fled ever since. Five days. Five nights. Every step carved from stubbornness and terror. She had eaten bitter roots, drunk from muddy streams. Her body was failing, her strength a thread. But her will… her will was iron.
My son must live. Even if I burn for it.
A flicker of light pierced the branches ahead. Not torchlight—moonlight, faint and silver, breaking through clouds. It illuminated stone: a jagged cliff face covered in ivy. Behind the green veil yawned a dark mouth.
A cave.
Her knees buckled as she stumbled toward it. She tore aside the ivy with one arm, cradling Seren with the other, and fell inside. The ground was cold, damp, merciless stone. But it was shelter.
The air was heavy, thick with the smell of moss and earth. Water dripped from the ceiling somewhere deeper in. The darkness wrapped her like a cloak.
For the first time in days, she exhaled fully. Her legs trembled too much to rise again, so she sat, clutching the baby to her chest.
"We're safe," she whispered into his hair. Her lips brushed his soft skin. "For now."
Her words were brave. They were also a lie.
The sound came again—boots, synchronized, closing in. Wolves snarled, nearer now, chains rattling as handlers pulled them back.
The ivy at the entrance glowed. One torch. Then another. Then many.
Seraphina froze. Her heart thundered against her ribs. Her arms tightened around Seren, though she knew no embrace could save him.
The shadows lengthened. Soldiers stepped through, one after another, armor gleaming dark in the firelight. Wolves pushed forward, their yellow eyes burning in the dark.
And then came the man she feared most.
A tall figure, broad-shouldered, his presence suffocating the cave before he even stepped inside. His cloak drank the torchlight. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, fixed on her with a weight heavier than any chain.
Seraphina's breath caught. Her body trembled.
Her voice cracked, raw with disbelief and pain.
"Zephyros…"
Her husband. Her betrayer. The father of her child.
The man who had come to end her.