The storm over the Fortress of Ash was no longer just weather—it was a harbinger.
Thunder cracked like war drums. The wind screamed through broken towers as Seraphina descended the spiral of obsidian stairs, drawn by a pull older than blood. The child within her stirred—not in fear, but in awareness.
Ravon followed behind, one hand on the hilt of his blade, the other trailing embers along the wall. The path led them to the Cradle Chamber—long sealed, untouched since the ancient wars.
A breath of warmth met them.
A lullaby hummed from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Seraphina stepped into the circle of runes carved into the black stone floor. The room pulsed—light bleeding from the walls like veins awakening.
Her knees buckled. Ravon caught her.
But her mind was already elsewhere.
---
A vision unfolded:
A cradle forged from starlight—shattered.
A child with eyes of dusk and dawn—screaming.
The gate torn open.
A blade through Ravon's heart.
And a throne rising from ash—with no one seated on it.
Then a whisper wrapped in sorrow:
"To protect one, another must fall."
---
Seraphina gasped as she returned to the chamber, clutching her belly. Ravon's face was close, his eyes wild with fear and fury.
"They want me to choose," she whispered. "Me… or the child."
Ravon's voice was low, but shook with power. "Then they've already failed. Because I'll burn every realm before I lose either of you."
The chamber groaned. Runes flared.
A second presence entered—ancient, unseen, but aware. The Cradle Keepers had heard them.
A new rune carved itself into the floor between them. Seraphina's mark glowed in answer.
"I think…" she murmured, touching it, "we've just declared war."
---
Far away, in the ruins of the Under Flame, the hooded figure knelt before a broken mirror. Her reflection did not move. Instead, it smiled.
"You feel it too," the reflection whispered. "The realm bends. The child is choosing. The cradle will break."
The figure stood. She held a blade made of Ravon's past—his pain, his regrets, his forgotten name.
"If I sever the fire," she said, "I sever the prophecy."
---
Back at the fortress, Ravon sealed the chamber with blood and sigil. Seraphina stood at the window again, watching the stars.
This time, they weren't just glowing.
One had fallen.
A star had died.
And in its place, something darker blinked open—an eye. Watching.
She turned to Ravon, lips pale. "It's awake."
He didn't need to ask what.
The gate.
The guardian behind it.
The thing that sleeps no more.