Lady Nyxara lit the final candle with trembling fingers. The flame flickered in the heavy air, casting long shadows across the chamber walls that danced like specters summoned from the void.
Seraphine watched her work in silence, her hands folded tightly over the swell of her womb. She could feel the presence within stirring again—restless, listening. Always listening.
Nyxara stepped back, surveying the circle she had drawn on the stone floor: a complex sigil composed of blood-red ink, crushed sapphire dust, and threads plucked from the hair of stillborn children.
"This will allow me to speak directly with her," Nyxara said without looking up.
Seraphine swallowed hard. "And what if she doesn't want to talk?"
"She already talks," Nyxara replied. "You just don't realize how much she's been saying."
Seraphine shivered. It was true. Every whisper, every giggle from inside her body felt like a riddle wrapped in teeth.
Nyxara turned to face her fully. "This ritual will confirm what we already suspect. If she is truly the Devouring Child, then this world has not seen her kind in millennia."
Seraphine didn't ask what would happen if the ritual confirmed it.
She already knew.
There would be no turning back.
***
The chant began low and melodic, curling through the room like smoke. Nyxara's voice was steady, but there was an edge of fear beneath it—a fear Seraphine recognized all too well.
The candles flared suddenly, their flames burning blue-white.
Seraphine gasped as something deep inside her responded to the magic. A pressure built behind her ribs, spreading outward like roots burrowing through flesh. Her breath hitched. Her pulse stuttered.
Then came the voice.
"Hello again, Mother."
Seraphine clenched her jaw shut, afraid even to breathe.
Nyxara continued the chant, eyes closed, lips moving in perfect rhythm. But her hands trembled.
"You brought someone new," the voice whispered.
"Do you think she can save you?"
Seraphine's stomach twisted.
"I only want to understand," she managed to say.
A pause.
Then, softly:
"Understanding comes with pain."
The pressure inside her exploded outward.
Seraphine screamed.
Her vision blurred as her body convulsed—not from agony, but from something deeper. Something invasive. A presence pushing against the edges of her mind, trying to slip through the cracks.
Nyxara opened her eyes, wide with alarm. "She's trying to reach out!"
"Make her stop!" Seraphine cried.
Nyxara slammed her palm onto the sigil, breaking the connection.
The room fell silent.
Seraphine collapsed back against the pillows, panting, sweat soaking through her gown.
Nyxara stared at her, pale-faced.
"She knows us both now," she said quietly. "And she's growing stronger."
***
Later that evening, Nyxara sat beside Seraphine, pouring over the pages of The Womb Codex . The firelight cast sharp shadows across her face, making her look older than she was.
"There are records of similar births," she murmured. "But none survived long enough to tell the tale."
Seraphine rubbed her belly absently, feeling the slow, rhythmic pulse beneath her fingertips. "What happened to them?"
"They were consumed." Nyxara glanced up. "Their mothers died screaming, their bodies hollowed from within."
Seraphine swallowed hard. "And the child?"
Nyxara hesitated before answering. "It wasn't a child. Not in any way we understand. It was… a hunger given form."
Seraphine closed her eyes.
"You hear everything, don't you?" the voice asked gently.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Good."
***
That night, Kael stood watch outside Seraphine's chambers, his sword resting loosely in its sheath. He had heard the screams earlier. Felt the shift in the air.
Something had changed.
He looked down at his hands, remembering the dreams—the visions of a girl made of teeth and shadow, standing over a queen's broken body.
She had whispered his name.
Kael.
He had thought it was fate.
Now he wasn't so sure.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Nyxara emerged from the darkness, her robes trailing behind her like smoke.
"You heard her too," she said softly.
Kael nodded.
"She spoke to me," he admitted. "In my sleep."
Nyxara studied him for a long moment. "Then you're bound to this now."
"To what?"
"To the cycle." She sighed. "The birth that should never have happened. The mother who cannot escape. And the knight who dies trying to protect her."
Kael frowned. "I won't let that happen."
Nyxara gave him a sad smile. "None of us do. And yet, here we are."
***
By morning, Seraphine knew the truth.
She could no longer deny it.
The child within her was not merely growing. It was feeding.
Not on food or blood—but on her .
Her strength, her will, her very essence.
Each day, she felt weaker. Each night, the voice grew louder.
"Soon, Mother," it whispered.
"Soon, I'll be ready."
Seraphine pressed a hand to her forehead, exhaustion pressing down on her like a weight.
She looked at Nyxara, whose expression was grim.
"There is one thing left," Nyxara said. "One chance to stop this before it's too late."
"What?" Seraphine asked hoarsely.
Nyxara met her gaze.
"The Wombstone."
Seraphine's breath caught.
She had heard of it once—in whispers, in nightmares.
An artifact older than time itself. Said to be the heart of the first vampire. Bound in blood and sealed in bone.
And it might be the only thing powerful enough to contain the creature growing inside her.
"If we find it," Nyxara said carefully, "we may still have a chance."
Seraphine nodded slowly.
"Then we leave at dawn."