Ten years after Auren's death, the sky kingdom shimmered with rebirth.
Banners of sun-gold and deep violet rippled across marble towers. The sky-bridges glowed with arcane sigils. Floating lanterns bloomed above the highest spires — not of fire, but of light caught in glass.
It was the Festival of Stormlight, the most sacred day in the realm.
The day the kingdom celebrated harmony between Light and Shadow.
The day the two royal children would walk the skybridge hand-in-hand, as tradition dictated, and be presented to the people.
Lysander, firstborn son of Light, was eleven and already nearly as tall as Kael. He stood in the Hall of Winds, shoulders squared, hair curled like starlight. His aura flickered with golden power — subtle, disciplined, royal.
Beside him, barefoot and laughing, was his sister.
Seris.
Six years old, and already terrifyingly beautiful. Her hair was black as night and fell in waves to her waist, but her eyes — her eyes shifted in color with her moods. Silver, then violet. Blue, then gold. Today, they shimmered like dawn mist.
Magic clung to her like perfume. It curled around her ankles when she walked. It responded to her breath.
"Elara," Kael murmured, standing beside the Queen, "do you see the way the stormlight bends around her?"
Elara, crowned in moonstone and pale silk, exhaled softly. "She doesn't even know she's doing it."
"She dreams of places that don't exist," Kael continued. "Draws maps in her sleep. Names no one's spoken in centuries."
"She's six."
"She's not just ours," Kael said darkly. "She belongs to something older."
Elara took his hand. "She belongs to us first."
---
When the bells tolled midday, the gates of the palace swung wide.
The children stepped onto the skybridge, flanked by guards in white and indigo. The people cheered below — their cheers a tidal wave of love, awe, and unease.
Seris twirled in her dress of silver clouds, her bare feet skipping across the translucent bridge. Flowers bloomed in her wake — real ones, curling from the lightglass.
Lysander offered his hand to steady her.
"I don't need it," she whispered.
"You'll trip."
"I never fall."
He frowned, but held her hand anyway.
The closer they came to the dais, the more Lysander's stomach twisted. He knew how the people looked at him — with hope, pride, love.
But when they looked at Seris, they looked with wonder. Fear. Reverence.
And envy.
"She's only six," he told himself. "I'm the heir."
But still, something in her presence made his magic feel dimmer.
---
High above, Kael and Elara watched their children from the royal arch.
The crowd erupted as the children reached the sacred platform. High Priestess Nyra lifted her staff of crystal wind and began the Blessing of Balance.
But then—
Everything stilled.
The clouds stopped moving.
The wind vanished.
The floating lanterns flickered, once… twice…
And shattered into stars.
The crowd gasped.
Every eye turned toward Seris.
The child stood perfectly still. Her pupils dilated. Her lips parted. Her magic spiraled up around her — threads of light and shadow weaving into a perfect helix.
"Seris?" Lysander whispered. "Seris!"
She didn't hear him.
She was somewhere else.
---
In her mind, Seris stood on a mountain that did not exist.
Below her was a land of red sand, black rivers, and silver moons.
A voice echoed inside her — not hers, not yet, but ancient and terrible and sad.
> "Daughter of Sky and Storm, your soul was forged before time.
The Gate is waking. The Balance will tip.
One of your blood will shatter the crown.
One will save it."
And then she fell.
---
Lysander caught her before she hit the platform.
"Seris!" he cried, panic rising.
Kael and Elara appeared a heartbeat later, magic crackling around them both.
Seris opened her eyes — all silver now, glowing faintly. Her voice was hoarse.
"He's calling me," she whispered.
Kael froze. "Who?"
But she had already fainted.
---