The fire crackled quietly in the hearth, but the heat it gave off did nothing to ease the cold knot of dread inside Elena's chest.
It had been days since the disaster at Mine Thirteen. Days since she last saw Seamus walk out the manor doors, jaw tight, guilt buried in his eyes. He had not returned. Not even a letter.
She understood why. The explosion had taken too many lives. Miners he knew by name, men who had grown up on the estate. Men with wives and children of their own.
Still, understanding did little to soothe the ache of absence.
Word trickled in through Kenneth and the stewards: over twenty confirmed dead. Dozens more injured. One of the main mana veins had collapsed completely—an economic blow the estate could ill afford. Seamus had remained on-site, directing recovery efforts and personally aiding in the retrieval of bodies from the rubble.
It was taking its toll.
And Elena… could only wait.
Wrapped in a heavy shawl, she sat before the fire, its orange glow flickering across her face, casting her in warm light that didn't reach her eyes. The same scroll of genealogy she had been reading weeks ago lay unopened on the side table. She hadn't touched it since the morning she learned she was carrying a child.
A child. Hers and Seamus's. And he didn't even know if he wanted it.
That thought chilled her more than the stone walls ever could.
She had barely stirred when the knock came.
Three soft raps on the hidden side door—the one servants used, tucked away at the back of the estate.
Elena's gaze lifted slowly, not in alarm but in instinctive hope. A moment later, the latch turned with a soft click, and in slipped the Behike, wrapped in deep woven layers of night-colored wool, golden embroidery tracing protective sigils down the hem of her cloak.
Elena's lips parted in surprise. "You came."
The Behike smiled, the firelight catching on the lines of her face, ancient and wise. "I told you I would, didn't I?" She drew back her hood and stepped fully into the chamber. "Besides, this child needs us."
Elena blinked, her heart stumbling at that word. Us.
The Behike crossed the room with quiet grace and took a seat opposite Elena by the hearth, folding her legs beneath her. Her presence brought warmth—more than the fire could.
"I saw it in the cards weeks ago," the Behike murmured, drawing out a small bundle of cloth and bone from her pocket. "Birth. Change. A bloodline awakening. I only needed confirmation… and here you are, glowing with stormlight."
Elena gave a brittle laugh. "Glowing? I feel like death."
"You feel like a mother." The Behike's voice softened with reverence.
Without waiting, she leaned forward, gently touching Elena's hand. Words in an old tongue passed through her lips—low and rhythmic. A faint pulse of green and gold shimmered from her fingers, rippling through the air like sunlight through leaves.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She smiled again.
"This child has thunder in their blood. They will shake mountains." Her voice carried the certainty of prophecy. "Maybe even the world itself."
Elena let out a short breath—half a laugh, half a sob. "Behike…"
The words faltered.
She stared at the fire, at the shadows cast by her own form. She whispered, "I don't think I'm ready for this."
Silence followed. Not judgment. Not pity. Just stillness.
The Behike reached into the folds of her cloak once more and withdrew a small talisman—threads braided tight in the colors of the night sky: red for protection, gold for vision, blue for spirit. She placed it into Elena's hand with both of hers, holding her gently.
"No one ever is," the Behike said, her voice low and full of memory. "But readiness is not the way forward, child. Listening is. Listen to the storm inside you. And the one you're carrying."
Elena's fingers curled around the talisman, cradling it to her heart.
A deep breath passed through her.
Not peace. But something close.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The Behike clasped her hand tighter and gave her a look that spoke of countless births and battles, of women who had stood at the edge of fear and walked into it anyway.
"We will raise this storm together," she said, "no matter what the Church, the world, or even Seamus says."
Elena nodded.
Because in this house of grief, fire, and thunder… something new had begun to grow.