Chapter 1: Hatred Seed
"Mom, no!"
My scream ripped through the air, swallowed by the crash of splintering wood. The door shattered, and my world collapsed with it.
My mother's cries pierced the dim room as shadowed men pinned her to the floor. My father's blood pooled beneath him, his chest heaving, life draining before my eyes.
I was ten. Just ten. Too young to understand why, but old enough for the pain to sear my soul. No child should see this-my mother's hands clawing at the warped floorboards, my father's shallow gasps. Their screams echoed, layered with a faint, unnatural hum that crawled under my skin. I didn't know what it was, but it twisted my gut, like a song from a nightmare.
They weren't just killing my parents-they wanted us erased, our bloodline snuffed out. The men, faceless in the flickering lamplight, hissed "the next king" at me, their voices venomous. Why? I was just Isabella, trembling in the corner, my nightgown clinging to my knees. What king? What did they want?
One man stood apart, his face hidden behind a crude mask carved with jagged lines. His eyes, pale as frost, burned with hatred. He stared as if I were already dead, his lips curling into a silent snarl. Then he hummed-a low, eerie note that made my stomach lurch, syncing with the strange sound in my head.
Then... something worse.
My mother's screams changed.
They twisted into something deeper, more broken, more animal. One man tore at her dress. Another held her wrists down. I didn't understand at first.
"Don't-no, please! David, help me!" she shrieked.
But my father was dying-helpless, coughing blood.
The men didn't stop.
"Mom?" I whispered. But she couldn't hear me.
She was fighting, crying, begging.
And then-
They were on her. One at a time. Maybe two. I couldn't tell. I heard the fabric rip. I saw the way her legs kicked.
I heard the slap of flesh.
The humming grew louder.
I heard her sobs-then, nothing. A silence worse than the screams.
I covered my ears. I wanted to vanish.
But I saw.
And I'll never unsee.
They didn't care that I was there.
Maybe they wanted me to watch.
"You told me you'd quit!" my mother cried earlier, before they took her. "You lied, David! Now our child pays for your sins!"
Her tears had mixed with blood.
"I tried, Mamacita," my father had whispered. "I thought I could leave the pact behind. But there's no way out."
His proud face crumpled. "I failed you both," he said softly. "You and Isabella... you were my priority."
It was the first time I saw my father cry.
His strong hands, the ones that tossed me giggling into the air just yesterday, trembled. That image shattered me.
I remembered his warm laugh, my mother's lullabies-now replaced by blood and screams.
And then... silence.
The men left her crumpled on the floor. Her dress torn, her body shaking. She wouldn't look at me. Her eyes stared past everything. Like she had to leave her body just to survive.
I crawled to her.
I held her hand. She didn't squeeze back.
She was still breathing, but I don't know how.
In that moment's ruins, something took root.
Hatred.
It bloomed like a blade in my chest, sharp and cold, its thorns curling around my heart. It wasn't just pain-it was a promise, waiting to be wielded.
I didn't know who these men were, or what pact bound my father.
But I knew one thing:
I would make them pay.