At the Palace:
Lightning cracked as Queen Lilith's final scream tore through the birthing suite. Blood slicked the sheets. Midwives trembled. *"Feet first! Cord around the neck—!"*
King Ezra lunged, snarling, *"Save my SON!"*
A midwife plunged her hands inside, twisting, pulling. Lilith's eyes rolled back.
Then—a wet, gasping wail.
**Raphael.**
Placed in Ezra's arms: slick black hair plastered to his skull, skin flushed crimson, eyes snapping open—**violet**, not Ezra's gold. A warrior's cry ripped from tiny lungs. Ezra wept, pressing his forehead to the child's. *"My heir. Oak's future."*
Outside, thunder boomed. The Blood Oak's shadow stretched like claws across the courtyard.
**Slums: Linda's Silent Entrance (Simultaneous Dawn)**
Lucia bit through the leather strap. *No midwife. No herbs. Only pain.* Rain lashed the hut's rotting timbers. She pushed against the agony, back arching off the straw pallet. Blood pooled beneath her. *"Ezra…!"* she screamed into the void.
One last convulsive heave—
—Silence.
Lucia dragged the infant to her chest. **No cry.** The child opened her eyes—**deep sea-blue**, fathomless. And her hair… **silver.** Not gray. Not white. *Metallic*, shimmering like liquid moonlight even in the hut's gloom.
*"Linda,"* Lucia choked, collapsing back. *"My moon's child…"*
A lone wolf howled in the storm.
---
a low but early morning
Linda (5) chased scrawny chickens, silver braid flying. Her laugh chimed like bells. Lucia watched, heart clenched. *Too beautiful. Too strange.*
*"Witch-child!"* a fishmonger spat.
*"Demon eyes!"* a tanner growled.
Linda paused, healing a beggar's festering wound with a touch and crushed yarrow. *"All better, Mister Bren!"*
The man stared, trembling. *"Goddess-touched…"*
Raphael (5) trained with wooden swords, violet eyes fierce. Ezra watched, pride warring with grief. *Lucia's face still haunted his dreams.*
Queen Eleanor's gaze followed him, cold as grave dirt. *"He mourns the maid *still*,"* she hissed to her daughter Seraphina (14). *"Your father's weakness is our opportunity."*
---
The prince dropped mid-swing. Skin burned furnace-hot. Lips blue. Breath rattled.
*"POISON!"* Ezra roared, shaking the healer.
*"Fever, Your Grace! One that devours magic!"*
Elder Silas, hunched and blind, rasped from the shadows: *"The slums… a silver-haired child… *heals*…"*
Ezra froze. *Silver hair. Sea-blue eyes.* A memory slashed through him: Lucia's whispered fear the night she conceived—*"What if our child is… different?"*
*"Bring them,"* Ezra commanded, voice deadly quiet. *"The child *and* her mother."*
**The Carriage:**
Guards kicked down the hut door. Mud-streaked Linda hid behind Lucia.
*"Mama?"*
Rough hands seized them. Neighbors jeered: *"Palace took the witch!"*
Doors crashed open. Queen Eleanor shot up, face contorting. **"YOU!"** Her shriek cut the air like a knife. **"Grave-robbing whore! How dare you defile this hall with your stench!"**
Ezra stood transfixed. Lucia—*alive*. And the child…
*Silver hair. Sea-blue eyes.* Lucia's chin lifted in defiance. *His defiance.*
Ezra staggered forward. Fell to his knees before Linda. Calloused fingers brushed her cheek—*real, warm, alive*. Tears carved paths through the grime on his face.
*"My daughter…"* His voice shattered. *"Born of pure love… I never knew you existed."* He crushed them both against his chest, royal robes be damned.
Raphael lay corpse-pale. Linda approached, clutching her mother's skirt. From her pocket, she pulled a wilted sprig of **moonpetal**.
*"Here, brother,"* she whispered, holding it to his lips. *"Breathe deep."*
Raphael's nostrils flared. Once. Twice.
**SNEEZE!**
Violent. Body-jerking. His eyes flew open—violet, clear, bewildered.
*"Father? Why is everyone crying?"*
Ezra rose, clutching Linda in one arm, Lucia's hand in his other.
*"Hear me!"* His voice shook the crystal chandeliers. *"Lucia is my Royal Concubine! This child—"* He lifted Linda high, her silver hair blazing like a crown. *"—is Princess Linda! My blood! My heir's sister! Whosoever harms them, answers to ME!"*
Queen Eleanor's smile was poison wrapped in silk. Princess Seraphina's glare promised slow murder.
Deep below the palace, in a vault drowned in dust, the cracked mirror ball **vibrated**. A drop of black sludge oozed from the fissure.