The grand hall of Solareth's high citadel glittered with gold and marble, a cathedral of light meant to awe and blind in equal measure. Sunfire spilled through stained glass windows, painting the floor with molten rivers of crimson and gold. Every pillar bore banners stitched with radiant suns, and every breath smelled faintly of incense and iron.
Serenya sat stiff-backed on the dais beside her father's throne, her hands folded too tightly in her lap. She kept her gaze lowered, though her heart hammered in her chest. The voices of courtiers washed over her—sycophantic laughter, whispered bargains, and the occasional sneer directed her way.
At her side stood Lord Malrik. Broad-shouldered and draped in armor polished until it gleamed like a mirror, he looked the very image of Solareth's perfect knight. But to Serenya, his presence was suffocating. His smile was not the warmth of sunlight—it was the burn of a desert sun, merciless and inescapable.
Father will not bend… He will give me to him. He will chain me in his "order."
The Mark of Twilight pulsed faintly against her collarbone, hidden beneath silver silk. Its glow was weak in the blinding hall, but it was there—reminding her that her fate was not yet sealed, no matter what cage they built around her.
Her father, High King Aurelian, rose from his throne. His voice echoed through the chamber like a blade drawn from its sheath.
"Today, we secure the eternal bond between Solareth's light and its most loyal champion. My daughter shall be wed to Lord Malrik of the Golden Guard, and together they shall strengthen the dominion of order."
Applause thundered through the hall. Courtiers stamped their heels, their jeweled sleeves flashing. Priests lifted their hands to the sunlit dome above in mockery of blessing.
But Serenya could not breathe. Each clap of hands struck like a hammer upon her ribs. The walls closed in, and Malrik's hand brushed against hers on the throne's armrest—possessive, claiming.
And then, the doors crashed open.
The vast golden doors groaned as they were shoved aside, sunlight and dust spilling into the hall. Gasps rippled like wildfire through the courtiers.
A figure strode forward, cloak torn and boots scarred with mud from long roads. His hair was unkempt, his jaw shadowed with stubble, yet his presence filled the chamber with a force that no polish could rival. His eyes, sharp and storm-tossed, cut through the crowd and fixed on Serenya.
Kaelen Ardentis.
The hall erupted into murmurs.
"The exile!"
"The heretic knight!"
"He dares—?"
Malrik's lips curled into a sneer, his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword. But Kaelen did not flinch. Step by step, he walked the sunlit aisle toward the throne, his boots echoing like war drums.
Serenya's breath caught. She had not expected to see him again—not so soon, not here, not in the very heart of her father's court. Yet as the light struck his chest, the Seal of Dawn ignited beneath his torn tunic, answering the call of her own hidden Mark.
The glow flared so bright that even the courtiers gasped.
Aurelian's face hardened. "You dare return here, oathbreaker?"
Kaelen's voice was steady, though fire burned beneath each word. "I dare because your order is rotting. You blind yourselves with light so you cannot see the shadows creeping into your walls. The Veil weakens. The spawn of nightmare walk free—and you waste your strength chaining your own daughter."
The words struck like thunder. For the first time, silence swallowed the golden hall.
Serenya's fingers trembled in her lap. No one had ever spoken so openly to her father—not without losing their tongue. Yet Kaelen stood, unbowed, his shoulders squared against the storm he knew would follow.
Malrik broke the silence with a laugh, sharp as steel on stone. "A traitor's tongue still drips poison. You speak of shadows, yet you are one. Do you think this court will listen to a fallen knight, branded and cast out?"
Kaelen's eyes flicked to Malrik, then back to Serenya. "I do not care if the court listens. She deserves to know the truth."
The Mark beneath Serenya's skin flared, pulsing in rhythm with the Seal across Kaelen's chest. A warmth coiled through her veins, unbidden but undeniable, as though the prophecy itself had stirred awake.
Malrik noticed. His gaze narrowed to her collarbone, suspicion darkening his features. He shifted closer, his voice dripping venom. "Your Highness, you will not taint yourself with his lies. Do not forget—you are to be my bride."
The word bride scraped against her heart like a blade. Her lips parted, but the court was watching—her father's gaze was heavy upon her. To speak now would be to declare open rebellion.
Kaelen, however, showed no such hesitation. He took another step forward, the glow of his Seal intensifying. "She is not yours to claim. Her heart is not a crown to be locked in your vault of order."
Gasps rippled again. Nobles muttered in disbelief, priests raised their hands in outrage. Yet beneath the chaos, Serenya felt something she had thought lost—hope.
Her father's fist slammed against the throne's armrest, silencing all. "Enough. Guards—"
The command was cut short.
The hall shuddered. A tremor ran through the marble floor, rattling goblets and shaking banners from their poles. From the far side of the chamber, near the stained glass windows, the light fractured. Shadows seeped inward, twisting like smoke, coiling like serpents.
Screams erupted as figures began to take form—Veilspawn, their obsidian scales shimmering with malice, their silver eyes hungering.
The prophecy's whisper curled through Serenya's mind once more: When sun and shadow embrace… the Veil shall tremble.
Her Mark flared, and this time she could not hide it. Light spilled from her collarbone, silver against the golden hall. Kaelen's Seal answered, blazing bright enough to rival the sun through the stained glass.
The courtiers fell silent, their terror mingling with awe. For centuries, the prophecy had been whispered, recited, feared. Now it unfolded before their very eyes.
Kaelen drew his sword in a single fluid motion, steel singing. He did not wait for orders. He did not bow to the throne. He stepped between Serenya and the shadows, his blade raised.
Malrik snarled and followed suit, eager to prove himself—but for all his shining armor, Serenya noticed his hand trembled.
The first Veilspawn lunged, its claws tearing through a marble pillar as though it were clay. Kaelen met it with steel and flame, his Seal blazing along the blade, his strike scattering the creature into ash. Another followed, and another, pouring like a tide of nightmare into the hall.
Serenya rose from the dais, her hands clenched at her sides. She could feel her Mark calling, burning, demanding to be used. Yet she had never wielded its power—never dared.
Her father's voice cut through the chaos, furious and commanding. "Seize them! Both of them! Before—"
His words were drowned by the shriek of another Veilspawn.
Kaelen glanced back at Serenya, his eyes locking with hers across the chaos. For a heartbeat, the noise of the hall vanished. Only the pulse of their Seals remained, binding them, urging them forward.
He extended his hand. "Trust me."
The moment stretched. Around them, the world burned with light and shadow. To take his hand would be to defy her father, her betrothal, her entire life of order.
And yet—her heart had already chosen.
Serenya's fingers slid into his, the warmth of his palm igniting something deep within her soul.
The Marks blazed as one.
A wave of energy rippled outward, striking the Veilspawn like a hammer of dawn and dusk entwined. The creatures shrieked as their forms unraveled, torn apart by the union of light and shadow. Courtiers stumbled back in terror, shielding their eyes.
The hall quaked beneath the force. Stained glass shattered, sunlight spilling in shards across the floor.
When the light dimmed, the Veilspawn were gone. Only smoke and silence remained.
Kaelen lowered his blade, his chest heaving. Serenya still clutched his hand, her body trembling—not from fear, but from the enormity of what they had unleashed.
Every gaze in the hall fixed upon them. Some stared with awe. Others with horror. And her father's eyes burned with fury.
The prophecy was no longer just words carved into the cosmos.
It had begun.