The desert night pressed down like a living thing.
Serenya lay awake on the woven carpets of the nomad's tent, staring at the shadows flickering against the canvas walls. The fire outside had dwindled to embers, yet sleep would not come. Not after what the Elder had told her.
Kin of Twilight.
The words rang in her ears like a curse.
She pressed her hands over her face, trying to smother the thought. It didn't help. The whispers were still there, crawling beneath her skin—faint, distant, but undeniable. She could almost hear them in the rustle of the dunes outside: a voice as old as the stars, calling her home.
Her chest ached. Was it longing? Or fear?
Across the tent, Kaelen sat awake as well, hunched with his sword across his knees. His back was rigid, his eyes fixed on the doorway, but Serenya knew he hadn't closed them once since the Elder's revelation. His silence was louder than any argument.
Finally, unable to bear it, she whispered, "Kaelen."
He didn't look at her. "You should sleep."
"How could I?" Her voice cracked. "She said I'm of its blood. That the thing chained beneath the sands is my kin. How am I supposed to close my eyes knowing that?"
Kaelen's grip on his sword tightened. He wanted to deny it, to call it a lie, but the image of the chained god's silver eyes burned too vividly in his memory. He heard again the way it had whispered Serenya's name, the way the Mark on her skin had pulsed in answer.
"You're Serenya," he said at last, his voice rough. "Not it. Not whatever's bound beneath those chains."
She hugged her knees, tears brimming in her eyes. "But what if I'm not just Serenya? What if that blood means… I was never mine to begin with?"
For a moment, Kaelen faltered. His own past rose unbidden—the Seal of Dawn branded on him at birth, the priests declaring his path before he could walk it, his life never his own.
He set his sword aside and moved closer, kneeling across from her. His hand hovered, then gently rested on hers. "Blood doesn't decide who you are. Choice does. And you've chosen—over and over again—to fight, to protect, to defy. That's you. Not chains. Not whispers."
Her throat tightened. She looked into his eyes and found no judgment there, only stubborn, unyielding certainty. And in that certainty, she drew a trembling breath. "Then promise me. If I lose myself… if those whispers ever take me—"
"I'll pull you back," he cut in, fierce and immediate. "Even if I have to fight the gods themselves. You're not alone in this."
Serenya's lips parted, but no words came. Instead, her fingers tightened around his. For a moment, the desert, the prophecy, the whispers—all of it—faded.
Only his warmth remained.
Dawn came harsh and swift, the sun burning away the night's chill.
The nomad camp stirred with urgency. Men and women whispered prayers as they tended their camels, children clutching charms of bone and silver. There was a heaviness in the air, as though every soul felt the same unseen eyes watching from beyond the dunes.
The Elder summoned them again. Her frail form seemed even more withered in the daylight, but her eyes burned sharp as ever.
"The chains beneath the sands weaken," she said gravely. "Already the whispers spread further than they should. You carry its blood, child, but blood is not destiny. Remember this: prophecy speaks of choice."
Serenya swallowed hard. "What choice?"
"To embrace it… or to deny it."
Her chest tightened. "And if I embrace it?"
The Elder's voice lowered. "Then you may heal the worlds… or shatter them into endless night."
The words struck like a hammer. Kaelen's jaw clenched, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. "There's no 'healing' in letting that thing free. Deny it. That's the only choice."
The Elder shook her head slowly. "Spoken like one of Solareth. But light alone blinds as easily as shadow corrupts. Balance lies not in denial, but in understanding."
Before Kaelen could retort, a horn blared outside the canyon. Sharp, urgent.
Shouts followed.
Kaelen was already moving, hand on his blade as he shoved through the tent flap. Serenya was at his heels.
What she saw made her blood run cold.
On the ridges above the canyon, shadows writhed. Dozens—no, scores—of twisted figures crawled like liquid nightmares over the rocks. Eyes gleamed silver. Claws dripped with smoke. The air reeked of iron and decay.
Veilspawn.
"They come for her!" a nomad shouted.
The Elder emerged, her voice trembling. "The chained one reaches for its blood."
Kaelen's Seal of Dawn ignited, burning like fire against his chest. Serenya's Mark of Twilight blazed in answer, pulsing with dangerous light.
The Veilspawn shrieked and descended.
"Stay behind me!" Kaelen barked, sword flashing free.
But Serenya's bow was already in her hands. Her eyes narrowed, defiance burning. "No. We fight together."
The first creature lunged. Kaelen met it head-on, blade cleaving through shadowed flesh in a storm of sparks. Serenya's arrow loosed at the same moment, striking another through the skull. The beast dissolved into ash with a shriek.
They moved like a single storm. Kaelen's strikes were fury and flame, Serenya's arrows silver streaks of moonlight. Around them, nomads joined the fight, blades and spears clashing against nightmare.
Yet with every kill, more shadows poured in. The canyon echoed with screams.
Kaelen slammed his shoulder into a Veilspawn, driving his sword deep. Blood—black and smoking—splattered across his armor. He looked back just in time to see another beast leaping for Serenya's unguarded side.
"Serenya!"
She turned, loosing her arrow point-blank. The creature dissolved mid-air, scattering in smoke. Her hands trembled, but her aim did not falter.
For a heartbeat, Kaelen's chest swelled with fierce pride. She was not a jewel to be caged—she was fire, unyielding, alive.
Then—
The whisper came again.
"Daughter of Twilight. Come home."
It was not spoken aloud. It thundered inside Serenya's mind, drowning the clash of battle, wrapping around her heart like chains. Her bow faltered, her vision blurring with silver light.
Kaelen saw it instantly. "Serenya! Don't listen!"
His voice tore through the haze. She gasped, forcing her hands steady, loosing another arrow that pierced the skull of a lunging beast. The whisper receded, but not fully. It lingered, insidious.
The battle raged on, but a truth had already carved itself into Serenya's soul: the chained god's reach was spreading. No wall of sand, no canyon, no army could keep it at bay.
And no matter how fiercely she fought, its call to her would only grow stronger.