Turning eighteen was supposed to bring freedom—or at least, that's what the stories promised. But for Serenya, it had only brought more rules wrapped in worry and more eyes following her every move.
"You must not wander after nightfall," Elder Maeve had warned just this morning, stirring a thick brew that smelled like crushed thyme and quiet judgment. "Not now. Not when your powers sit so close to the skin."
Serenya had smiled—polite, practiced—and nodded like a good apprentice should. But her thoughts were already slipping toward the forest edge, to where the pines whispered and the humming began after sunset.
The elders claimed it was nothing. Just echoes. Settling ground. Wind in the trees.
But the wind didn't hum.
And the ground didn't glow.
For three nights now, Serenya had heard it. A low, steady rhythm, pulsing like the heartbeat of something ancient. Once, she saw a shimmer—right past the border where the pine needles turned silver and the air grew thin and cold. The sound called to her. Softly. Steadily.
She told herself it was just curiosity. That she only wanted answers. But deep down, in a place she barely dared to look, she knew it wasn't curiosity.
It was calling her.
So when the sky finally drained to black and the elders locked themselves inside for evening prayers, Serenya laced her boots, wrapped herself in her cloak, and slipped quietly through the northern gate.
The forest welcomed her like a familiar secret.
The trees leaned in, their branches brushing softly like hands offering guidance. Her steps were silent over moss and fallen leaves. She used no magic—only instinct, and a childhood full of wandering where she'd been told not to go.
But this time was different.
This wasn't mischief.
This was breaking the rule—etched into every warning she'd ever been given:
Never cross the Light Court's border.
Not ever.
It wasn't just forbidden.
It was dangerous.
But the humming didn't care about danger or rules. It led her through shadowed trails, into the part of the forest where even the birds went quiet and no tracks lingered on the ground.
With every step, her heart beat faster—not in fear, but in something closer to hope.
She passed a grove of ghost-pines. Pushed through hanging moss.
And then, she saw it.
A clearing—perfectly round. Too perfect.
The trees surrounding it stood tall and still, like watchers holding their breath.
In the center, twelve figures in dark robes stood in a wide circle.
Between them hovered an orb—pale white, floating, pulsing like breath. Strange glowing symbols spun slowly in the dirt beneath it, flickering in pale blue.
Serenya ducked behind a tree, squinting through the shadows. The robed figures didn't move. They looked carved from stone—still, yet humming with power. Light spilled from their robes in quiet pulses, casting long, sharp shadows.
Then the chanting began.
Soft. Unfamiliar syllables. Not loud, but somehow everywhere. The sound wrapped around her, weaving through her bones. Her magic stirred, restless and alert.
She crept closer, barely breathing.
The orb brightened. Thin sparks danced between the robed hands, linking them with threads of light.
The air shifted.
The forest felt like it was waiting.
Serenya's fingers twitched.
Her instinct screamed: leave.
Her curiosity whispered: stay.
Her foot betrayed her.
A twig snapped.
The chanting stopped.
Twelve hoods turned.
A single heartbeat passed—silent.
Then the orb spun wildly, flashing white before dimming.
Serenya dropped low, heart hammering.
Please don't come closer. Please don't—
"Step forward," said a voice. Calm. Sharp. Too close.
She looked up.
A tall figure stood just a few steps away. His silver-blond hair slipped free of his hood. His face was pale, angled, striking in a way that made her stomach tighten.
But his eyes—they froze her.
Pale gold. Unblinking. Familiar.
He knew her.
Serenya rose slowly, not from courage but because crouching suddenly felt impossible.
"Who are you?" she asked. Her voice didn't shake, though everything else did.
The man tilted his head. "You're asking the wrong question."
She swallowed. "Fine. What are you doing here?"
He smiled—just a little. "Finishing what your bloodline started."
The words hit like cold water.
"I don't know what that means," she said.
"You will."
She stepped back. Her hands glowed—warmth building in her palms. Not light. Not fire.
Life.
The man's gaze dropped to her hands. "You've started to awaken."
"I'm not part of this," she said quickly. "Whatever this is. I just…"
"Were drawn here. By the sound."
She paused.
"…Yes."
"You were meant to be."
The others moved now, slow and silent, their circle unraveling. The orb lifted higher. As it rose, her magic flared.
Pain tore through her chest.
She gasped, clutching her ribs.
The orb blazed. The symbols in the dirt twisted like serpents.
"You don't belong here," she hissed through clenched teeth.
"Don't I?" he asked, his voice softer now.
He took a step closer.
"You were supposed to be dead, Serenya of the Ash Tree Line. But here you are—eighteen, and full of power you were never meant to carry."
She flinched. "How do you know my name?"
"I've always known," he said. "We all have."
Something moved in the woods behind her. She turned slightly—just enough to glimpse shadows shifting where there should've been none.
Shapes. Watching.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked. "What is this ritual?"
"It's not for you," he said. "Not yet. But now you've seen it. That changes things."
Her magic surged again, heat racing up her arms.
She raised her hands.
"Then I'll change it back."
Light burst from her palms, slamming two of the robed figures off their feet.
The others scattered.
The man didn't flinch.
He raised his hand. The air cracked—sharp—and her spell vanished mid-flight.
Serenya dropped to her knees.
"You don't even know what you carry," he said, stepping closer. "But you will."
He reached out.
She screamed.
The orb shot forward—straight into her chest.
There was no pain.
Only light.
Then—nothing.
* * * * * * * *
She woke face-down in the mud by the sacred spring.
The moon hung overhead. Her cloak was soaked. Her magic buzzed under her skin, faint and weak.
She sat up, dazed.
Was it real? A dream? A vision?
Her fingers throbbed. Her legs shook.
The forest was quiet again.
But something was different.
She looked at her hands.
They glowed.
Not gold like before.
Now silver and violet shimmered across her skin, weaving together in quiet motion—patterns that moved and shifted like breath.
Her chest tightened.
This was new.
This was power she never asked for.
A rustle broke the silence. She turned sharply toward the water.
The orb floated above the spring.
Waiting.
Then from behind her, a whisper.
Soft. Barely there.
"Serenya."
She turned.
No one stood there.