Chapter 1
"On the night of balance, when light and shadow share the sky,
An immortal child shall rise from mortal womb,
marked by fire, marked by storm,
Bearer of the Equinox flame.
Through him shall the world be spared or undone."
The words echoed through ancient halls, older than stone and sea, carried on winds no mortal ear could hear. The prophecy had been spoken once, then sealed. And now, after centuries of waiting, it stirred awake.
Serenya screamed.
Her voice cracked, raw from four days in labor. Sweat clung to her brow, her dark hair plastered to her face. The sheets were soaked through, and the once-bright chamber of Darian's home smelled of blood, herbs, and the bitter smoke of burning sage.
Zophar, the family midwife, knelt at the bedside, her hands were steady massaging Serenya's back though her face was pale. "Breathe, Serenya. Breathe. You are close now."
"Close?" Darian thundered from the hallway. He had been pacing, storming, demanding. "You said the same yesterday. And the day before!"
He grabbed Zophar by the collar as soon as the door cracked open. "Tell me the truth. Will she live?"
The old midwife struggled for composure, her lips trembling. "The birth is… unlike any I have seen. But she holds on. The child holds on. I..."
"Enough riddles!" Darian roared. "Promise me that I will see my wife again!"
Strong hands pulled him back. Ysmera, his mother. Her eyes, calm and bright as starlight, locked with his. "You will not go in yet."
"She is dying!" Darian spat.
"No." Ysmera's voice cut through his fury like a blade. "What is written cannot be undone. Death is not for Serenya. Nor for the child."
Darian trembled with helpless rage, his fists balled. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to trust. But all he heard was his wife's screams.
Far away...beyond forests, seas, and skies the kingdom of darkness stirred.
A great siren wailed, though no mortal ear would ever hear it. Its sound was like iron grinding against bone, echoing across the land. The daughters of Obrathis, cloaked in flame and shadow, raised their heads in unison.
They all heard the call.
They moved swiftly, gathering in the grand hall in the chamber where their father awaited. The Primordial dark being, Obrathis, sat upon a throne carved from the void itself. His form was shifting, vast and undefined, but his eyes burned with endless fire.
The daughters knelt.
"The prophecy awakens," Obrathis said, his voice a rumble that shook the stone. "The child of balance comes."
A ripple of anger darkened the hall.
"Already the stars bend for him," Obrathis continued. "Already his cry threatens to pierce my dominion. You will not allow it. You will strike before the Equinox flame can breathe."
Veythara the eldest and leader of the daughters—tall, veiled in black fire—spoke with venom. "Command us, Father. We will tear the womb, silence the line, and scatter the prophecy to ash."
Obrathis's grin was like a gash across the night. "Go, then. The moment has come."
And in the mortal world, as Serenya's screams rose with the storm outside, shadows began to move toward the house of Darian and Serenya. The wind howled outside Darian's house, sudden and violent, rattling the shutters as if the storm itself demanded entry. The air thickened, heavy with a pressure that bent the spine and chilled the lungs.
Eldran's eyes sharpened. The grandfather's gaze lifted beyond the wooden ceiling, beyond the trembling sky, into the unseen realm where only those with power could perceive. He saw them—twelve streaks of black fire tearing across the heavens, wings of shadow spread wide.
"They are here," Eldran murmured.
Ysmera stood beside him, robes lifting in a wind that was not mortal, her palms glowing with a silvery brilliance. "Form the barrier."
Darian swallowed hard, his pulse racing. He had spent his life resenting the family mantle, resisting the rituals, hating the weight of prophecy. Yet when Veythara first daughter of Obrathis descended from the sky like a blade of living night, instinct surged within him. He stepped forward, standing beside his parents.
They raised their arms as one.
Three hands stretched toward the heavens, and light poured forth. Eldran's was golden, old and fierce, steady as the sun itself. Ysmera's shimmered silver, fluid as moonlight. Darian's, though unsteady, crackled with storm fire, raw and defiant.
The streams of light intertwined, weaving into a great wall across the sky above the house.
The daughters of Obrathis struck.
Their voices were screams and songs, shrieking like metal tearing, beautiful and terrible. Blades of shadow clashed against the barrier, sparks of darkness exploding in the air. The earth itself shuddered at the force of the blows.
Inside, Serenya screamed again, her voice rising in perfect harmony with the storm.
Above the mortal world, in the unseen realm, the battle unfolded like a dance of destruction.
Eldran moved first, stepping into the air as if it were stone beneath him. His golden blade erupted from nothingness, forged of pure will, and he clashed against Zoraphina, daughter of torment. Their swords rang like thunder; each strike a burst of lightning across the clouds.
Ysmera drew her sword as she met Morthaya, mistress of fear and illusions. Every movement was grace and fury, her blade singing arcs of light that cut through illusions meant to blind.
Darian, raw and untamed, faced Dravakiel, commander of shadows. Her strikes were wild, born of rage, yet each carried a storm's power. Lightning cracked with every swing, scattering black wings that closed around him.
The sky was chaos—flames of night against storms of light, the daughters shrieking as they pressed closer, trying to pierce the wall that guarded Serenya's chamber.
Inside, Zophar bent over Serenya. Her eyes were glazed, her breaths shallow, but her hands clutched at the sheets.
"Stay with me, Serenya," she whispered. "Stay. The world turns on your breath."
Another contraction seized her, tearing a cry from her lips. The house shook.
The daughters redoubled their assault.
Obrathis's voice boomed across the unseen realm, deeper than thunder, darker than the storm... "Break the wall. Tear down their line. Let no cry of the child be heard."
Obrathis was losing his temper in the depths of his chamber. He summoned Sizo, the leader of the shadowlings, and waited, pacing like a caged thing. When Sizo burst into the hall he dropped to his knees, panting. "Yes, Master," he muttered.
Obrathis halted, staring down at him. "I sent you and your shadowlings on an assignment days ago," he said, voice tight with barely contained fury. "Tell me...the spell is in motion." There was a pause, a coldness in the silence that said Obrathis already suspected the truth. Sizo's shoulders tightened; he knew, as everyone did, that any hesitation meant punishment. "Master, we have gathered Serenya's garments," Sizo said, his voice trembling. "But we have not yet begun the spell. We awaited your command."
Obrathis growled, a sound that shook the chamber. "Sizo," he hissed, "summon your team. Now.
With shaking hands, Sizo raised a whistle to his lips and blew. At once, a multitude of shadowlings materialized, dropping to their knees, filling the room in eerie silence. The air thickened as every creature sensed their master's fury.
Obrathis's voice thundered. "Must I create you, feed you, keep you, and teach you everything—only for you to fail me in an assignment so vital?" His roar made the walls tremble.
His hand shot out, seizing a gleaming sword from the wall. In one sweeping strike, he cut down twenty shadowlings at once. Their shrieks echoed as the survivors collapsed to the floor, faces pressed down in terror.
Obrathis turned, lifting Sizo's chin with the blood-drenched edge of the blade. His eyes burned like abyssal fire. "Another batch...every hour if this spell is not finished. I will bleed them all before you, one by one, until you obey. You have grown weak with your sentiment, treating these wretches like family. I will break that bond. I will make them die screaming until you do as commanded."
The sword pressed harder against Sizo's throat. "Now. Move."
In an instant, the chamber emptied, the shadowlings vanishing in a rush of darkness, leaving behind only the silence of Obrathis's wrath.
The clash of steel rang through the unseen realms, sparks of shadow and light colliding. The daughters of Obrathis pressed forward, their blades relentless, while Eldran, Ysmera, and Darian fought in unison. Outnumbered three to twelve, they shifted positions with practiced rhythm, each covering the other, each taking on more than one foe at a time.
Veythara, eldest of the daughters, called the assault with a commanding voice.
"Zoraphina—on the left flank! Alerting the twins Lazkira, focus, use your full strength! Laza push harder, do not falter!"
She wove her sisters into formation, multitasking with ruthless precision, their black wings beating as one.
Below them, Serenya still in intense labor pain and in agony, her cries tearing through the night.
The daughters began to falter under Eldran's blazing might, their blades cracking under the force of his golden light. Desperation seized them. In unison, they raised their voices in a foreign chant, words older than flame.
Ysmera's eyes widened. "Eldran...command help! "She knew the chanting was to weaken their focus.
Eldran drew himself tall, his voice thundering into the heavens. "I command help!"
The skies split.
From the storm descended a great creature, vast and terrible, with four faces, the face of a man, the face of a lion, the face of an eagle, and the face of a bull. Its many eyes blazed, and its colossal wings spread wide, shrouding Eldran's family in celestial power.
"We need your strength!" Eldran cried.
The being's reply was thunder itself. "Always at your command. You were never meant to fight these battles alone."
One sweep of its mighty wing sent the daughters of Obrathis spiralling, flung like shadows because of the strong wind.
"Retreat!" Veythara shouted too late.
From his throne in the abyss, Obrathis watched through a vision-screen of swirling darkness. At the sight of the creature, his roar shook the void. "Retreat! RETREAT!"
The daughters, battered and bleeding, tumbled back into their father's chamber. They knelt, gasping, wings torn, as Veythara lifted her head, defiance burning in her eyes.
"Father," she said, voice ragged but strong, "they may cast us down, but we will not yield. We are daughters of Obrathis, born of the great god himself.
We have one final spell the womb rending incantation. It will tear both mother and child to pieces. Morthaya will lead."
Obrathis leaned forward on his throne, eyes burning. "Then why do you still kneel? Go. Now."
The daughters scattered to the spell chamber.
Morthaya took command. "Zora, Morthaya commanded... place the candles. The rest of you, take position!"
Twelve black candles flickered to life. Each daughter sat cross-legged, back-to-back in a circle, facing her own flame. The chanting began, low and rhythmic, rising with each breath. Their bodies lifted, levitating above the ground, candles swirling with them. Their hair rose like serpents, whipping wildly until their ponytails twisted together, knotting tighter, pulling so viciously that their scalps bled.
Serenya screamed as her labor pains worsened, her body wracked with torment.
The daughters cried out as the spell intensified, blood streaming down their faces, but they did not stop.
Obrathis watched in grim satisfaction.
Then the creature appeared again in the spirit realm, wings blazing. With one mighty sweep, it shattered the circle. The daughters shrieked as their intertwined hair was ripped free, scalps torn, leaving their skulls raw and bleeding. They fell to the stone floor, howling in agony.
The creature turned and exhaled. With a single breath, the fire fuelling the shadowlings' spell guttered out, the garments of Serenya reduced to ash. The shadowlings were hurled against the walls, their squalling cries echoing through the chamber.
Obrathis's fury was swallowed by silence. He knew. He had been defeated—for now.
"Sizo!" he roared.
The leader of the shadowlings ran into the chamber, falling to his knees. "Yes, Master."
Obrathis's voice shook the pillars. "Call your team. Tend to my daughters. The battle is lost, but the war is far from over. We will rise again."
Inside the chamber, Serenya's scream rose higher, longer and sharper until it broke into silence. And in that silence, a new sound pierced the night.
A newborn's cry filled the house.
Darian ran toward the chamber, tears streaming down his face, but Ysmera stepped into the doorway, barring his entry.
"Let me in," he said, voice stern, trembling with urgency.
"They are both safe," Ysmera assured him gently. "Mother and child are resting. Please just give us a moment."
Darian's grief flared into anger. "You pretend to care about my wife, but we all know the truth, Mother. You're only here for him, the child. It's all about the calling, isn't it?"
Before Ysmera could answer, Eldran's hand gripped his son's shoulder, pulling him back firmly. His voice was sharp, commanding. "You will not speak to your mother with such disrespect."
Ysmera's expression softened, her voice soothing despite the sting of his words. "Darian, my child… we are preparing your wife and son for you. Please be patient." She closed the door quietly.
Inside, Zophar worked quickly, changing the linens and cleaning the chamber. On the bed, Serenya cradled her infant, tears spilling freely down her face.
Ysmera rushed to her side. "Darling, are you in pain?"
Serenya shook her head. "No… no pain. Please, allow him in. I need Darian...and I know he needs me. Please."
Ysmera shed a tear as she stroked the baby's head and understood and felt the love between Darian and Serenya as it reminds her of how she doesn't want to be separated from Aldrian. The joy that swept the family as Azariel the Equinox angel had entered the world.
The family's joy was short-lived.
Outside, the storm clouds parted to reveal a blood-red star burning in the night sky. Ysmera's gaze hardened as she lifted her eyes to it. "The battle may be won," she whispered, "but the war has only just begun."
Inside, Darian leaned over the crib as Azariel's tiny eyes fluttered open for the first time. Yet they did not shine with the innocence of a newborn they burned with a flicker of black fire, a reflection of the abyss itself. Darian froze, his breath caught. Eldran and Ysmera exchanged a single look with him, and together they masked their alarm, forcing calm into their faces. None dared panic...not while Serenya watched with love in her weary eyes.