POV: Elder Mira
I felt my granddaughter the moment she became pregnant.
The blood link between us flared like lightning across the magical realms. For three months, I'd been trying to find her. For three months, her position had been hidden behind immortal wards. But a pregnancy—a half-immortal pregnancy—that produced a beacon I could follow.
I traced the magic back to its source. Shadowspire. The Twilight King's home. My worst fears proven.
I gathered my power and pushed through the barrier between worlds. It hurt. My old body screamed in protest. But I was her grandma. Blood called to blood. I could reach her.
I appeared in her room at midnight, and what I saw broke my heart.
Seraphina lay on a bed made of silk and shadow, her hand on her chest. She was shining with siren magic—the magic of pregnancy, the magic of new life. She looked beautiful and scared and completely lost.
"Grandmother?" she whispered, her eyes going wide.
I wanted to hold her. I wanted to comfort her. But there was no time for comfort. There was only truth, and truth was going to hurt far worse than any threat.
"We don't have long," I said, moving quickly to her side. "The king's wards will discover me soon. Listen to me, child. Listen carefully."
"How did you find me?" she asked, trying to sit up.
"Later," I said strongly. "First, you need to understand what's happening. You need to understand what you've gotten yourself into."
I gripped her hands. She tried to pull away, but I held strong. I had to make her see. I had to show her what I'd seen in my prophecy dreams.
"Immortals don't love mortals," I said, my voice hard as stone. "They eat them. They use them. They take what they need and dump what's left. The Twilight King is no different, granddaughter. No matter what he's promised you."
"You're wrong," Seraphina said immediately. "Theron is different. He loves me. He—"
"He what?" I interrupted. "He loves you? Oh, child. You're so naive it hurts to look at you."
I could see the anger flash across her face, but I didn't care. Better she was angry than dead. Better she was angry than walking into the trap I could see so clearly.
"The Eternal Ritual is a legend," I continued. "A story immortals tell mortal women to keep them compliant. Most women who undergo it don't survive. Those who do survive become slaves to the king who transformed them. They become property. Immortal property, but property nonetheless."
"Theron promised—"
"Theron promised because he's cursed!" I grabbed her face, forcing her to look straight into my eyes. "Look at me, Seraphina. Really look. Do you see the marks on my skin?"
She nodded slowly, noticing the prophecy symbols carved into my ancient flesh.
"I am a siren oracle," I said. "I can see futures. I can see what's coming. And I've seen your future, child. I've seen it clearly. And it does not end the way you think it does."
"Show me," she challenged. "Show me this future you claim to see."
I took a breath. This would hurt, but she needed to see. She needed to understand before it was too late.
I opened my mind to the blood connection between us and pushed the image through.
Images flooded her mind. I felt her gasp as the visions took hold. She was seeing what I'd seen in the prophesy stone. She was seeing the throne room. She was seeing Theron putting a crown of thorns on another woman's head—a woman made of shadow and cruelty. Lady Morganna.
She was seeing him bind himself to this other woman with sacred words and blood magic.
She was seeing the binding rite, and she was feeling the pain of it, the betrayal, the crushing weight of being abandoned.
"No," Seraphina whispered, tears running down her face. "That's not real. That won't happen."
"It will," I said, and I felt tears on my own face. "Unless you leave now. Unless you run from this palace and never look back. The forecast shows what will happen if you stay. The immortals will demand he choose between you and his throne. He will choose his seat. He always does."
"He's different," she insisted, but her voice was breaking. "He promised me. He said he would never—"
"He will," I said firmly. "Because immortals always choose power over love. It's the nature of eternity. After eight hundred years, a king cares only about power. Love is just an escape. You are just a distraction."
I felt her fight crumbling. The vision had shaken her. The forecast had taken root in her mind.
"Leave tonight," I ordered. "Take nothing. Tell no one. Just run. Run to the Forgotten Isles. Run to the refuge where exiled beings hide beyond the gods' sight. You'll be safe there. Your child will be safe there."
"But Theron—"
"Will forget you within a year," I said angrily. "Another beautiful woman will take your place. You'll become nothing but a memory he tries to forget."
I was being cruel, but cruelty was the only language that would make her move.
I pressed the promise marks deeper into her skin. The old runes burned as they transferred from my flesh to hers, marking her as someone touched by fate itself.
"These marks will protect you," I said. "They're prophecy magic. No eternity can break them. They mark you as someone the gods themselves have touched. Use that security to escape."
"Grandmother, please—" she started to say.
But I was dying. The palace wards had finally detected me. I could feel them pushing against my power, forcing me out of this realm.
"I love you," I whispered as I disappeared. "Remember that when the pain comes. Remember that I tried to save you."
As I faded totally, I saw the moment realization hit her.
She looked down at the prophecy marks on her wrists, glowing with old magic. She looked toward the door to her room. She looked down at her pregnant stomach.
And I saw the exact moment she understood that everything she'd believed in was about to break.
The palace wards pushed me back into my own realm, and I could only watch helplessly as my granddaughter began to make the most important choice of her life.
A choice that woul
d change the fate of the entire immortal realm.