The observatory tower in Veridia was a place of timeless cold and shadow. Below its great vaulted ceiling, the obsidian scrying mirror—now cold and dead—sat like a polished, black lake. Lord Valerian Selwyn stood away from it, leaning against a centuries-old pillar of carved stone.
His second-in-command, a lean, scarred Demon named Kaelen, entered the room and knelt instantly, his head bowed. The air here was thin, heavy with the composite presence of the Prime Nexus.
"My Lord," Kaelen murmured, his voice respectful but efficient. "The Duke of Atherton has retreated to Atheria. His carriage was damaged, but he himself was uninjured. He sends word of a 'supernatural act of terrorism' and has postponed the wedding indefinitely. He dares not challenge the claim."
Valerian did not move, his eyes the colour of hardened magma. "The mortal understood the signal," he stated, his voice a low vibration that seemed to move the very Earth beneath Kaelen's knees. "The warning was received by the King's puppet. Good."
Kaelen rose slightly, indicating a shift in the nature of the report. "The Finch family—the solicitor and his two daughters—did not remain. The house on Rosewood Lane was vacated barely a half-hour after the Duke's messenger departed. They are fleeing the capital, my Lord. Eastward, toward the coast road."
A thin, dark smile touched Valerian's lips—a predatory expression Kaelen rarely saw.
"Of course, they flee," Valerian said, turning slowly toward the massive window that overlooked the secret city of Veridia. "The solicitor is merely human. He understands the terror of a truth too large to comprehend. He believes he can hide the Creatrix Regium behind a few county lines."
He moved to a marble table where a map of Atheria and the surrounding counties was spread, gesturing to the coast with a hand that radiated subtle, controlled heat.
"He protects her," Valerian continued, speaking less to Kaelen and more to the destiny he felt drawing closer. "He seeks to hide the Fae-Witch sovereign, the very spirit destined to bind the four elements to my blood, because he fears the Abomination."
Valerian knew, with the iron certainty born of his unique, composite heritage (part Fae clarity, part Witch instinct), that Ezra Finch was the woman the prophecy foretold. He had felt the ancient, primal thrum of power through his scrying mirror—a power that awakened his own Demon nature and affirmed his purpose. The brief flicker of Fire he had cast had been a homing beacon—not just a warning.
"The Brougham is too slow and conspicuous for the open road," Valerian concluded, his plan already fully formed. "But it will allow them to reach the King's jurisdiction, where the pursuit becomes complicated. We will not allow the King's guard to interfere with destiny."
Valerian glanced at Kaelen. "Send the riders. They will cut them off before they reach the town of Grayhaven. I want the girl uninjured, the father contained, and the sister left precisely where she falls. Bring her to the hidden estate in the foothills. The Creatrix Regium must be prepared for the binding."
Kaelen dipped his head. "As you command, Prime Nexus." With a soundless retreat, the Demon was gone, leaving Valerian alone once more with his prophecy and his absolute certainty.
He had waited centuries for this claim. No human King, no chasm, and no frightened solicitor could delay the convergence now.