Prologue
Section 1: Eirah's Vision
The air shimmered with power, bright emerald and electric, humming against Eirah's skin as if the world itself recognized her presence. She was of them—an Ethereal, chosen by prophecy, her emerald brilliance a mark of what she was meant to hold: balance. Creatures of every kind—Fae, Vampires, beings beyond mortal understanding—stilling, bowing, or retreating in instinctive reverence. She did not merely rule; she was the measure of order, the pulse of all realms, and even without speaking, her eyes weighed, judged, remembered.
Then her chronovision struck.
It was not a moment of clarity. No, the vision tore through her like a storm, chaos of fragmented images and feelings flooding her senses.
The throne, empty. For decades.
She could feel the weight of time slipping away, the echoes of her rule fading into the past, leaving nothing but dust and silence. Her people would be without ruler. The other realms shattered. And yet, the vision pressed on.
Death.
Her own death.
Inevitable. Bound by fate.
Eirah gasped, staggering back. The weight of her power, the limitless sight that had always defined her, felt suddenly like chains. She closed her eyes, willing the images away, but the storm only roared louder.
Then—a flicker of hope.
Someone. A girl like her, yet different. Born decades later. Same gift. Same curse. But different attitude. She would rise, but not alone. Someone would stand by her side.
Then the vision twisted. A scream, shadow, the clash of forces. Ethereals silent. Worlds unraveling.
Eirah staggered back. Her hands gripped the bed. She realized: the prophecy alone would not save them.
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Section 2: The Council
Ethel-gard, Council Chamber
Years later.
Dalia stood before the council.
Her voice broke the silence that had settled over the chamber like dust.
"The realm has been without a leader for years. The prophecy still hasn't fulfilled itself."
Eyes turned toward her. Fear, doubt, suspicion—each face a reflection of what was at stake. Every faction: Werewolves, the Faes, vampires—had nursed old grudges for decades. With the Ethereal queen gone, the fragile peace had crumbled. Chaos was inevitable.
"We are no longer the ruling force," Dalia continued, measured and cold. "The heir did not come."
A stunned hush fell. A whisper escaped, half hope, half fear. "A heir… the girl from the prophecy…"
Dalia's jaw tightened. Her eyes hardened as she looked over them. "The realm is unraveling. We can sit and wait until the prophecy drags her back when everything's beyond repair—or we can move now, while there's still something left to save."
A ripple of disagreement met her words.
"If we force the issue…" one council member began.
"Then we choose our fate," Dalia interrupted, sharp and certain. "Either we reclaim what we've lost, or we hand destiny the wreckage. Which will it be?"
Asdaric, the elder with silver- shoulder length hair, raised a hand. His calm authority silenced the chamber. "We wait for the prophecy to fulfill itself."
The room shifted uneasily. Eyes darted between each other.
"And until then?" a red-haired council member asked.
"Until then," Asdaric said firmly, gaze sweeping the room, "we do nothing."
Section 3: Earth
Decades later
A ripple ran through the air—subtle at first, then sharp, like the world had taken a sudden breath it wasn't meant to.
And she appeared.
Dalia moved with quiet authority. Her ivory eyes, calm and unblinking, scanned the room with precision that made hearts stumble. Every inch of her radiated control, reverence, and danger.
Across from her, Emreta stood. Emerald hair caught the faint light, glinting like fractured glass. Arms loosely crossed, posture casual yet tense, eyes sharp and unflinching. Where Eirah had burned with purpose, Emreta was carved from a different mold—detached, skeptical, chaotic.
Dalia's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing her, weighing her. She didn't flinch under that green gaze. She didn't shrink. She didn't even smile. "It's time you learned the truth," Dalia said softly, voice low and steady. "You are an Ethereal. The prophecy's heir. The one meant to rule what remains."
Emreta's lips pressed into a thin line, almost a smirk. Destiny, rule, prophecy — these words didn't intimidate her. They were inconvenient, like a memo shoved under her door with the expectation she'd care. She tilted her head ever so slightly "And…?" Her tone was sharp, uninterested, dripping with the kind of confidence only someone who refuses to be impressed could pull off. "I suppose the world is quaking in expectation. How thrilling."
Dalia's gaze lingered on her, reverent but wary, as if she'd expected more. "You can't ignore it forever," she said. "The balance demands it. You were born for this — to rule, to guide, to bear the weight others cannot."
Emreta's eyes rolled so subtly it might have been missed by anyone not paying attention. "Ruling sounds tedious. Guiding sounds even worse. Bearing weight? Absolutely not. I'm not interested."
A faint laugh escaped her — soft, cold, and amused all at once "I'll pass"
Dalia's gaze remained steady. But even she sensed it: the calm before chaos. Emreta didn't follow. She didn't listen. She existed—chaotic, untouchable, entirely her own.