He turned away, gesturing to his team. Burn the body. We're done here.
They had made it half a mile back toward the burned sanctuary when the tracker stopped abruptly, head tilted.
Commander.
What is it? Irritation edged the commander's voice. He was eager to report their success.
The tracker crouched. His eyes went wide, the blood trail split.
Impossible, the commander said. We followed it to the ravine.
"No." The tracker stood slowly, pointing back the way they'd come. There are two trails. The Primordial's blood leads to the ravine, yes. But there's another path. And something else...
What else?
Something new. Hours old at most. His voice dropped to a whisper. The scent of a newborn.
The child, the commander said slowly. She gave birth before we caught her.
The commander's jaw clenched. If the Council discovered he'd left a Primordial heir alive... Where does the trail lead?
The tracker was already moving. The others fell in behind him, the easy confidence of their earlier victory replaced by hunting intensity.
There. The tracker pointed through the trees.
The cathedral
Abandoned, one hunter muttered.
Not completely. Another pointed to thin smoke rising from a small chimney. Someone's inside.
The commander studied the building. The child here?
Should we burn it? one asked.
No. The commander's voice was sharp. The Council wants proof that the bloodline is extinct. We need the body. He turned to his team, eyes hard. Search every room, he ordered.
And if there's a child in that building, kill it.
They moved toward the cathedral.
Dawn broke cold and grey over the forgotten cathedral.
Sister Mercy made her way down the stone steps for morning prayers. The storm had passed in the night, leaving everything washed clean and eerily quiet.
She almost missed the bundle.
It was the crying that caught her attention. Sister Mercy's old bones protested as she bent down, pulling back the corner of a bloodstained shawl to reveal a tiny face beneath.
A baby.
The infant's eyes opened. They fixed on Sister Mercy's face with unsettling intelligence.
Sister Mercy's breath caught as she noticed the birthmark on the baby's exposed shoulder. Pulsing.
Then she saw the pendant pinned to the shawl, and beneath the baby, tucked between fabric and stone, a piece of folded parchment that radiated.
She lifted the blanket carefully, for any sign of harm. That's when she found a small piece of cloth, words stitched in hurried, uneven thread:
Her name is Kira.
Sister Mercy's throat tightened. Kira, she whispered, testing the name. The baby's crying quieted at the sound, those unsettling eyes still fixed on her face.
Sister Mercy scooped up the infant. Hush now, little one. You're safe now. I've got you.
She carried Kira inside; she kept a drawer padded with blankets, a makeshift cradle that had served for other foundlings over the years.
She laid Kira gently in the drawer, then turned her attention to the pendant and parchment.
The pendant was heavier than it looked, the silver cold even in her warm hands. The symbols seemed to shift when she wasn't looking directly at them, forming patterns that made her head ache.
The parchment was worse.
The words were in a language she didn't recognize, yet somehow she understood their meaning:
The Marked Child wakes in her seventeenth year. When blood calls to blood, the threshold opens. What was divided shall be made whole. What was hunted shall return. The daughter of two worlds rises.
Sister Mercy's hands trembled.
She should burn them. These were dangerous things, objects that didn't belong in the mortal world.
Sister Mercy moved to her desk, pulled out the key, and unlocked the bottom drawer. She placed the pendant and parchment inside, laying them carefully on top of old ledgers.
The stitched cloth with Kira's name she kept separate, tucking it carefully into a new file folder.
She looked down at the sleeping infant, at the birthmark that still glowed faintly even in sleep, and felt a chill run down her spine.
God forgive me, she whispered. I don't know what I've just brought into this house.
She reached for the drawer, ready to lock it
Glass shattered in the chapel below.
Sister Mercy's blood turned to ice. The sound echoed through the cathedral like a gunshot, followed by heavy footsteps.
Search everything, a voice commanded. The blood trail leads here.
The baby stirred at the noise, tiny face scrunching.
Sister Mercy's heart hammered against her ribs. She pressed her hand gently over the infant's mouth and crept to her office door.
Through the crack, she could see shadows moving in the corridor below. Tall figures. Armed. Check the upper floors, the commander ordered. If there's anyone here, find them. And find that child.
Sister Mercy backed away from the door, mind racing. There was nowhere to run. One entrance, one window, and children sleeping on the far side of the cathedral. Drawing the hunters toward them would be unforgivable.
She looked down at Kira.
The birthmark on her shoulder began to glow brighter.
Wait.
The footsteps stopped halfway up the stairs.
Sister Mercy held her breath.
Do you feel that? one of the hunters asked.
Magic. Another voice. Faint, but...It's here. In this building.
Sister Mercy's breath caught. The birthmark.
Find it, the commander ordered. Find the child.
Sister Mercy clutched Kira to her chest, backed against the door, and stared at the infant in her arms.
Please, she prayed, closing her eyes. Please, God. I've served you for forty years. I've never asked for miracles. But this child... she's innocent. Whatever she is, whatever she'll become, right now she's just a baby. Please. Save her.
The footsteps stopped outside her door.
The doorknob began to turn.
Sister Mercy clutched the baby tighter, her back pressed against the wood, and made a choice that would haunt her for seventeen years.
The door opened.
Light flooded in from the corridor. The hunter stepped inside.
And Sister Mercy whispered a prayer
Hide us. Please. Hide us from sight. Make us invisible. Make us forget.
The birthmark's glow intensified until the entire room blazed with silver light.
The hunter's eyes swept across the office.
Across Sister Mercy and the glowing infant in her arms.
His gaze passed over them like they were air.
Nothing here, he called over his shoulder. Just an empty office.
He turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.
Sister Mercy didn't move. Didn't dare believe what had just happened.
In the corridor, she heard the hunters searching other rooms. Heard them moving through the cathedral. Heard the commander's voice, frustrated now:
There's no child here.
But the magic
is gone. Faded. Maybe the infant died. Maybe it was never strong enough to survive. The commander's voice was cold with disappointment. We're wasting time. The Council wants a report by sunrise.
The footsteps retreated. Down the stairs. Out into the forest beyond.
Sister Mercy stood frozen, Kira still clutched to her chest, long after the sounds faded. The birthmark's glow slowly dimmed, returning to that faint pulse.
The baby's eyes closed. She nestled against Sister Mercy's chest and let out a soft, contented sigh.
As if nothing had happened.
Sister Mercy's legs gave out. She sank to the floor, back against the door, still holding the infant. Her entire body shook. She looked down at Kira's peaceful face and whispered:
What are you?