Sera's POV
My hands shake as Miranda's voice fills the auction room.
"The obsidian box dates back three thousand years," my sister says, her perfect smile dazzling the crowd of rich collectors. "I discovered the translation myself after months of research."
Liar.
I stand at the back near the kitchen doors where staff enters and exits. Nobody notices me here. I might as well be invisible. The words coming out of Miranda's mouth are mine. Every single one. I spent six months translating those ancient symbols, studying dead languages in dusty library books, skipping meals to afford the research materials.
And she stole it all.
"The warnings carved into the box speak of a prisoner," Miranda continues, touching the black box on the display table like it belongs to her. "Something powerful. Something dangerous."
The crowd leans forward, fascinated. My father sits in the front row, his chest puffed up with pride. He's never looked at me that way. Not once in my twenty-six years.
My nails dig into my palms. I want to scream. I want to run up there and tell everyone the truth. But who would believe me? I'm just Sera Blackwood, the disappointment daughter. The one who barely graduated college. The one they keep around to do the boring work nobody else wants.
Miranda finishes her presentation to thunderous applause. She bows gracefully, her designer dress shimmering under the lights. Everything about her is perfect. Everything about me is wrong.
The auction ends. Wealthy buyers gather around Miranda, shaking her hand, offering congratulations. I slip out before anyone can see the tears burning in my eyes.
I make it to the hallway before my anger explodes.
"That was mine!" I shout.
Miranda turns, surprised to see me. Then her perfect mask drops, replaced by something cold and mean. "Excuse me?"
"My research. My translation. You stole it!"
She laughs. Actually laughs. The sound echoes off the marble walls. "Oh, Sera. Did you really think anyone would believe you could accomplish something like that?"
The words hit like a slap.
"I have proof," I say, my voice shaking. "My notes, my drafts—"
"Notes that could have been copied from my work," Miranda interrupts smoothly. She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper only I can hear. "Face it, little sister. Nobody will ever believe you did anything important. You're the family disappointment. You always have been. You always will be."
"That's enough, Sera."
I spin around. Father stands there, his face tight with disapproval. Not at Miranda for lying. At me for telling the truth.
"But she—"
"I said enough." His voice is final. "Your sister worked very hard on that presentation. Stop trying to take credit for her success. It's embarrassing."
Something inside me breaks. Not my heart—that broke years ago. Something deeper. The last tiny hope that maybe, someday, my family would see me.
"Go home," Father says. "And try not to cause any more scenes."
He walks away with Miranda, his hand on her shoulder, already discussing celebration plans. Neither of them looks back.
I stand alone in the empty hallway, shaking with rage and hurt and something that feels like hate. The walls close in. I can't breathe. I run.
My feet carry me down the stairs, through the back corridors, to the basement archive room where nobody ever goes. It smells like old paper and dust. Boxes of forgotten artifacts line the walls, things too damaged or boring for the main showroom.
I slam the door and finally let myself cry.
Great, heaving sobs that make my chest hurt. I hate them. I hate my father for never believing in me. I hate Miranda for being perfect and cruel. I hate myself for being weak enough to care.
I don't know how long I cry. Minutes? Hours? Eventually, the tears stop because there's nothing left inside me.
That's when I see it.
The obsidian box sits on a metal shelf, returned to storage after the auction. Someone must have brought it down here. In the dim light, the symbols carved into its surface seem to glow faintly. Or maybe that's just my imagination.
I walk toward it like something is pulling me.
My fingers trace the ancient warnings I translated. Beware the prisoner. Love is death. Breaking the seal will break the world.
"Whoever you are in there," I whisper to the box, "you can't be worse than the people up there."
My voice sounds loud in the quiet room. Crazy. I'm talking to an ancient box like it can hear me.
A tear drops onto the black surface. Then another. The carvings seem to pulse under my touch, growing warmer.
I should stop. I should walk away.
But I'm so tired of being invisible. So tired of being nothing.
My finger catches on a sharp edge of the box. Blood wells up, a single red drop. It falls, mixing with my tears on the obsidian surface.
The room goes silent. Not quiet—silent. Like all sound has been sucked away.
The temperature drops so fast I can see my breath.
The box begins to glow. Not faintly this time. Bright. Blinding. Silver light pours from the carvings, spreading across the surface like living veins.
"No, no, no—" I back away, but my feet won't move. The light wraps around my ankles like chains.
Something is happening. Something terrible and huge and wrong.
The box cracks.
Black smoke pours out, thick and cold, filling the room in seconds. It swirls around me, touching my skin with icy fingers. I try to scream but the smoke fills my mouth, choking me.
Then the smoke begins to take shape.
A shape like a man.
Tall. Impossibly tall. With eyes that glow silver like stars.
He looks at me, and the entire world stops.
"What," he says in a voice like thunder and ice, "have you done?"
Before I can answer, before I can move, before I can even breathe—
Something snaps inside my chest. Like a rope pulling tight. Like two pieces clicking together. Like my heart is suddenly beating in time with someone else's.
I gasp, grabbing my chest. The pain is blinding. But it's not pain exactly. It's connection. I can feel him. His shock. His anger. His three thousand years of emptiness suddenly flooded with sensation.
Our eyes meet.
His silver gaze widens with an emotion I can't name.
"Impossible," he breathes.
Then the basement wall explodes inward, and creatures made of shadow and teeth pour through the opening, all of them screaming one word:
"REALM WALKER!"