A hush fell over the royal corridors as dusk deepened. Candles flickered on the stone walls, and the once-busy halls of Elyndor Palace now felt… watchful. Unsettled.
Something had changed.
Seraphina sat with her tutors, but her mind was elsewhere. Her fingers traced idle patterns on a map of the realm, though her eyes were far away—back in the music hall, in the pages of her mother's journal, in Cassian's eyes when she sang.
"You're distracted," said Master Thorne, the elderly historian.
"I'm just tired," she replied quickly.
He narrowed his gaze. "Then rest, Your Highness. A mind burdened by sleep does not absorb truth." He closed the heavy book in front of them. "Tomorrow, we begin the history of the Great Binding. For now… be careful of dreams."
Seraphina nodded, though his last words felt less like advice—and more like a warning.
---
Outside the palace, in the shadow of the old watchtower, a soldier's body lay crumpled in the grass.
His eyes were open. But there was no light behind them.
The guard on duty didn't see the figure that moved through the mist just beyond the wall, or the shimmer of unnatural armor catching moonlight.
But Cassian did.
He stood on the palace balcony, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning the distance. His jaw was tight. His instincts, sharpened by years in battle, whispered of danger.
And this time, he knew it wasn't just instinct.
---
By midnight, the palace bells rang once—an unusual signal.
Cassian burst through Seraphina's chamber doors without knocking.
"You need to come with me. Now."
She sat up at once. "What's happening?"
"I don't have time to explain."
She threw a cloak over her nightdress and followed him through a side corridor. His pace was swift, protective. He checked every corner before letting her move forward. When they reached the west tower stairs, he finally stopped.
"One of the guards was found dead," he said quietly. "No wounds. No blood. Just… gone. Like something took the life out of him."
Seraphina's breath caught.
"I think it was a warning," Cassian said.
"From who?"
He hesitated. "Not from who. From what. The Fallen King is sending scouts. And they've reached our walls."
---
In a secret chamber beneath the palace, they met with General Aeron and Lady Mirielle—the kingdom's most trusted protectors. Maps and old scrolls were scattered on the table.
"We've confirmed it," said Aeron. "One of the ancient marks was found etched in the stone by the north gate. The Eye of Malrec."
Seraphina looked at it—a twisted, jagged eye symbol carved in shadow ink. Her blood went cold.
"He's not just coming," she whispered. "He's already here."
---
Later that night, back in her room, she sat by the window once more. Cassian stood nearby, silent but close, watching the mist beyond the hills.
"Tell me the truth," she said. "If it comes to war… what happens to me?"
Cassian turned to her, his voice steady. "Then I take you far from here. As far as I have to."
"And what if I won't run?" she asked.
He stepped closer. "Then I fight at your side. Even if it costs me everything."
There was something in his tone—a rawness she hadn't heard before. It caught her breath.
"You can't promise that," she whispered.
"I just did."
Their eyes locked, and for a heartbeat, the world outside didn't matter. Just the quiet between them.
---
Far away, in the ruins of a forgotten temple, Malrec stood before a black mirror. His reflection showed only fire.
"She remembers," he said to no one. "The daughter of Elira sings again."
His voice was like thunder swallowed by wind.
"She will come to me. In time."
And in the shadows behind him, dozens of hollow-eyed warriors knelt, waiting for his word.
---