"Mother?" Alaric called, his voice trembling as though trying to reach beyond the woman before him—to find his mother within her.
Rowenne turned, her golden eyes meeting his uncertain gaze. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Alaric stared deeper, unable to look away. Her eyes seemed to blaze like the sun itself—radiant, unyielding. The longer he gazed, the brighter they burned, until the world around him dissolved into light. Then suddenly, everything went dark. His body collapsed to the ground with a dull thud.
Rowenne shut her eyes tightly, holding them closed for a moment. When she opened them again, the golden brilliance had faded; her eyes were once more their calm, human hue.
A soft tap landed on Alaric's shoulder. Somewhere distant, a familiar voice called his name. The sound pulled him back—like surfacing from a deep, dreamless sleep. He stirred, gasping, but when he opened his eyes, the world was gone. Darkness surrounded him.
He could feel the ground—the warm cobblestone beneath his palms—and in that instant, he knew this wasn't a dream. Panic clawed up his chest.
"Mother! Mother! Edmund!" he shouted, crawling frantically, reaching out into nothingness.
Then, gently—like a hand calming a storm—fingers rested on his shoulder. The touch was warm, familiar.
Rowenne.
Her hand slid to his face, covering his eyes completely. Her voice came, soft yet resonant, carrying a depth he had never heard before.
"Do not stare into the abyss, my son," she said. "For… you may lose yourself within it."
The warmth of her hand lingered for a heartbeat longer before lifting away. And as she did, sight returned—slowly, like dawn breaking after a long night. When light returned, it came not gently but all at once—blinding, reshaping the world around him into gold and marble. The radiant streets of Myrridral shimmered back into view, and Alaric could breathe again.
"Welcome to Myrridral, my—"
"Lady," Rowenne interjected gently.
"Welcome to Myrridral, my lady," Zyrelle corrected with a smile.
"How did you know we were going to be here?" Rowenne asked.
"This is Veyra Thane—the new seer," Zyrelle replied, motioning the young girl forward. She guided Veyra to stand before Rowenne. The girl stepped closer, her steps light, almost ethereal, and bowed gracefully.
Rowenne's expression softened. "Such a lovely girl… how old are you?"
"I'm thirteen years old, my lady," Veyra answered.
For a moment, Rowenne said nothing. Her smile faded into quiet contemplation. She stepped closer and gently placed her right hand upon Veyra's head.
A subtle tremor rippled through the air.
"She's… different," Rowenne whispered. "Stronger and…" Her voice trailed off. Something in her eyes changed—a flicker of recognition, confusion, maybe even fear. She slowly withdrew her hand, her gaze fixed on the girl in silent bewilderment.
Then her eyes shifted toward Alaric. Instinctively, he looked away.
"This way, my lady," Zyrelle said, breaking the tension. She gestured ahead toward the golden tower that rose above Myrridral like a monument of light. "Celine, please see the boys to their rooms."
"Get some sleep, alright?" Rowenne said to Alaric and Edmund. "Tomorrow, we'll discuss everything—over breakfast."
As Rowenne turned to leave with Zyrelle, Draven, Celine, Seraphine, and Veyra all bowed. Alaric and Edmund, caught off guard, quickly followed suit.
Their hurried mimicry made Rowenne and Zyrelle exchange amused glances before they both chuckled softly.
Celine led the boys toward a smaller building beside the golden tower, its walls glowing faintly under the moonlight. Inside, warmth awaited—a single room, neatly kept, two small beds.
The moment their bodies touched the mattress, exhaustion claimed them. Sleep fell upon them like a spell, quiet and absolute.
Outside, the golden tower shimmered faintly—its light pulsing once, as if it too was watching.
"I could feel it," Rowenne said quietly, her voice trembling between awe and fear. "Radiating through her entire body—flowing in her very veins. Strong. Heavy. I felt it before my hand even reached her head. It's pungent... it's terrifying."
She sat across from Celine, both women facing each other over a table made of Obsidian Heartstone. The lights flickered, stretching shadows across their weary faces.
"Veyra?" Celine asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Is that her name? The new seer?" Rowenne murmured, rubbing her temple. "Forgive me… the fatigue is getting to me."
"Yes, you truly need rest, my lady," Celine said, rising from her chair. "We can speak more tomorrow, if you'd like."
But before she could take a step, Rowenne spoke again—her tone lower now, almost distant.
"It was darkness," she whispered. "Thick darkness… sleeping, yet restless. If stirred, it could consume her. It could consume the light in her."
Celine froze mid-step. Her breath hitched. The words sank into her like cold steel. Her heartbeat quickened until she could feel it pounding in her throat.
Her hand shot to her chest as she crouched low, struggling for air. No… it can't be…
Her worst fear had come true.
The seer whose fate was tied to the Dark Prince was darkness herself.
Or could be.
A thousand thoughts flooded her mind at once.
How could she protect her from the world?
Would they ever accept her—or would they demand her blood, as they did the prince's?
What if the day came when they turned on her, and she could do nothing to stop it?
What hope would remain for the world, if their destined seer—the very embodiment of light—fell into shadow?
Would she rewrite fate… or become its ruin?
Celine was lost in her spiraling thoughts when she felt a gentle hand on her back.
"Come now," Rowenne's voice said softly. "Sit with me. There's always a way. There must be a way."
She guided Celine back to her seat. Then, with a slow breath, Rowenne lifted her hand and snapped her fingers.
Instantly, the chamber fell into utter darkness—from the first floor to the very top of the tower.
And from that blackness… a single flame flickered to life above the table.
It danced slowly, like it was breathing, alive and aware—its light faint but defiant against the suffocating dark.
"For seventy years, I've searched for an answer—a way to avoid this. For fifteen years, I've tried to change the outcome. I've spent countless nights wondering whether I've made any progress at all… or if I've simply been fighting a lost cause. I've sacrificed everything I had—everything I was—just to alter fate, to escape destiny.
But I've been doing it wrong all along.
Still, my efforts weren't in vain. Because after seventy years, I finally found it—an answer. A way. The only way."
"There's a way to change it?" Zyrelle asked, looking up, her eyes gleaming with fragile hope.
"I just have to sacrifice one last thing," Rowenne said quietly. "All this time, I thought I had given everything I could for him—but there's still one thing left, one thing only I could give. Maybe once I offer him that… his fate might change. And Veyra won't turn so dark."
"Who are we talking about?"
"The little boys traveling with me. One of them—Alaric."
Zyrelle frowned. "Okay… so how is his fate connected to Veyra's?"
"Once upon a time," Rowenne began, her voice almost a whisper, "a prophecy arose about a young boy. Before he was ever given a chance to prove them wrong, a verdict was passed upon him—and they all agreed he must die. It happened thirteen years ago. I'm sure you remember the story?"
"Yes," Zyrelle breathed. "There wasn't a single soul in the Seven Kingdoms who didn't hear about the Cursed Prince—or so they chose to call him."
"What they don't know," Rowenne continued, "is that I saved that baby from his execution thirteen years ago."
Zyrelle's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're saying you—"
"Yes, Zyrelle. He is that prince," Rowenne interrupted softly. "And I suppose I wasn't wrong. When you saw him, you didn't see darkness, or a curse, or royalty. You only saw a boy—just a vibrant, living boy."
Zyrelle's thoughts spun wildly. For thirteen years, the world had believed the prince was dead. She had mourned him in silence, feeling pity for a boy who never got to live his life. And now—he wasn't just alive. He was here, in Myrridral.
It couldn't be a coincidence. It felt as though fate itself had drawn their paths together. Piece by piece, everything began to fall into place—Veyra's visions, and her struggle to flow with it, the strange convergence of it all.
"Breathe, Zyrelle," Rowenne said gently, pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts.
"It's just… so much to take in," Zyrelle murmured.
"I know," Rowenne replied. "But we have to be prepared. It's no longer about what could have been—it's about what will be."
"But how did he make it through the Eclipsera Gate?"
"Exactly, Zyrelle," Rowenne said, eyes glinting with conviction. "If he truly carried only darkness, the Gate would have never let him pass. I never doubted it for a second. And that—" she smiled faintly "—gives me hope. A lot of hope.
It means fate can still be changed.
And even if our chance is just one in a hundred… I'll take it. I'll do whatever it takes."
"If there truly is a way," Zyrelle asked, her voice low but steady, "what would it cost you?"
"All I have left," Rowenne replied.
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. They both stared at the table, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing down like stone.
"I'll do whatever I can to help," Zyrelle said finally.
"It may demand far more than you expect," Rowenne warned.
Zyrelle gave a faint, almost weary smile. "Sometimes, seers are just vessels after all. Tell me what I must do."
"First, Zyrelle," Rowenne said quietly, "you'll have to make me a promise."
"It may not mean much, but you have my word," Zyrelle replied solemnly.
"I'll need more than your word," Rowenne said, her tone firm but not unkind. She paused, her eyes glinting faintly in the dim light. "Create an Astral Binding."
Zyrelle hesitated. She knew what that meant—and how binding such promises could be. Taking a deep breath, she rose to her feet, extending both arms outward. Her index and middle fingers stayed straight while the rest curled toward her palms. Slowly, she swept each hand outward in a circle until the tips of her fingers met at the center, over her head.
The moment they touched, a golden wheel flared into existence between them.
With her left hand raised, Zyrelle drew her right downward, slicing a bright line through the wheel. From that line, threads of light branched out, weaving intricate paths across the air. She held it there for a heartbeat, eyes closed in silent invocation.
When she opened them again, the glowing symbol shimmered faintly before imprinting itself onto the back of Rowenne's hand—and onto her own.
The promise was sealed.
Zyrelle lowered her hands and sat beside Rowenne once more.
"There is only one way we can help them change their fate," Rowenne said, her voice soft but resolute. "And this… is what you must do."