The air in the chamber was thick with incense—burned myrrh and dried nightshade, meant to open the mind and ward off spirits. Lady Nyxara moved with slow precision, drawing sigils onto the stone floor with a mixture of crushed moonstone and powdered baby teeth.
Seraphine sat on a silk-draped stool at the center of the room, her hands trembling in her lap. She wore only a thin linen shift beneath a ceremonial cloak embroidered with protective runes. Her belly, swollen far beyond what should have been possible for such an early pregnancy, pulsed faintly beneath the fabric.
She could feel something watching.
Not from the room. Not from behind the door where Kael stood guard, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
From inside .
"You called her," the voice whispered, soft as breath against skin.
"Now she knows you too."
Seraphine flinched.
Nyxara glanced up sharply. "Did you hear that?"
Seraphine nodded, her throat dry. "She spoke again."
Lady Nyxara's lips pressed into a thin line. "Then we must move quickly."
She stepped forward and placed both hands on Seraphine's abdomen, closing her eyes. A low hum filled the chamber—a sound not quite human, not quite magical. It vibrated through the walls, making the torches flicker.
Seraphine gasped.
A cold sensation slithered through her body, like ice water pouring through her veins. Her vision blurred, then sharpened. The world around her twisted slightly, colors bleeding into one another.
And then—
"Hello, Mother."
Seraphine screamed.
It wasn't loud. Just sharp, sudden. Like glass cracking.
Kael burst through the door, sword drawn, but Nyxara raised a hand. "No. Do not interfere."
He hesitated, muscles coiled, before stepping back just outside the doorway.
Inside the chamber, Seraphine trembled.
"She's… listening."
Nyxara nodded grimly. "She's always listening."
***
Later that evening, after the ritual had ended and Nyxara had retreated to her chambers to transcribe her findings, Seraphine sat alone by the fire. The flames danced erratically, casting shadows that seemed to stretch and curl toward her.
She rubbed her stomach absently, trying to soothe the pressure building within.
"Why do you keep fighting me?" the voice asked, almost mournful.
"I'm all you wanted."
Seraphine stiffened. "What are you?"
A pause.
Then, softly:
"I am your daughter."
"No," Seraphine whispered. "My daughter would love me."
A giggle—tiny, high-pitched, full of delight.
"Oh, Mother. Love is just another kind of hunger."
Seraphine pressed her fingers to her temples. "You're not real."
Another giggle.
"You gave me life. How can I not be real?"
"I didn't ask for this," Seraphine said, her voice breaking. "I wanted a child. Not… not whatever you are."
Silence.
Then, quietly:
"But you did ask. You just don't remember."
***
That night, Seraphine dreamt.
She stood in a vast hall lined with mirrors. Each one reflected a different version of herself—some younger, some older, some twisted and grotesque. In one, she was still a girl, reading in the royal archives. In another, she was lying dead, her chest torn open.
In the center of the hall stood a cradle made of bone.
Inside it lay a child.
Its face was obscured by shadow, but its eyes gleamed red and knowing.
Seraphine approached cautiously.
"Who are you?" she asked.
The child tilted its head.
"You already know."
"I want to hear you say it."
The child smiled.
"I am the thing you created when you begged for another chance."
Seraphine's breath caught.
Memories surfaced—faint, fragmented. A battlefield. Blood-soaked armor. A dying king. Her own wounds, deep and mortal.
A whispering voice offering her survival in exchange for something she wouldn't understand until years later.
A pact sealed with blood.
"You were never meant to be born," the child continued. "You were meant to be summoned."
Seraphine woke screaming.
***
At dawn, Nyxara returned.
She carried a heavy tome bound in black leather and stitched with silver thread. The pages smelled of old dust and iron.
"This," she said, placing the book before Seraphine, "is the oldest record we have of the Devouring Child."
Seraphine stared at the cover.
The Womb Codex
"It speaks of a being not born, but invoked," Nyxara continued. "A spirit bound to a womb through sacrifice and blood magic. It does not grow—it consumes."
Seraphine swallowed hard. "How do we stop it?"
Nyxara hesitated.
"There is no known way to kill what has not yet lived."
Seraphine's heart pounded. "There has to be."
Nyxara met her gaze, steady and sorrowful.
"There is one possibility."
"What?"
"A reversal ritual. But it requires absolute severance of the bond between mother and child."
Seraphine frowned. "What does that mean?"
Nyxara's voice dropped to a whisper.
"It means you must stop loving her. Completely."
Seraphine's breath hitched.
Could she do that?
Could she let go of the only thing left that made her feel alive?
Even if it was killing her?