The forest parted before them like a curtain drawn back by unseen hands.
Beyond the final ring of crimson trees lay a clearing unlike any they had seen—a vast circle of black stone, scorched and cracked as if struck by lightning long ago. At its center stood a structure both beautiful and grotesque: the Cradle of Thorns .
It was no ordinary altar.
Carved from bone and obsidian, the cradle pulsed faintly with veins of red light that flickered like dying embers. Its edges were lined with thorns—some broken, some still sharp—each one stained with something dark and old.
Seraphine stepped forward slowly, her breath catching in her throat.
She could feel it.
Something deep within her womb stirred violently.
"I know this place," Aeloria whispered.
"We belong here."
Seraphine shivered.
Kael tightened his grip on his sword, eyes scanning the clearing for movement.
"Stay alert," he muttered. "This place isn't empty."
Lady Nyxara knelt beside the cradle, running her fingers over the carvings etched into the base.
"These symbols…" she murmured. "They're older than Necrosia itself."
Seraphine crouched beside her. "What do they say?"
Nyxara traced one symbol carefully before answering.
"Here lies the birthplace of death."
"Where queens are made and mothers undone."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Seraphine looked down at her belly.
"You wanted me to find this," she whispered.
"Of course," Aeloria replied.
"Because this is where we begin again."
***
The air around the cradle grew colder.
The wind, which had been absent until now, began to whisper through the clearing, carrying voices too distant to understand.
Kael stepped between Seraphine and the cradle, wary.
"We shouldn't be here," he said. "This place feels wrong."
Nyxara didn't look up. "It's not just wrong. It's alive ."
She pointed to the ground beneath the cradle, where roots twisted and writhed like living things.
"This altar feeds off blood," she explained. "Not just any blood. Royal blood. Vampire blood."
Seraphine swallowed hard. "And mine?"
Nyxara met her gaze. "Yours is the only kind that matters now."
A pause.
Then, softly:
"The Cradle of Thorns was built for one purpose."
Seraphine's voice was barely above a whisper. "What purpose?"
"To rebirth a queen."
Kael frowned. "Rebirth how?"
Nyxara hesitated.
"It doesn't just give life," she said finally. "It takes it first."
***
Seraphine stepped closer to the cradle.
Her body ached, not from physical pain, but from something deeper—something instinctual.
As if the cradle recognized her.
As if it remembered her.
She reached out, brushing her fingertips against the cold surface.
The moment she touched it—
A jolt shot through her.
The world blurred.
And then—
She was somewhere else.
***
She stood in darkness.
Before her, the cradle glowed faintly, surrounded by figures cloaked in shadow.
Vampire queens.
One by one, they approached the cradle, lying down within it as if surrendering to sleep.
Each time, the cradle pulsed with light.
Each time, the queen vanished.
Only to return changed.
Stronger.
Colder.
Different.
A new voice joined hers—not Aeloria's, but another.
A chorus of women who had come before.
"We gave ourselves."
"We were reborn."
"Now you must choose."
Seraphine turned sharply.
Standing behind her was a version of herself—tall, pale, crowned in thorns.
Her eyes glowed red.
"You think you carry a monster," the woman said softly. "But you are the monster."
Seraphine took a step back. "No."
The woman smiled. "Yes."
She raised a hand.
Seraphine screamed.
***
She woke gasping, Kael gripping her shoulders tightly.
"Seraphine!" he called. "Breathe!"
She coughed violently, her lungs burning as if she had been drowning.
Nyxara knelt beside her, pressing a vial to her lips.
"Drink," she ordered.
Seraphine obeyed, swallowing the bitter liquid.
Her vision cleared.
The clearing returned.
The cradle still pulsed before her.
Kael helped her sit up.
"What happened?" he asked.
Seraphine shook her head. "I saw… I saw them. Queens. They used this place to become something else."
Nyxara frowned. "What did they become?"
Seraphine met her gaze.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But I think I'm becoming one of them."
Inside her, Aeloria giggled.
"We'll be together soon."
***
Later that night, they camped near the edge of the clearing.
Kael sat watch while Nyxara studied the carvings on the cradle, trying to decipher more of its secrets.
Seraphine lay awake, staring at the sky.
Aeloria spoke again, softer now.
"You liked what you saw."
"Didn't you?"
Seraphine closed her eyes. "No."
"Liar."
Seraphine pressed a trembling hand to her belly.
"Aeloria… tell me the truth. What happens when I touch the cradle again?"
Silence.
Then:
"You die."
"And I am born."
Seraphine's heart pounded.
"No," she whispered. "There has to be another way."
"There isn't."
Seraphine clenched her jaw.
"There has to be."
A pause.
Then, gently:
"If you truly believe that," Aeloria said,
"then prove it."
***
By dawn, Nyxara had uncovered more of the cradle's history.
"It was used by ancient vampire queens," she explained. "When their power waned or their bodies failed, they came here to be reborn."
Kael frowned. "So it's a resurrection altar?"
Nyxara nodded. "In a way. But it demands a price."
Seraphine looked at her steadily. "What kind of price?"
Nyxara hesitated.
"A complete surrender."
Seraphine tilted her head. "Of what?"
Nyxara met her gaze.
"Of your soul."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Seraphine stood.
"We need to keep moving," she said. "This place isn't safe."
Kael rose with her. "You're right."
Nyxara lingered a moment longer, looking back at the cradle.
Then she followed.
As they left the clearing, the cradle pulsed one last time.
As if watching them go.
As if waiting.
For the next queen.