The candles in Saphine's chamber burned with blue fire — unnatural, silent, and cold. The scent of iron and old magic filled the air, whispering through the lattice of runes carved into the stone. At the center of the circle, the sigil that once tied Ash and Alishya flickered weakly, its pulse stuttering like a dying heartbeat.
Saphine knelt beside it, her fingers trembling though her expression did not waver. The binding magic — one forged from her own blood and her sister's soul — was unraveling.
Ash is weakening.The tether cannot hold much longer.
The words weren't spoken, but she felt them — a psychic whisper bleeding through the bond she had sworn would never fade. For centuries, she had believed that the Lord of Shadows would keep her sister's essence safe until her body could be restored. But now the magic itself was decaying, corroded by imbalance and by something worse — love.
Saphine stood slowly, her crimson gown flowing like liquid dusk. Love was poison to the old magic. And she knew precisely whose forbidden affection had disturbed the balance: Valerian's.
If he had crossed the veil for a mortal… if the prophecies were true… then perhaps fate itself was shifting, and with it, her chance to bring Alishya back.
A whisper of wind stirred the curtains. From the shadows beyond, a slender figure knelt — one of her most trusted agents. His armor bore the insignia of the Veilguard, the order sworn to walk between the worlds.
"My lady," he murmured, head bowed. "We traced the rift your brother left behind. It leads to a city in the mortal realm — New York."
Saphine's eyes glowed faintly, their violet hue deepening to amethyst."Did you find the girl?"
The agent nodded. "Yes. A human by the name Shyla Alexander. Her aura carries the same resonance as the old bloodline. The one foretold."
A slow smile curved her lips. "Alexander… of course. The blood that was never supposed to resurface." She turned toward the window, where the moon spilled its light over the dark empire below. "She's the key. The prophecy spoke of her blood awakening the Lord's power — the same power that sustained Ash. If she's alive… then Alishya's revival is not lost."
"My lady," the agent ventured carefully, "should we inform the Council?"
"No," Saphine said sharply. Then, with softer menace, "Not yet. The Council sees prophecy as a weapon; I see it as a promise. And I intend to claim it first."
She waved her hand, the shadows obeying like loyal hounds. "Prepare the human court. Send word to the dignitaries, to the Night Envoys — there will be a gathering, a ball. A symbol of peace between our kind and theirs. And make certain Nickolas receives a personal summons."
The agent hesitated. "The heir to the Empire?"
"Yes," she said, her tone silk over steel. "He believes in order. In prophecy. Let him come. He will think it's diplomacy… but I will make sure it becomes destiny."
Nickolas arrived hours later, the echo of his boots reverberating through the marble halls. The former Lord's chambers had been silent for years, and yet when Saphine called, even he could not ignore her.
She greeted him with her usual poise — the faintest smile, perfectly controlled, perfectly disarming.
"You sent for me," he said, his voice deep, cool. "The Council has not summoned me. So I assume this is personal."
Saphine tilted her head. "Personal and political are never separate, my lord."
He said nothing, though his eyes flicked toward the runes still burning faintly across her floor. "Old magic," he observed. "Dangerous habit, that."
"You of all people should understand danger," she countered softly. "Especially when it involves your brother."
Nickolas's gaze hardened. "Valerian has broken enough laws to end a dynasty. I will deal with him when he wakes."
"Oh, you will," Saphine murmured. "In New York."
He frowned. "What?"
She approached him slowly, every step deliberate. "There will be a diplomatic gathering among the humans — a masquerade. You will attend as the Empire's envoy. The humans think it a gesture of goodwill. We will know it as something far greater."
Nickolas studied her, suspicion glinting behind his composure. "And what greater thing is that?"
Saphine's eyes gleamed like starlight in the dark. "The prophecy stirs again. The Alexander line has resurfaced."
For the first time, his calm faltered. "That line was erased. My father ensured it."
"Apparently not." Her smile was small, knowing. "A girl bears the blood. She draws both your brother's shadow and your own destiny toward her."
Nickolas's jaw tightened. "You're playing a dangerous game, Saphine."
"I always have," she said. "But this one, dear heir, may decide whose name history remembers. Yours — or Valerian's."
She leaned close, her whisper brushing like silk against his ear. "Attend the ball, Nickolas. See her for yourself. You'll find she already carries your name upon her lips."
Something unreadable flickered across his face — part curiosity, part dread, part something darker. He turned away before she could read it fully.
"When?" he asked.
"In three nights."
"And if I refuse?"
Saphine smiled, cold and exquisite. "Then Valerian will go in your place. And prophecy will choose for you."
Nickolas said nothing more. He only nodded once, sharply, and left.
When the door closed behind him, Saphine exhaled — slow and trembling. Her hand brushed the fading sigil on the floor, where the binding pulse between Ash and Alishya still fluttered faintly.
"Hold on, sister," she whispered into the emptiness. "The girl will awaken the power. And when she does… I will bring you back."
The blue fire flared once more, hungry and cold.Far away, the first invitations to the New York Masquerade Ball began to spread across both mortal and immortal courts — glittering ink hiding an ancient curse beneath its gold.
And somewhere, in the realm between shadow and light, Valerian's vow stirred, drawn toward the coming night.