Preview:
> The fire had slept—but wolves do not dream.
Beneath Mars' red skies, two cries were heard: one of flame, one of shadow.
And somewhere in the silence between them, fate began to stir again.
---
The scar was sealed, but Mars did not rest.
For days, the skies bled crimson. Storms prowled the dunes like wounded beasts, and the wind carried the echo of something unfinished. The land itself seemed caught between breath and scream—uncertain if it had survived prophecy or merely lingered on borrowed time.
Selene walked through the silence, her son pressed close to her chest.
She had known many kinds of silence: the brittle stillness before war, the heavy hush after death, the deceitful calm of false peace.
But this silence was worse—it was waiting. The kind that trembled with things yet unseen.
The Beast strode beside her, his massive frame wrapped in smoke-like shadows. He spoke little, and when he did, his words fell heavy as stone. Yet Selene felt the storm inside him. He had been forged by prophecy, bound in chains older than empires. Now those chains were gone—and freedom cut deeper than any curse.
At night, when he thought she slept, Selene sometimes saw him seated apart, blades across his knees, shadows shifting like restless hounds.
He no longer knew what to fight. What was a beast without a cage, if not dangerous even to those he loved?
Her child stirred.
His eyelids fluttered—revealing molten-gold eyes threaded with shadow. Each time he looked at her, Selene's heart broke a little more. He was no ordinary babe. He had sealed Velkar's scar, silenced whispers older than gods. Power coiled within him like a living flame.
And yet, when he laid his tiny hand upon her heart and cooed softly, she knew: he was still just her son. Flesh of her flesh. Fire of her fire.
She would burn every realm before letting prophecy take him.
Still, one question haunted her:
What if he burned first?
---
Far to the north, deep beneath the red stone of Mars, the wolves stirred.
They were not of flesh and blood, but of shadow and venom—creatures born from Velkar's rage and Lyra's envy. Their eyes burned violet, their fangs gleamed like splintered moons, and their howls split stone. For years, they had slept in silence, awaiting a master who never called.
Until now.
One wolf raised its head. A sound pulsed through the cavern—a heartbeat. Not Velkar's, not Lyra's, not the echo of prophecy. Something new. Something alive.
At the cavern's center, shadows coiled into the shape of a cradle. Within it lay a child—not swaddled in flame like Selene's son, but in the breath of wolves.
Her hair was black as ash, her skin pale as bone. She did not cry. She only breathed, slow and steady, her chest rising like a gathering storm.
Lyra's daughter.
Born in secret. Hidden from prophecy's gaze.
As the wolves howled, her eyes snapped open—not violet, not gold. They shimmered like eclipsed moons, shifting between black and white, storm and calm.
The wolves lowered their heads—not in fear, but in obedience.
Then the child spoke, her voice too sharp, too cold for a babe.
"Mother."
---
Lyra trembled when she heard it.
She had waited—coiled in venom, starved of love, consumed by envy. But when that word reached her, something inside her cracked.
She stumbled into the cavern, eyes glowing violet, breath ragged. Velkar followed, slow and smiling, his grin as cruel as broken glass.
The girl lay at the center, the wolves circling her like shadows with teeth. Lyra dropped to her knees, hands shaking.
"My daughter…" Her voice fractured. "You are awake."
The child tilted her head, studying her mother with impossible calm.
Her lips curved—not in innocence, but in something far older.
"Mother."
Lyra gathered her into trembling arms, tears streaking her face. She did not care that the child's skin was cold, that her fingers curled like claws, that her eyes burned with hunger. She was hers. Flesh of her flesh. Shadow of her shadow.
Behind them, Velkar's grin widened.
"So prophecy births heirs for both sides," he murmured. "How poetic."
Lyra's head snapped up, venom sparking in her voice. "She will not be a reflection of Selene's whelp. She will surpass him. She will consume him."
Velkar's smile darkened.
"She will devour worlds."
And the wolves howled again—louder this time, echoing through the bones of Mars.
---
Selene woke to that sound.
The howl tore across the plains, rattling stone and bone alike. Her son stirred, his eyes flickering gold, as though answering the call.
The Beast was already on his feet, blades drawn, shadows writhing.
"They wake," he growled.
Selene's blood ran cold. Wolves. She knew that sound—Lyra's creations.
She clutched her son tighter. "They've found us."
"No," the Beast said, voice low and grim. "They've awakened."
She froze.
He met her gaze, eyes dark as the void. "Lyra and Velkar no longer need prophecy. They have made their own. A child to match ours."
Her heart stuttered. "A child?"
The Beast's silence was answer enough.
Selene pressed her lips to her son's head. "No. He will not be hunted. He will not be measured. I will not allow it."
The Beast's shadows stirred like serpents.
"Then prepare yourself, Selene. Lyra has always wanted what was yours. Now she has made her own to take it."
Fire rose in Selene's chest—fear and fury intertwined.
"If she dares touch him," she whispered, voice trembling with fire, "I will burn her daughter to ash."
The Beast said nothing. He only watched her, silent and heavy as fate.
And in the quiet that followed, Selene understood: it would not be so simple.
Her son bore fire and shadow intertwined. Lyra's daughter bore venom and wolves.
One could not destroy the other without burning the world between them.
---
Far above Mars, the stars stirred.
On Jupiter, priests woke screaming. Seers clawed their faces, crying of a boy crowned in flame and a girl crowned in wolves. Cities trembled, towers cracked, and storms raged harder.
Two heirs had been born.
And only one could decide the fate of worlds.
---
Selene did not sleep that night.
She sat by the fire, her son nestled against her heart. The Beast stood nearby, half in shadow, half in flame.
Her son's tiny fingers brushed her cheek, glowing faintly. She kissed them and whispered,
"You will not be their prophecy. You will be your own."
But somewhere in the distance, the wolves howled again—long and low.
And the ash itself trembled in answer.
---
Preview for Next Chapter: THE GATHERING STORM;
> The night after the howls, the stars refused to shine.
In the ashes of Mars, something ancient began to wake.
And Selene realized—this war would no longer be fought by gods. It would be fought by their children.