The storm that had crowned the end of prophecy did not fade with the dawn. Instead, it lingered over Nightbloom like a living thing, its thunder muttering secrets into the roots of the world. Even as light filtered through silver leaves, the shadows remained alert, watchful.
Aurelian stood upon a balcony of living stone, overlooking the dark forests that stretched endlessly toward the hidden shores. The air tasted different now—charged, restless—as if the land itself sensed that stillness was no longer an option.
Below him, the capital of Nightbloom stirred. Towers grown from black crystal and twisted ironwood hummed softly with magic, their surfaces etched with runes that pulsed like slow heartbeats. Dark Fae moved through the streets with measured grace, their murmurs hushed, their eyes frequently lifting toward the sky.
They felt it too.
Queen Maleficent convened the High Court before the moon reached its zenith. Lords and Ladies of thorn, shadow, and twilight gathered beneath the vaulted canopy of the Nightspire, a hall grown around an ancient tree whose trunk was wider than a castle keep.
Each noble bore marks of their lineage—antlers crowned with frost, wings of dusk-light, skin patterned like bark or obsidian. All bowed when Maleficent entered, the air bending under the weight of her authority.
Aurelian took his place at her right hand, no longer merely observing. His presence was acknowledged now with nods of respect rather than indulgent glances. The court saw what was coming, even if they did not yet speak it aloud.
"The wards have been tested," said Lord Vaelor of the Briar Clans, his voice rough as gravel. "Something reached for them from beyond the sea."
Not struck. Not broken. Reached.
That distinction unsettled the hall.
"Our seers dream of fire crowned in gold," murmured Lady Nyssara, eyes clouded with faint violet light. "And of chains melting in dragonflame."
Aurelian stiffened at that. Dragons were no strangers to legend, even among the Fae. Valyria's fall had been felt in Nightbloom like a wound across the world.
Maleficent raised one clawed finger, and silence fell instantly. "The world of men stirs old powers it barely understands," she said. "And when mortals reach too far, they tear the veil for all realms."
She turned her gaze to Aurelian then. "Which is why the Prince must see that world with his own eyes."
A ripple of shock passed through the court.
Aurelian met her gaze, heart steady despite the weight of her words. He had known this was coming. The storm had told him so.
"You would send him beyond the wards?" Vaelor asked sharply. "Into a land of iron and betrayal?"
Maleficent's eyes gleamed. "I would send him to learn."
That night, beneath a sky stitched with unfamiliar stars, Maleficent led Aurelian deep into the oldest part of the forest. There, where the trees grew twisted and vast, stood a mirror of black water, perfectly still.
"The Veilpool," she said. "It shows not what is, but what may soon be."
Aurelian knelt beside it, peering into the darkness. At first, there was nothing—then images bled through like ink in water. A massive wall of ice. A city of spires and scheming faces. A throne of blades soaked in blood and fire.
Dragons soared across the reflection, their shadows swallowing armies whole.
Aurelian drew back, breath slow. "Westeros."
"Yes," Maleficent replied. "And you are bound to it now."
Across the Sunset Sea, far from the hidden shores of Nightbloom, a ship fought against unnatural currents. Its sails bore the sigil of a crowned stag, its hull creaked with strain as fog swallowed the horizon.
The sailors prayed, unaware that ancient magic weighed their vessel, measuring intent rather than steel.
At the heart of the ship, sealed within iron and rune-marked chains, lay an artifact stolen from a forgotten ruin—something that did not belong to men.
The sea answered.
Back in Nightbloom, the wards flared emerald and black as something brushed against them once more. Aurelian felt it like a tug on his spine, a distant call echoing through blood and shadow.
"The veil weakens," he said quietly.
Maleficent studied him, expression unreadable. "No. It recognizes you."
Preparations began before dawn. Armor of fae-forged dusksteel was brought forth, light as silk yet harder than Valyrian steel. His blade was reforged, etched with sigils meant to hide as much as strike.
Aurelian accepted each piece without ceremony. This was not a coronation. It was a crossing.
Before he departed, Maleficent placed her hand upon his brow. Power surged—controlled, precise—binding protections into his very shadow.
"You are my son," she said softly, so only he could hear. "But you are also a prince of a world that is about to remember magic."
Aurelian bowed, not as a child, but as an equal in destiny. "I will not let Nightbloom fall into legend."
As he stepped toward the hidden path that led beyond the sea, the forest parted willingly. The shadows followed.
Far away, ravens took flight from ancient towers, carrying news of kings and wars. None carried word of the Dark Fae prince who had just left his homeland behind.
But the world had shifted.
And Westeros, unknowing and unready, had just been marked by the gaze of the Nightthorn heir.