The pregnancy test, with its two vibrant blue magical stripes, scorched my fingertips.
I stood in the bathroom of our home in the Celestial Citadel, staring at the small indicator crystal that had changed everything. The blue lines shimmered with a faint, ethereal glow—a sign that the test had activated correctly and the result was undeniable. Two months. I had been pregnant for two months, and only now had I gathered the courage to confirm my suspicions.
But something was wrong.
The light of the stripes... it flickered. Faintly. Almost imperceptibly. The blue turned to white for a fraction of a second, then back to blue. I blinked. No, it was just my imagination. Pure exhaustion. I hadn't slept well for weeks—morning sickness, restless nights, and those strange, haunting dreams.
Dreams of light. Of a white flame that burned within me without scorching. Of voices whispering in a language I couldn't understand. I would wake up with my heart hammering against my ribs, my sheets damp with sweat.
"Hormones," my mother-in-law would have said. "Pregnancy toys with the minds of the Nulls."
I looked at the test again. The light had stabilized. Pure blue. No trace of white. I had imagined it.
Yet the sensation lingered. A tingling in my fingertips. A heat in my chest that had nothing to do with joy. Something... was awakening. Deep within.
I set the test on the edge of the sink and stared at my reflection.
My hands were trembling so violently I nearly dropped the crystal. I sank onto the edge of the cold marble tub, pressing the test to my chest as if fearing it might vanish.
Six years. For six long years, I had waited for this moment. For six years, the healers of the Voronov clan had shaken their heads while reviewing my results. "Weak magical compatibility," they would say. "Low fertility among Nulls," they whispered behind my back. "An heir cannot be born from such a woman," my mother-in-law, Magda Ignatyevna, had declared, making no effort to hide her contempt.
And now...
I looked at myself in the mirror. A pale face. Light brown hair tied in a simple ponytail. Grey eyes, reddened from tears of joy. I looked like I always did—a grey mouse, unworthy of a Voronov Clan Heir.
But inside me, a child was growing. His child.
I stood up, smoothed my dress, and wiped away my tears. Demyan had to be the first to know. He would be happy. He had to be. This was what we both wanted.
I left the bathroom and hurried down the corridors of the Celestial Citadel. High vaulted ceilings of white marble towered above me, while magical lamps cast a soft, welcoming glow over my path. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Noctalis, the capital of Eridia. The Aerial Quarter, where the Voronov clan resided, floated above the rest of the city, literally nestled among the clouds.
I had always loved these corridors. They reminded me of the fairy tales my mother used to read to me. Palaces. Princesses. Happy endings.
My pulse throbbed in my temples. I rehearsed the words in my head. *"Demyan, I have news. Good news. We... we're going to be parents."*
No, too cliché.
*"Demyan, I'm pregnant."*
Too blunt.
*"Demyan, our baby..."*
I stopped before the massive oak doors of his study. The intricate carvings depicted the Voronov family tree—a mighty oak with spreading branches where silver ravens perched. The magical seal pulsed with a faint blue light.
Usually, I knocked. I always knocked. Demyan didn't like being interrupted without warning.
But today... today was special.
I reached for the handle and pushed the door open.
"Demyan, I have to tell you—"
The words died in my throat, turning into a bitter, thorny lump.
My husband was not alone.
On the sofa—my favorite teal velvet sofa where we used to read together—sat a woman. She didn't try to hide. She simply sat there, legs crossed, holding a glass of our vintage collection wine. Her red hair was slightly disheveled, and her silk dress, embroidered with patterns of flame, was rumpled at the hip.
Demyan stood with his back to me by the mirror, composed and indifferent as he buckled his belt. No rush. No panic. Only a cold, killing sense of normalcy.
I stopped breathing.
I saw every detail. His hands on her thighs. Her nails digging into the velvet of the sofa. The wine glasses on the table. His jacket tossed carelessly onto the floor.
I knew her. Eliza Ogneva. The daughter of the Fire Clan's head. Powerful. Commanding. Magically gifted. Rank A—one of the highest in Eridia.
Everything I never was.
Demyan didn't even flinch. He slowly raised his cold grey eyes to meet mine, never ceasing his stroke of Eliza's thigh. There was no guilt in his gaze. No shame. Not even surprise. Only irritation. I was merely a nuisance, a fly that had wandered through an open window.
"You never did learn how to knock, Anya," he said coldly, fastening the final button of his trousers.
Eliza propped herself up on her elbows, watching me with a calculating, evaluating gaze. Then she smiled. Slowly. Predatory. Like a feline toying with a cornered mouse.
"Oh," she purred, tilting her head. Red curls spilled over her shoulder. "Is this her? The wife?"
Her voice was low and velvety, laced with magic. I felt a sudden pressure in the air—her aura weighing down on me like a physical burden. Fire. Purified. Potent. Scorching. The air in the study turned stiflingly hot.
And me? I was a Null. A zero. My gift was so weak it couldn't even be measured. The magic testers always came back empty.
"Get out," Demyan commanded, adjusting his cuffs as if nothing had happened. "We are busy strengthening the Bloodline. Something you are, alas, incapable of."
*Strengthening the Bloodline.* He called it *strengthening the Bloodline.*
"Eliza Ogneva," she introduced herself, extending a hand. Her fingers were adorned with ruby rings—family heirlooms. The Ognev Clan. One of the Seven Great Clans. "Heir to the clan. And you?"
I didn't take her hand. I just stared. At the rubies that cost more than my entire dowry combined. At her perfect face with its sharp cheekbones and full lips. At Demyan, who stood beside her in silence, offering me no protection.
"I am his wife," I managed to choke out. My voice sounded foreign. Distant.
"Ah, yes," Eliza nodded, lowering her hand. She stood from the sofa, smoothing her dress with graceful, fluid movements. "The wife. How quaint. Demyan told me about you. You're... that Null, aren't you? The one without a gift?"
Every word was a blow. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't insult me. She simply stated facts, like a doctor delivering a terminal diagnosis. I was a housewife. A Null. A nobody.
"Eliza, that's enough," Demyan said wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was a gesture I knew well, one he used when he was annoyed. "Anya, pack your things."
I gripped the edge of the desk. My breath hitched.
"What?"
"Pack your things," he repeated, looking me in the eye. Cold. Detached. As if looking at a stranger. As if firing a servant. "You're moving out. Today."
"Demyan, I... we've been married for six years. I..."
"You were convenient," he interrupted, his voice steady and businesslike. "A good housekeeper. You cook well. You don't cause problems. But I need a wife who will empower my line. A mage. Not a Null."
Eliza entwined her arm with his, possessively. Her fingers, laden with ruby rings, tightened on his forearm. He didn't pull away. He didn't even flinch.
"Eliza and I will announce our engagement in a week," Demyan continued. His tone was dry and professional. "The divorce will be processed quickly. You'll receive compensation. A million crystals. Enough to rent an apartment in the Mid-City and keep you from starving for a year or two."
A million. A sum that might seem vast in the slums, but here in the Celestial Citadel, it was the price of a single ruby ring on Eliza's finger. A humiliating pittance to buy my silence and make me vanish from the chronicles of his glorious Bloodline. For six years of marriage. For six years of making his breakfast, ironing his shirts, smiling at his friends, and enduring the mockery of his mother who never let me forget I was unworthy of her son.
The pregnancy test burned against my skin through the pocket of my dress.
"I'm pregnant," the words tumbled out.
Silence.
Eliza frowned. Demyan froze. His hand, reaching for a glass of wine, stopped mid-air.
"What?"
"I'm pregnant," I repeated, clenching my fists. My nails dug into my palms. "Two months. I wanted to tell you today. As a surprise."
Demyan stared at me. For a long time. I saw his mind at work. Calculation. Cold. Pragmatic. He had always been this way. Even when he proposed, I had seen the calculation in his eyes. Back then, I thought it was normal. I thought love would come later.
It never did.
"Get an abortion," he said finally.
The breath died in my throat. I couldn't inhale.
"What?"
"Get an abortion," he repeated, his tone casual. "A child from a Null will weaken my line. Magically inferior offspring. I have no use for that."
Eliza smiled. Satisfied. Triumphant.
Something inside me snapped. It wasn't my heart; my heart had shattered the moment I saw them on the sofa. This was... deeper. The foundation. The very core upon which my life had been built for the last six years.
The illusion that I was needed.
"Get out," I whispered.
Demyan raised an eyebrow in surprise. I had never raised my voice to him. I had never argued.
"What?"
"GET OUT!" I screamed. My voice cracked, the echo tearing through the study and bouncing off the marble walls. "OUT OF MY HOME!"
"*Your* home?" Demyan sneered. He took a step toward me. Tall. Handsome. Cold. "Anya, the Celestial Citadel belongs to the Voronov clan. You live here by my grace. So no, darling. *You* will be the one leaving."
He stopped just inches from me. I could smell his cologne—expensive, with notes of cedar and amber. A scent that used to soothe me.
Now, it made me nauseous.
"You have an hour," he said, looking down at me. "Pack your things and go. If you are still here in sixty minutes, I will call security. They will remove you by force."
"Demyan..."
"An hour, Anya."
He turned and walked back to the sofa. Eliza was already lounging there like a queen. She watched me, gloating. Then she stood, lingering for a moment as she approached me. She stood so close I could feel the heat of her aura.
"A word of advice," she said softly, almost playfully. "Next time, choose a man on your own level. Nulls aren't for the Highborne. It's a law of nature."
She turned back to Demyan, ignoring me entirely. The study door slammed shut in my face.
I was left alone. In the corridor of the Citadel. In the house that was no longer mine.
My legs gave out. I slid down the wall until I hit the floor. The cold marble burned my skin through my thin dress. I hugged my knees, every breath a stab of pain. There was a gaping hole in my chest where my life was draining away.
Six years. For six years, I had been the perfect wife. I cooked his favorite meals. I pleased him. I smiled at his friends during galas. I endured his mother's barbs, her constant reminders that I was beneath her son. I thought... I thought love was more important than magic.
I remembered that day. Our first meeting.
I was twenty, working in an artifact shop in the Mid-City. I sold magical lamps, protective amulets, communication spheres—items I couldn't even use. A Null among mages, like a blind person in an art gallery.
Demyan had walked into the shop one evening. Tall. Handsome. Dressed in a tailored suit. His grey eyes had skimmed the shelves before settling on me. He smiled. Warm. Charming.
"Help me choose a gift for my mother," he had said.
I showed him amulets, brooches, rings. He listened intently. He asked questions. He laughed at my jokes. He looked at me as if I were the only woman in the world.
No one had ever looked at me like that.
He returned three more times. Then came a dinner invitation. Then another. A month later, he proposed.
I had been so happy. So naive.
The Heir of the Voronov clan had chosen me. A Null. A shop girl from the Mid-City. I thought it was fate. I thought it was love.
But now, I understood. it had been a calculation. Cold. Pragmatic.
He needed an obedient wife. One who wouldn't argue. One who wouldn't demand attention. A grey, powerless mouse who wouldn't threaten his authority with her own magic. A Null was the perfect choice. Convenient. Safe. Easily replaceable.
And me... I had believed in the fairy tale.
I was wrong.
In Eridia, magic is everything. Your rank determines your place in society. Your worth. Your right to exist.
And I was a Null. A zero. Nothing.
An hour. I had an hour.
I stood up. My legs were shaking, but they held. I walked into our bedroom. No. *His* bedroom. It wasn't mine anymore.
I took a bag from the closet and began to pack.
Clothes. Simple. Modest. Nothing expensive. Demyan had bought everything costly himself, and it belonged to him.
Documents. My passport. Marriage certificate. No, I didn't need the certificate. It would be annulled soon enough.
Photographs. Our wedding. Me in a white dress, him in his suit. We were smiling. Happy faces.
Lies.
I left the photos on the dresser. I took only the essentials.
Fifty minutes later, I stood at the main entrance of the Citadel. A bag in my hand. On my feet were old flats with worn-out soles that I usually wore around the house. They weren't meant for the streets of the Lower City, but I had neither the time nor the desire to look for anything else. One last look at the white marble walls, at the magical windows showing all of Noctalis. At a life that was no more.
Demyan emerged from his study. Alone. Eliza, apparently, had stayed behind, waiting for me to leave so they could continue.
"Keys," he said, extending his hand.
I slid the keys off the ring. Heavy. Silver. Engraved with the Voronov raven. I dropped them into his palm. Our fingers didn't touch.
"I'll transfer the money tomorrow," he added. "To your account."
"Don't bother," I choked out.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Anya, don't be foolish. You need the money."
"Not from you."
I turned and walked out of the Citadel. The door clicked shut behind me. The magical seal activated. I could no longer enter.
The elevator carried me down. From the Aerial Quarter to the Mid-City. Then lower still. Into the Bottoms.
The streets grew darker. Grimmer. More dangerous.
I walked. I didn't know where. I just walked.
The rain began suddenly. Cold. Malicious. I was soaked within a minute. My hair plastered to my face, my clothes heavy and clinging to my skin.
I stopped and looked around.
The Lower City. The slums. I had never been here. Demyan had forbidden it. "Dangerous for Nulls," he would say.
An alleyway. Dark. Narrow. The stench of trash and dampness hit my nostrils. The walls were covered in graffiti—magical symbols glowing in the dark.
I leaned against a wall and slid to the ground. I hugged my bag.
The rain poured down. I sat there, staring into the void.
What now?
Live? Why? For what?
The baby. There was a baby growing inside me.
A baby whose father didn't want him.
Tears mingled with the rain. I cried. Silently. Hopelessly.
"Hey there, beautiful," a voice called out.
I opened my eyes. Three men. Filthy. Reeking of alcohol. One was leering, showing rotted teeth. Tattoos snaked up his arms—marks of street gangs.
"Alone?" the second one asked, closing in. "In the Lower City? Bold."
"Or stupid," the third added, rubbing his hands together.
They surrounded me. I should have been terrified. I should have screamed. Run.
But I wasn't afraid. I just looked at them. Empty. Indifferent.
What did it matter? What could they do? Kill me? Rape me? Rob me?
Nothing could be worse than what Demyan had already done.
"Give me the bag," the first one ordered, reaching out. His nails were dirty and broken.
I didn't move.
"You deaf?" He stepped closer. "The bag, I said!"
His hand reached for me.
And then it happened.
A flash. White. Blinding. Like a bolt of lightning striking the earth.
The men screamed. They were thrown back, slamming into the walls. One fell into a puddle; another crashed into a dumpster.
Silence.
I stared at my hands. They were glowing. Faintly. A white light with gold sparks that slowly faded.
What...?
The light died. My hands became ordinary again. Pale. Trembling.
The men lay unconscious. Alive—I could see their chests rising and falling.
What had I done?
I have no gift. I'm a Null. The test showed... zero. Always zero. This was impossible. The testers couldn't have been wrong. Or could they? What was happening?
But that was magic. I had seen it. I had felt it. Energy surging out of me like a river bursting through a dam.
Footsteps. Rapid. I scrambled to my feet and turned.
A man. Tall. Wrapped in a black cloak. A hood shadowed his face. He walked down the alley, ignoring the puddles.
He stopped. He looked at me, then at the men.
"Interesting," he remarked. His voice was deep. Cold. Dangerous. Laced with a slight accent I couldn't place.
He threw back his hood.
I stopped breathing.
Night-black hair, wet from the rain, clung to his forehead. Sharp cheekbones. A chiseled chin. Lips pressed into a thin line. But most of all—the eyes.
Violet. The color of Shadow magic. A color found only in one clan in all of Eridia.
I knew this face. Everyone did. His portraits hung in the Council of Seven. His name was spoken in whispers.
Prince Adrian Chernov. Head of the Shadow Clan. The most dangerous mage in Eridia.
Killer. Monster. Legend.
He watched me, studying me as if I were a curiosity. Like an artifact found in some ancient ruin.
"Who are you?" he asked.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. No words came. My throat was parched.
"I..." I began, my voice trembling. "I am no one. I'm nobody."
He stepped closer. I backed away until my spine hit the cold bricks. There was nowhere to run.
He stopped just a step away. He leaned in and inhaled.
"You smell... strange," he murmured. "Not of magic. Something else. Something... ancient."
His hand reached for me. I squeezed my eyes shut.
His fingers brushed my chin. Softly. Almost tenderly. His skin was warm despite the chill.
"Open your eyes," he commanded.
I opened them.
He was looking at me. Shadows danced within his eyes. Living. Hungry. They moved like serpents, coiling around his pupils.
"What did you do to them?" he asked, nodding toward the men.
"I... I don't know. It just... happened."
"It just happened," he repeated with a cold smirk. "Magic doesn't just happen. Especially not magic like *that*."
"I'm not a mage," I whispered. "I'm a Null."
"Nulls don't radiate light," he countered. "And they don't hurl three men aside with a single touch."
His fingers still held my chin. I could feel the warmth of his skin. And... something else. A tingling. A burning. Something was pulsing between us.
He felt it too. His eyes widened. The shadows within them stilled.
"Impossible," he breathed.
"What?"
He let me go and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. Droplets of rain flew everywhere.
"The pain," he said, staring at his palm. "It's gone."
"What pain?"
He looked at me for a long time, evaluating. I could see his mind working. Calculation. Like Demyan. But different. More complex. More dangerous.
"Are you looking for work?" he asked finally.
I blinked, caught off guard by the question.
"What?"
"Work. I need a secretary. You'll do."
"I... I don't know how to..."
"You'll learn," he interrupted. "The pay is a thousand crystals a week. Housing provided. Meals included. You start tomorrow."
A thousand a week. That was... more than I'd seen in my entire life. Demyan used to give me a hundred crystals a month for personal expenses.
"Why?" I asked. "You don't even know me."
He smiled. Slowly. Predatory. Like a wolf spotting its prey.
"Because I need you," he said simply. "And I always get what I need."
He extended his hand.
"So, what do you say?"
I looked at his hand, then at his face. Prince Chernov. The most dangerous mage in Eridia. The man of legends. Killer. Monster.
But he was offering me a job. A home. A life.
What did I have to lose? I had already lost everything.
His hand hung in the air. What did I have to lose? Demyan had thrown me away. My child was under threat. I had no choice.
I took his hand.
His fingers closed over mine. Firm. Warm.
A jolt shot through my veins. Sharp. Hot.
He smirked.
"Welcome to the Chernov Clan, Anya Belskaya."
My breath caught.
"How do you know my name?"
He didn't answer immediately. He just watched me, his violet eyes glowing in the darkness. The shadows within them moved as if they were alive.
"I know many things, Anya," he said softly. "I know you worked in an artifact shop on Silver Moon Street. I know you married Demyan Voronov six years ago. I know he threw you out today."
The world tilted.
"How..."
"I have eyes and ears all over Noctalis," he smirked coldly. "Even in the Celestial Citadel. *Especially* in the Celestial Citadel. I found out an hour ago. My sources reported that Demyan brought Eliza home."
He had been watching me. This whole time. He knew.
"Why?" I whispered. "Why were you watching me?"
He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing my ear.
"Because three days ago, I saw you in the crowd. At the market. You were buying fruit. And for a moment... for just one moment... your aura flared. White. Pure. I had never seen anything like it. So I watched. I waited for him to make a mistake. And he did."
He stepped back and looked me in the eye.
"And I decided that you will be mine."
He didn't wait for a response. He simply pulled me along after him. Out of the alley. Out of the darkness.
We walked through the streets of the Lower City. The rain continued to pour, cold streams trickling under my collar, making me shiver. Every step sent a jolt of pain through my feet, blistered by the thin flats, but Adrian didn't let go of my hand. His palm was hot, dry, and firm—like a living anchor keeping me from drowning in this icy torrent of despair.
We reached a carriage. It stood in the shadow of a ruined hangar—black, massive, adorned with silver patterns: the symbol of the Chernov Clan. The shadows around it weren't just swirling; they were pulsing, like the tentacles of a giant octopus guarding its treasure. The air here was different—thick, as if before a storm, with the sharp scent of static and ancient dust.
Adrian opened the door. He helped me inside, supporting me by the waist. His touch was professional, yet there was a hidden power in it that made my head spin. He sat opposite me, disappearing into the deep velvet of the seats.
The carriage pulled away smoothly, almost silently, despite the cracked asphalt of the Lower City.
I stared out the window as the grey quarters gave way to the increasingly pristine and pretentious streets of the Mid-City, before the carriage began its ascent up the magical ramp toward the Obsidian Palace. My old life—the life of an obedient Null in the white marble of the Voronovs—was burning in my memory, leaving only bitter ash.
What now? Where was I going? To a man who "always gets what he wants"?
I felt his gaze upon me. It wasn't lecherous and slimy like the scum in the alley, nor was it cold and indifferent like Demyan's. It was the gaze of a predator who had found a rare, priceless artifact and was now deciding where to place it—in a display case or in a vault.
I didn't know what tomorrow would bring. I might have made the biggest mistake of my life. Perhaps Prince Chernov wasn't salvation at all, but simply a different kind of doom—more exquisite and darker. I would become a toy in the hands of a dark mage. But now, in this warm carriage, inhaling the scent of his expensive tobacco and magic, I felt for the first time in six years that I... existed. That I wasn't just a nuisance to "strengthening the bloodline," but someone for whom the most dangerous man in the empire had been watching for three months.
Hope is a dangerous thing. It cuts deeper than any blade. But I had nothing else left.
Toward a new life.
Or toward a new nightmare. What did it matter, really, as long as I had the right to breathe in this nightmare?
Time would tell. But for now, I closed my eyes, letting the steady swaying of the carriage lull my fear. My hand still held the warmth of his fingers. And that warmth was the only real thing in a world that had just crumbled into dust.