The sky had darkened.
Not with shadow—but with presence. The kind that made the air heavy and the ground hum beneath bare feet. Aira stood at the edge of the sea, the last words of the girl echoing in her mind: The next tide will not be so kind.
Beside her, Lucien remained still, his blade now dimmed, buried in the sand like a forgotten relic. He watched her—not with fear, not even concern—but with awe. Because the woman beside him was no longer someone running from fate.
She was fate.
Aira's silver glow faded gradually, leaving behind a faint shimmer in her veins. The sigils on her skin flickered, like fireflies caught between dusk and dawn. The silence between them stretched until the ocean dared speak again, gentle waves curling at their feet.
Lucien cleared his throat. "You chose the storm."
Aira turned to him, her face unreadable. "Because the starless path ends in surrender. And the throne… I've already sat on too many."
Lucien stepped closer, brushing his thumb over a fading rune on her collarbone. "Then we face the storm. Together."
Aira gave a ghost of a smile. "You sure about that? Storms don't ask for mercy. They consume."
"I'm not asking for mercy," he said, voice firm. "I'm asking for a place beside you."
For a moment, the fierceness in her gaze softened. She reached up, touching the scar just beneath his jaw. "Then stand with me when the sky splits. When gods fall. When my blood sings and I forget who I am."
"I will," he whispered. "I'll remind you."
Thunder rolled in the distance—not from the sky, but from beneath the earth. The sand rippled around their feet.
Aira's head turned sharply inland. Her eyes narrowed. "Something's moving."
Lucien followed her gaze. And then they saw it.
On the horizon, rising like a mirage from heat and magic—a gate. Towering, ancient, and pulsing with energy. Runes circled it in the air like moths made of crystal.
Aira's pulse quickened. "The passage."
Lucien frowned. "Passage to what?"
She stepped forward. "To where the storm begins."
Suddenly, the wind shifted. The sea behind them receded as if holding its breath. Then—
A scream.
High. Shrill. Not human.
They turned toward it in time to see a figure tumble out of the surf—gasping, soaked in black water.
Aira rushed forward.
The figure—a boy. No older than ten. Shaking. Eyes completely white. Veins along his neck glowing faint red.
Lucien crouched beside her. "What the hell…?"
Aira pressed her fingers to the boy's temples. "He's been marked. Like I was—but corrupted."
The boy seized.
And then spoke—not in his voice, but in hers.
> "You cannot change what is written, Aira.
The storm will not save you.
The blood in your daughter's veins will open the last gate."
Aira recoiled as the boy collapsed again.
Lucien stared at her. "Daughter?"
She gritted her teeth. "She's not born yet."
"But that means—"
"She's already been seen. Already been claimed." Aira stood slowly, fists clenched. "This isn't about me anymore."
Lucien nodded grimly. "Then we go to the gate."
The boy stirred again. Whispered, "They're coming…"
Aira looked toward the horizon. The gate pulsed—open just a crack now. Wind howled through it like a warning.
She took Lucien's hand.
"We walk through together."
And together, they stepped into the storm's cradle—where the next war would not be for survival…
…but for legacy.
The sun had not risen.
Not truly.
It loomed at the edge of the horizon like an eye half-opened, hesitant to witness what came next. The air had shifted—no longer soft and warm but sharp, laced with something old… and watching.
Aira felt it the moment she opened her eyes.
Lucien lay beside her, still asleep, his arm draped protectively around her waist. His chest rose and fell steadily, as if trying to convince her the worst had passed.
But the mark on her neck pulsed.
It wasn't pain—it was… summoning.
Carefully, she slid from beneath Lucien's arm and stood. Her robe clung to her damp skin from the sea's earlier fury. Around them, the beach was quiet again, but it wasn't peaceful. It was expectant.
Something was coming.
Or worse—already here.
She walked toward the black stretch of sea, waves now eerily still, mirroring the darkened sky. Each step was slow, intentional. The silver in her veins hadn't dimmed—it whispered, coiled beneath her skin like a sleeping serpent.
The moment her foot touched the water—
Snap.
A crack split through the air like glass breaking beneath pressure.
Aira gasped, falling to her knees, clutching her chest.
The world shifted.
The sky shattered into mirror-like fragments, and she was no longer on the beach.
She stood in a circular chamber, ancient and pulsating with red and silver light. Chains hung from the ceiling—glowing with runes, humming like living things. At the center of the room was a stone altar. Upon it lay a child.
Her child.
Aira couldn't breathe.
The girl had her hair—dark, wild curls—but her skin was pale, almost translucent. Her small hands were bound in glowing cords, and her lips were slightly parted as if caught mid-scream.
"No," Aira whispered, rushing forward. "No, this isn't real."
But the closer she got, the colder the air became. Frost began to spread over the floor. The runes dimmed.
And from the shadows… came a voice.
"Mother."
Aira froze.
The child sat up. Slowly. Unnaturally. Her eyes opened—
And they were black.
Black like void. Like grief. Like the end.
"You chose the storm," the girl said, her voice layered with too many echoes. "Now you must survive it."
Aira stumbled backward. "You're not her."
"I am what your choice creates."
Aira clenched her fists. "I won't let this happen."
The girl smiled—empty and cruel. "Then break the seal. Save me before I become her."
The room shuddered. The chains trembled.
And Aira heard it.
A low, distant drip.
Then another.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
From above, blood began to fall onto the altar.
Aira screamed—
And woke.
Lucien was already at her side, shaking her. "Aira! What happened?!"
Her eyes were wide, pupils glowing faintly. "It wasn't a dream. I saw her. I saw what she becomes."
Lucien helped her sit up, brushing damp hair from her face. "Tell me."
"She was bound. Pale. Not herself. But her eyes… gods, Lucien, they were empty. She said—she said if I want to save her, I have to break the seal."
Lucien stilled. "But… the seals are what keep the Gate closed."
"I know," Aira whispered. "But one of them already cracked. I felt it."
He pulled back, jaw clenched. "Then we need to find the others. Before someone else does."
Aira nodded. "There are seven. I don't know where they are, but the first… it's beneath the ruins of Vareth."
Lucien's brows furrowed. "That's in the North. Frozen wastelands. No one's stepped foot there in a century."
Aira stood, her strength returning. "Then we'll be the first."
Lucien took her hand. "You're sure about this? If you break the seals—"
"I become what they fear," Aira finished. "But if I don't… I lose her."
He didn't argue.
Just gripped her hand tighter.
"We leave at sunrise," he said. "For Vareth."
And as the wind howled across the beach behind them, carrying the scent of smoke and magic, Aira whispered:
"Let the storm begin."
The morning arrived not with golden light, but with gray clouds rolling over the sea like an omen.
Aira and Lucien stood at the edge of the beach, cloaked and ready, watching as the sun tried—and failed—to break through the thick sky. Horses waited behind them, saddled and restless. Mira had packed their provisions in silence. Even she had sensed the shift.
"You're both really leaving," she said quietly, her eyes flicking from Aira to Lucien.
"Yes," Aira replied. "There's no time."
Mira stepped closer and pressed something into Aira's hand. It was a pendant—carved from obsidian and etched with a spiral of silver. "My grandmother gave it to me when I was a child. She said it was from the Moonlands. It protects against spirits… and madness."
Aira hesitated, touched by the gesture. "Thank you, Mira. I'll return it to you."
Mira shook her head. "Just come back whole."
Lucien mounted his horse first. Aira lingered a moment longer, her gaze drifting once more toward the horizon. Something pulsed beneath the surface of the sea now. Faint. Hidden. Watching.
She turned her back on it.
As they rode away, the wind picked up, blowing toward the coast.
Behind them, a distant echo rippled through the air.
Crack.
Somewhere deep beneath the world, a second seal began to tremble.
---
Two Days Later — Outskirts of Vareth
The land had changed.
What was once forest and road had faded into ice and silence. The sky above was white, stretching endlessly, and the air burned with every breath. The ruins of Vareth stood ahead, half-buried in frost, jagged like broken teeth sticking out of the snow.
Lucien wrapped his cloak tighter, helping Aira down from her horse.
"This place feels cursed," he muttered.
"It is," she answered. "But it's also familiar."
They entered the ruins together, stepping over shattered columns and the remains of long-forgotten temples. The silence was unnatural, pressing against their ears like thick cotton.
Aira stopped in front of what had once been a temple gate. The arch above it bore the symbol of the Serpent Star.
"This was where they sealed it," she murmured. "The First Gate. The seal is beneath."
Lucien reached for his sword. "Then let's break it."
"No," Aira whispered, putting a hand on his arm. "This one… I must break myself. Only my blood can unbind it."
He stared at her. "And what happens when you do?"
"I change," she said. "I become. But I have to. It's the only way to reach her."
Lucien didn't stop her.
They descended beneath the temple—down crumbling stone steps slick with ice and time. Torches ignited as Aira passed, responding to her presence. At the bottom, they found it.
The seal.
A silver disc embedded in the floor, pulsing like a heartbeat. It was covered in ancient runes and bound by threads of light that hummed at her approach.
Aira knelt beside it and drew a blade from her belt.
Lucien stepped forward. "Are you sure?"
"No," she replied honestly. "But it's the only path left."
She sliced her palm and pressed it to the center of the seal.
The moment her blood touched it, the runes flared, and the chamber began to shake.
The first seal is undone, a voice whispered in her mind.
You have chosen the path of storm and flame. There will be no turning back.
Light burst from the seal, blinding, wild—rushing into Aira like fire through a cracked vessel. She screamed, not in pain, but in power. Her silver veins blazed, her eyes turned white, and her body rose into the air.
Lucien shouted her name—
Then silence.
She fell.
He caught her.
And when her eyes fluttered open… they weren't just her eyes anymore.
They were the eyes of something older. Something reborn.
Lucien looked at her, chest heaving. "What did you do?"
Aira smiled faintly.
"I became the storm."