Chapter 38

The night sky over Sungai City had never looked so peaceful, yet beneath its beauty lurked the whisper of an ancient curse — one that was finally beginning to wake.

It was now a normal thing for Mira to see the faint, strange mark on Lyra’s back — a mark she had tried for years to ignore, to forget, to pretend wasn’t real. But deep down, she knew the truth. That cursed mark was not an ordinary birthmark. It was the mark of prophecy — the same one spoken of in the ancient scrolls that foretold the rise of a child who would destroy the Beast Kingdom and rebuild it in blood and ashes.

For a thousand years, the prophecy had been feared. It spoke of “The Chosen of the Void,” a being born from both beast and human, carrying the blood of love and war, mercy and vengeance. The prophecy said that when such a child was born, the stars would shift, the moon would bleed, and kingdoms would tremble.

And now, that very mark rested on Lyra’s fragile back — glowing faintly beneath her soft skin.

Mira had learned to keep her fear buried. Every morning she woke before dawn, fed the goats, fetched water from the spring, and helped Lyra with her studies, pretending their life was normal. But at night, when the winds grew wild and Lyra lay asleep, Mira would sit by the window, clutching Daphne’s old pendant — the one that once belonged to the queen — and whisper to herself, “You made me promise… and I kept it. But how long can I keep hiding her?”

The weight of that promise never left her.

It all began the night Daphne gave birth — the night that changed everything.

The air had been thick with the scent of burning candles and sweat. Daphne’s screams echoed through the royal chamber as thunder roared in the distance. The midwives scurried in panic; the Queen’s life hung by a thread. Mira, then the most trusted handmaiden of the royal household, was the only one who seemed composed.

She had noticed it before anyone else — the strange pulse beneath Daphne’s belly, the flicker of twin heartbeats. And when she felt the sudden change in the air, the flicker of shadow behind the curtains, she knew something was not right.

“Everyone out!” Mira had commanded sharply. Her voice sliced through the chaos like a blade. “Leave me with her. Now!”

The nurses hesitated. “But my lady—”

“Now!” she barked again, and they obeyed.

The room fell silent, save for Daphne’s ragged breaths and the faint flicker of the candle flame.

The first cry pierced the night — a boy’s cry. Mira’s hands trembled as she lifted the child from between the Queen’s legs. “It’s a boy, my Queen,” she whispered, her heart pounding. Daphne smiled weakly, tears streaming down her face.

“Lucien,” she breathed. “His name is Lucien.”

Mira nodded, quickly wrapping the infant in silk and stepping out to hand him to the waiting nurse outside. “Take him. Tell them the Queen needs rest.”

But when she turned back, she froze.

Daphne was screaming again.

Blood drenched the sheets as another tiny body slipped into the world. Mira’s breath caught in her throat. “Another child?” she gasped. “Twins!”

She gently lifted the second baby, a little girl with faint golden hair and bright, glowing eyes. But as she turned the infant over to clean her, her hands froze.

There — on the baby’s back — was the faint shimmer of a mark. It wasn’t clear at first, but as the light hit it, the shape formed: a crescent moon surrounded by four tiny flames.

Mira’s heart stopped. She knew that mark. She had seen it once — in the forbidden scrolls locked away in the royal library.

The mark of the Destroyer. The mark of the Prophecy.

Her knees went weak. The room spun. She stumbled back, clutching the child to her chest. “No… it cannot be…”

“Why are you silent?” Daphne’s weak voice called from the bed. “Is… is my baby safe?”

Mira looked at her, torn between fear and loyalty. She could not lie to the Queen. Not to the woman who had shown her kindness when others saw her as nothing more than a servant.

“My Queen,” she whispered, voice shaking. “The child… she carries the mark.”

Daphne blinked through her pain. “Mark?”

“The prophecy, Your Grace,” Mira said, her voice trembling. “The one that speaks of the destroyer born of beast and human blood. If the council discovers this—if they see this—they’ll kill her. They’ll kill your child before she even takes her first step.”

Daphne’s eyes widened in horror. She looked at the tiny girl — so perfect, so innocent — and felt her heart crack.

“No,” she whispered fiercely. “No one must know. Not even Zerach.”

“But, my Queen—”

“Promise me, Mira!” Daphne gasped, clutching her hand. “Promise me you’ll protect her. Take her far away. Keep her hidden. She must live, even if I don’t!”

Tears spilled down Mira’s cheeks. “My Queen, I cannot—”

“You must.” Daphne pulled off her royal jewelry — the golden bracelets, the chain of rubies from her waist, the diamond-studded anklets, and the shimmering earrings that symbolized her crown. “Take these,” she said breathlessly. “They’ll feed you both for a lifetime. Use them to keep her safe.”

Mira hesitated. “But what will I tell the King?”

“Tell him…” Daphne’s lips trembled. “Tell him one of the twins didn’t make it. Tell him she died during birth.”

Her strength was fading. Blood pooled beneath her, her breathing shallow. Mira knew there was no time.

“I beg you, Mira,” Daphne whispered. “For my child’s sake… run.”

Mira wept silently. Then, with a trembling nod, she obeyed.

She wrapped the little princess in soft linen, placed her in a small breadbasket, and whispered a prayer. Then she pushed open the chamber window.

The rain poured down heavily outside. “May the gods protect you, little one,” Mira murmured, kissing the baby’s forehead before lowering the basket into the darkness. “Your mother’s love will guide you.”

And with that, she let the basket go.

The wind carried it away into the night — into fate.

The memory faded as Mira blinked, hearing Lyra’s small voice pull her back to the present.

“Mother, it hurts,” Lyra whimpered.

Mira turned sharply. Lyra sat in the small wooden tub, water glistening on her golden hair as the faint glow of the mark shimmered on her back. Mira’s breath caught in fear — the mark was glowing.

For ten years, it had remained hidden. Dormant. But now… it was awakening.

“What is it, Mother?” Lyra’s voice trembled.

Mira forced a smile, though her heart was racing. “It’s nothing, my love. Just… stay still.”

But she knew. She knew it wasn’t nothing.

The mark pulsed with a dim red light — faint, but steady. Mira reached out and gently pressed her palm against it. For a brief moment, a searing pain flashed through her fingers, as if the mark itself rejected her touch.

She gasped and pulled back. “No… it’s too soon.”

Lyra looked at her, confused. “Too soon for what?”

Mira said nothing. Her mind was already racing, her thoughts screaming. The signs had started. The glow, the pain, the strange dreams Lyra had been having — it was all connected.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” Lyra said quietly, breaking the silence. “They’re… scary.”

Mira turned to her, trying to steady her shaking hands. “What kind of dreams, my dear?”

Lyra hesitated. “There’s a big fire. Everything burns. People screaming. A man with eyes like gold calling my name. And… a woman crying.”

Mira’s blood ran cold.

She fell silent for a long time. The wind outside howled, the old wooden house creaked.

Finally, she whispered under her breath, “It has begun…”

She looked at Lyra again, her eyes filled with both love and dread.

The prophecy was awakening too soon — it wasn’t supposed to happen until Lyra was sixteen or seventeen, when her powers would fully awaken. But something — or someone — was accelerating it.

And deep in her heart, Mira knew that if the Beast King ever discovered the truth — that both his children carried the mark of destruction — it would not only end their lives, but bring ruin upon the entire kingdom.

She closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer.

“I hope I can be strong enough to hold this disaster,” she murmured.

But even as she spoke, the faint glow of the mark pulsed once more… brighter than before.

And somewhere far away, in the royal palace, Lucien’s mark flickered too — as if answering his sister’s call.

Two souls bound by fate.

Two heirs marked by doom.

And the prophecy had just begun to awaken.