Chapter 13

The forest outside Moonspire hummed with a restless silence. Serenya Vale drew her cloak tighter, though the chill wasn’t what unsettled her. It was the message delivered at dawn: Maelis Rowan, the wandering seer, has returned from exile.

Kaelen Draven walked beside her, his hood shadowing half his face. “Are you sure about this?” he murmured, scanning the undergrowth with the instinct of someone who had lived too long in the edges of danger.

Serenya’s lips pressed thin. “If Maelis knows the truth of what’s to come, I need to hear it. Even if her visions frighten me.”

The path wound upward until the trees parted, revealing a crumbling shrine half-swallowed by ivy. Candles burned in uneven rows around the entrance, wax dripping down stone etched with long-forgotten prayers. At the center, waiting with an air of stillness, stood Maelis Rowan.

Her silver hair fell like a river over a weathered cloak, her eyes bright as frost. She did not greet them with words, only a small smile that was more knowing than warm.

“I wondered,” Maelis said finally, “when the child hidden by shadow would step into my circle.”

Serenya’s pulse quickened. “You know who I am?”

The seer’s gaze seemed to pierce the disguise Serenya had worn for years. “I know more than you would wish. The blood of a kingdom runs in your veins, yet your heart beats against it, torn between duty and desire.”

Kaelen shifted uneasily. “Speak plainly, Seer. What is it you’ve seen?”

Maelis beckoned them closer, and as they approached, she scattered a handful of black dust into the air. It shimmered, then swirled into a glowing tableau: a crown split in two, a star falling, and shadows that seemed to devour the light.

Serenya reached out instinctively, though her fingers passed through the vision. “What does it mean?”

“The world tilts,” Maelis said softly. “Two heirs rise, bound by love and bound for war. One carries fire, the other shadow. Together, they may rebuild what was broken—or burn the realms to ash.”

Kaelen’s jaw clenched, his gaze flicking toward Serenya. She caught the question in his eyes—the fear that the prophecy meant them.

Serenya swallowed. “And if we refuse? If we turn away from crowns and wars?”

Maelis’s expression darkened. “Then betrayal will come. Not from your enemies, but from those closest to you. A blade in the dark, a kiss that poisons, a crown that shatters. No path is free of sacrifice.”

The words settled heavy in Serenya’s chest. She had imagined many futures, but never one where her choices could decide the fate of kingdoms.

Kaelen stepped closer to Maelis, voice low but firm. “Visions are not chains. Tell me this—does Serenya live through it?”

The seer studied him with unreadable eyes. “She lives,” she said at last. “But to what end… that is hers to decide.”

A raven cried overhead, breaking the silence. Maelis turned, gathering her cloak as though the prophecy itself had drained her. “The eclipse draws near. You must choose, hidden heiress. Not tomorrow, not next moon—now.”

Before Serenya could ask more, Maelis vanished into the trees, leaving only flickering candles and the echo of her words.

They walked back in silence until the shrine was far behind them. Serenya’s thoughts tangled: two heirs, betrayal, crowns split. Was Eloria Thorne—the rival princess—one of the heirs spoken of? Or Cyrion Duskbane, whose fallen kingdom still whispered vengeance?

Kaelen broke the quiet first. “You can’t carry this alone, Serenya. Whatever Maelis meant, we’ll face it together.”

Her heart ached at his certainty. But his hand brushed hers only briefly, like a promise half-spoken. They both knew the danger of letting their feelings grow.

By the time they reached Moonspire’s gates, night had fallen fully. Torches burned high, guards standing tense as though waiting for trouble. And trouble had, indeed, arrived.

A rider thundered through the courtyard, cloak torn and face pale with exhaustion. “Message from Crestfall!” he cried, nearly falling from the saddle. “The duke moves against us—he claims the throne in his own name!”

Gasps rippled through the gathering crowd. Serenya froze, the seer’s warning echoing inside her skull: Betrayal will come… not from your enemies, but from those closest to you.

She turned, catching Kaelen’s eye. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his expression unreadable. For the first time since she’d known him, she could not tell if he was ready to protect her—or preparing to walk away.

The sound of bells filled the night, ringing not in celebration but alarm. And Serenya understood with bone-deep clarity: Maelis had not given her time. The prophecy was no distant storm. It had already begun.