Chapter Sixteen – The Prophecy of the Half-Blood

Ilia made her way back to the kitchens just as dawn crested over the distant hills, bathing the stone corridors in a wash of pale gold. Her legs still trembled, her thoughts tangled like vines, but she moved on instinct, trying to piece together a sense of normalcy.

The fire in the great oven was already roaring. Baskets of root vegetables waited to be chopped, and loaves of bread had begun to rise. Yet, as she entered the bustling kitchen, the familiar sounds and smells did nothing to soothe her.

She found Nessa—her closest friend—near the back, preparing herbs for the midday stew. Ilia approached with urgency.

"Nessa," she whispered, her voice tight. "Do you know anything about sirens?"

Nessa blinked, her fingers pausing mid-snip. "Sirens? That’s a word I haven’t heard in a while. Why?"

Ilia shook her head. "I need to know. Please."

Nessa gave her a long look, then dusted off her hands. "Follow me."

Ilia trailed behind her through the narrow back halls until they reached the servants' sleeping quarters. Once inside, Nessa knelt beside a chest under her cot and opened it with care. From beneath old scarves and bits of twine, she pulled out a weathered book wrapped in linen.

"Creature Myths of the Second Age," Nessa murmured, handing it over. "Don’t let anyone see you with this. It’s banned in the higher levels."

Ilia nodded, clutching the book to her chest like it might shatter in her hands. "Thank you."

Back in her own room, she shut the door, bolted it, and lit a candle. With trembling fingers, she opened the cover.

Pages of faded ink and delicate illustrations filled her vision—drawings of fanged beasts, celestial gods, and hidden creatures of the deep. She flipped through quickly, seeking something, anything, that would make sense of the song in her blood.

And then she found it.

The Sirens: A Fallen Lineage.

The text read:

Once daughters of the sea and sky, the sirens were creatures of extraordinary allure. Their voices could seduce armies and collapse empires. But their power was their curse. Both revered and reviled, sirens were hunted by those who sought to control or destroy them. Some say their kind was eradicated. Others believe they simply disappeared, hiding among the weaker races. Their beauty was unmatched, their song divine. It is said their blood still lingers—diluted, hidden—waiting for the right voice to rise again.

Ilia’s breath hitched. She turned the page.

The Prophecy of the Half-Blood.

A child born of wolf and siren, neither one nor the other. Conceived in love, destined for war. She who carries the torn legacy will awaken kingdoms, fracture fate, and summon ruin or salvation. The mark she bears will not be given. It will be taken. By fire, by song, by blood.

Ilia froze, not because she believed it was about her—how could it be?—but because something about the words tugged at a part of her she had spent her whole life trying to ignore. She didn't dare believe they pointed to her. She was a servant girl, invisible, unwanted. But still, her heart wouldn't stop racing.

Her mother—a siren.

Her father—a wolf.

Her life had been a secret kept too well. A name withheld. A power buried.

She sat there in silence for what felt like hours, her thumb brushing over the words as her heart echoed in her ribs.

Torn legacy. Awaken kingdoms. Fracture fate.

She couldn’t breathe.

Because deep down, she knew.

That night, sleep found her with the prophecy burning behind her eyes. As her body stilled beneath the threadbare blankets, her mind slipped past the waking world and into something older, deeper. Into him.

She stood barefoot in the middle of a moonlit clearing, the same one from her past dreams, but this time she hadn't wandered—she had been summoned.

Caelan was waiting.

His tall figure emerged from the shadows, silver light gleaming against the hard planes of his chest. He stopped just before her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off his skin. "I called for you this time," he said, his voice low and rough, but there was no question in it. No confusion. Only hunger. Only need. His eyes raked over her like she was something he'd been starving for. "You're here because I want you here."

Her breath caught. The forest around them blurred, as if holding its breath. "Why me?"

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched hers, something raw simmering beneath his gaze. "Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Even when I try."

The dream shimmered with tension—magnetic, inevitable—and she realized with a jolt that this was no ordinary fantasy.

This was a meeting of something unspoken. And it was just beginning.

This wasn’t just about being marked.

It was about stealing fate itself.