The tea had long gone cold in Kyra's hands. She didn't even notice. Her eyes were wide, locked on Soraya, whose gaze had shifted from the present into the distant past, where memories lay like bones buried under frost. The room had fallen into a sacred silence, broken only by the ticking of the antique clock behind them.
"You're saying… they took them away? Just like that?" Kyra finally asked, her voice shaking.
Soraya didn't answer immediately. She leaned back in her chair, her fingers absently tracing the lip of her teacup.
"They weren't just taken," she said at last. "They were condemned."
Kyra's breath caught in her throat.
"Lucien and Elira's love was a spark in dry grass," Soraya continued. "It burned quickly and beautifully—but in a place like ours, fire was never welcomed."
Flashback
The Elder Hall was thick with shadows, the air sharp with incense and smoke. Torches lit the perimeter, but the flickering flames seemed unable to warm the icy atmosphere. Elira and Lucien were shackled at the center of the ancient stone chamber, surrounded by dozens of solemn faces.
The council chamber was shaped like a half-moon, witches on the left in their deep-colored robes marked with ancient sigils, and vampires on the right, their eyes glowing with varying shades of crimson, silver, and gold. At the very front stood the High Council—a circle of seven beings, neither fully witch nor fully vampire, born from centuries of mingled blood and magic. They were the law, the legend, and the executioners.
"Elira of the Crescent Line. Lucien of the Nightwood Blood. You stand accused of breaking the Eldritch Accord," the High Priestess announced, her voice echoing unnaturally.
"We loved," Elira answered, her voice trembling but clear. "Nothing more."
Lucien stepped beside her, his silver chains clinking with each step. "And what law forbids love?"
A tall vampire elder hissed, "You conceived a child. A child of both bloodlines. That is more than love. That is heresy."
The room shifted. You could feel it—magic rippling across the walls like a warning.
The head witch, her eyes an ethereal silver, stood. "You risk what we have fought to protect for centuries. The balance between our races must remain. One drop too many, and it all collapses."
Elira glanced down at her stomach, her hands twitching to cover the slight curve already showing. "But she is innocent. She hasn't even drawn breath."
The elders deliberated, whispers laced with spells. Tension grew thicker, unbearable.
Finally, one of the council's enforcers stepped forward. "The sentence: Separated and detained. The child, upon birth, shall be surrendered. It must not be raised. It must not exist."
Elira screamed. Lucien roared, his fangs bared, eyes glowing with rage. The chamber erupted in chaos. Wards lit up along the walls, glowing runes pulsing with power. A barrier shot up between the lovers and the council. Elira collapsed to her knees.
And in that moment, Soraya stepped out from the crowd.
"Wait."
Her voice was calm, commanding.
The council turned.
"You can't silence what's already been set in motion," she said. "There is power in that child—old power. Do not be so arrogant as to think you can stop fate."
The silver-eyed head witch narrowed her gaze. "What are you suggesting?"
"I will take her," Soraya declared. "When the time comes. I will raise her in shadow. You will never see her again, not until it is written."
There was a long silence.
Then the verdict: "Very well. But if she ever returns, she will bear the consequences of her blood."
End Flashback