The silence after Soraya's revelation felt louder than any scream Kyra had ever heard.
She stood by the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if trying to hold her very soul together. Outside, the sky darkened, thick clouds rumbling above, mirroring the storm rising within her. The truth of her blood—the Original Line, forged by a union that defied both vampire and witch law—now pulsed in her veins like wildfire.
Her reflection in the glass no longer looked familiar.
What am I?
That question looped endlessly in her head.
She heard the soft creak of a floorboard and felt his presence before she turned. Keal stood a few feet behind her, his shirt still torn, the wounds from the Council's attempted execution already sealed by his vampire regeneration.
"I didn't know," he said, voice gentle but heavy. "Not until today."
She flinched. "But you suspected. Didn't you?"
He stepped closer. "I knew there was something different about you. Something powerful. But that didn't change how I—"
"Love me?" she interrupted, spinning to face him. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Or the idea of me? This powerful creature you can't figure out?"
Pain flickered across his features. "I love you, Kyra. Not because of what you are—but who you are."
"But what if I don't even know who that is anymore?" Her voice cracked. "What if I'm just... some cursed miracle of ancient blood?"
Soraya entered quietly, sensing the tension, but didn't interrupt. Instead, she placed a soft hand on Kyra's shoulder. "You're not cursed, child. You are chosen. The blood that runs through you is rare... but it doesn't define your heart."
Kyra pulled away, needing space. Her heart beat too loudly. Her magic buzzed beneath her skin, wild and restless. She didn't trust herself—not with her emotions, not with her powers.
"I need air," she whispered.
Keal made a move, but Soraya held him back. "Let her find herself first."
Kyra stepped out into the courtyard, her thoughts colliding like thunder. She touched the amulet that had once belonged to her mother. Her fingers trembled. She thought of Elira—of the life she must have led in hiding, of Lucien, the vampire who had dared to love her.
Did they feel this lost too?
The wind carried whispers—memories or magic, she wasn't sure. But somewhere deep inside, something shifted.
Not certainty.
Not peace.
But the beginning of understanding.