Kyra's eyes widened as the glow intensified until it completely filled the whole street. The whispers returned—this time sounding like chants—but before she could even react, the glow died… and then a loud cackle sounded from the end of the alley.
Kyra's breath hitched.
She wasn't alone anymore.
The cackle echoed —inhuman, jagged, like glass being dragged across stone. Her blood turned to ice. She pushed herself upright, eyes darting to the end of the alley.
Three figures stepped out of the darkness.
Cloaked.
Their presence bent the air around them, like the shadows themselves were afraid. The central one tilted his head, and though his face was hidden, she felt his gaze—sharp and ancient—slice through her skin and into the very marrow of her bones.
"The queen was right," he rasped. "Nyxara did have a child."
"You're sure it's her?" one of the others asked, voice thick with disdain.
"Feel that residue," the first replied, gesturing toward the faint glow still humming from the necklace at her chest. "The seal's awakening."
Kyra backed up until her shoulders hit the brick wall. Her heart slammed into her ribs. The whispers inside her head returned, louder now, overlapping and frantic, like they were warning her.
One of the cloaked beings raised a hand. "We should kill her now before she awakens fully."
"No," said the leader. "She must be brought back. The Queen would want her alive."
Something inside her broke. But not in fear—in fury.
The glow surged from the necklace like a tidal wave of sapphire light.
"Don't. Touch. Me!" she screamed—though her voice didn't sound like hers. It was layered, powerful, echoing with something older.
The necklace flared again—no longer soft, no longer subtle. A brilliant blue wave exploded from her chest like a tidal storm.
The force knocked the figures backward, shattering windows up and down the alley. Streetlights burst one by one, plunging the world into electric chaos. Thunder boomed overhead; lightning flashed white across the sky as if the heavens themselves had awoken.
The ground beneath her cracked. Wind surged through her hair, lifting her from the ground as if unseen hands were holding her.
She wasn't screaming anymore.
She was glowing. Like a goddess, she rose above them.
Her body arched as raw power surged through her veins. The voices in her head weren't whispers now—they were chants, songs, echoing from some ancient place deep inside her blood. The blue aura flared again, chasing away the shadows like dawn.
The three attackers disintegrated where they stood.
When it was over, silence fell like snowfall.
The light dimmed.
Kyra's body slumped. She hit the ground on her knees, gasping, skin shimmering faintly. Her vision blurred, her limbs shaking uncontrollably.
Before she could even begin to process what had just happened, the air split with a low hum—darkness twisting itself into a swirling black portal, crackling at the edges like burnt paper. From its depths, two cloaked figures emerged, silent and spectral, as if the shadows themselves had birthed them.
The two blurry figures were walking toward her—tall, cloaked, but... different. Their steps were calm, measured.
They spoke—but she couldn't hear the words. Not over the ringing in her ears. She felt her body being lifted but she couldn't even bring herself to move...
"Take her back..."
Were the only words she heard before it all went dark.
---
Far across the realms, beneath a blood moon sky, a palace sat atop jagged cliffs—its spires twisted and throned in shadow.
Inside, torchlight flickered along stone walls carved with runes, and a long obsidian table stretched beneath a vaulted ceiling. Silver banners with serpent emblems hung unmoving, despite the howling wind outside.
At the head of the table, on a throne of dark thorns and bleached bone, sat a woman.
Her hair was long and white, trailing like silk down her back. Her eyes—pale and ancient—snapped open the moment the blue wave tore across the sky. The candles in the room flickered… then died. The stained-glass windows shattered. Even the guards flinched as a cold wind surged in from nowhere.
She smiled.
Wickedly.
"She did have a brat after all," the Queen murmured, her voice soft as silk and just as dangerous.
The guards stepped forward, heads bowed.
She rose slowly, like a storm gathering form.
"Send tracers to the human realm. Bring me the seal... and the wielder. Alive."
A smirk curled her lips as she lifted a goblet of bloodwine.
Then, in a whisper laced with centuries of venom
"This time, I won't let you get away."