Sarah Reginald woke with a gasp, her hand pressed to her chest as her breath came in shallow, uneven waves. The dream clung to her mind with unnatural persistence—a vision of a jagged, electric star hovering in the void, warping everything around it. The memory of it lingered in the edges of her consciousness, prickling her nerves.
The room came into focus. Low wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, and faint blue rune-lamps glowed softly, casting elongated shadows on the walls. Luke slept beside her, his steady breathing a comforting rhythm that only deepened her unease. Her heart still raced, as though something vast and unseen had brushed against her in the dark.
Her hand instinctively rested on her swollen belly. The child stirred, tiny fingers flexing within the womb. Yet it was not the movement that unsettled her—it was the silence that followed. No warmth. No flutter. Just a strange stillness, like the pause before a storm, or the moment before an unseen predator strikes.
Sarah's mind drifted back to the dream, to the jagged star that had burned with blue-white electricity. Every pulse had bent the darkness around it, warping reality itself. She shivered involuntarily. Just a dream, she whispered. The words felt hollow even as they left her lips.
The child moved again—stronger this time—and a sharp pressure bloomed beneath her ribs. Her breath caught. She gripped the sheets, panic creeping through her veins.
"It's too early, it's still the eight month. " she muttered, fear tightening her voice.
Luke stirred, blinking at her. "Sarah?"
Before she could respond, the rune-lamps flickered. Once. Twice. Then every symbol etched into the room flared at once, blasting light across the walls in chaotic bursts. The air hummed with energy, sharp and electric, making her ears ring.
And then she saw it—just beyond the edges of the roof, shimmering faintly in the moonlight—a figure, watching. It was impossible to define, a ripple of electricity and shadow, distant yet unmistakably present. Something ancient, restrained, and patient. There was a connection there, like that of a mother and son.
Sarah froze, her voice caught in her throat.
The child let out a sudden cry, the sound sharp enough to startle her senses. The figure above twitched, as if acknowledging the signal, before vanishing from sight in a shimmer of light.
Sarah's mind reeled. What is happening?
The city of Avarice remained quiet outside, the cobbled streets and rune-etched houses cloaked in sleep. Yet the magic that infused the city seemed restless tonight, twitching and alive in ways she had never noticed. Every rune flickered, shadows shifted unnaturally, and faint whispers curled along the walls like smoke.
Luke reached for her hand, grounding her. "It's okay. You're safe."
But Sarah could not shake the feeling that she was being observed, that forces far beyond their comprehension were at play. She pressed her palm against her belly again, feeling the child stir once more, stronger now, almost purposeful.
And for the first time, a shiver of recognition passed through her. She was not alone in this room. She never had been.
Far above, unseen and restrained, the watcher hovered. He had waited lifetimes, for this moment. He could not intervene. He could not touch. Yet he lingered, a silent guardian shadow, watching the first breath of the child he had once been.
And as the cry of new life echoed into the world, something ancient stirred, sensing the birth of what it had waited lifetimes to see.
Sarah's scream was swallowed by the glow, by the flickering runes, and by the beginning of a fate she could not yet understand.