The night Lyrielle was born, the sky bled.
It was not the soft red of sunset nor the gentle blush of dawn, but a violent crimson that stained the heavens like an open wound. The moon hung low and swollen, pulsing with an unnatural glow, as if the world itself was holding its breath in dread.
Deep within the forbidden woods of Elarith, where ancient trees twisted like watching sentinels and magic rotted the air, a woman screamed.
Her cry tore through the forest, sharp and raw, scattering birds from their nests and sending lesser spirits fleeing back into the soil. The wind howled in answer, whipping through the branches as though the land recognized her pain—and feared its outcome.
Seraphyne of the Black Thorn Coven clenched her fists as another wave of agony ripped through her body. Sweat soaked her dark hair, plastering it to her pale face, while blood pooled beneath her on the cold stone floor of the ritual chamber.
"This child will doom us all," one of the witches whispered, her voice trembling despite the bravado she tried to wear.
"She already has," another hissed.
Seraphyne did not answer them. She could not. Her teeth were clenched so tightly her jaw ached, her vision swimming as magic surged uncontrollably through her veins. Runes carved into the chamber walls flared bright violet, reacting to the unborn power writhing inside her womb.
This was no ordinary birth.
It was a summoning.
A prophecy long sealed, long denied, had chosen this night to awaken.
"The moon has turned," the High Witch muttered, her eyes fixed on the sky beyond the arched ceiling. "The blood moon rises only when fate is rewritten."
Seraphyne screamed again, her back arching as the final seal shattered.
And then—
Silence.
The wind died. The forest stilled. Even the magic seemed to recoil.
A baby's cry pierced the stillness.
Thin. Sharp. Powerful.
The moment the child drew her first breath, the runes exploded into light. The chamber shook violently, stones cracking, shadows screaming as they were torn apart by raw, untamed magic.
Several witches were thrown backward, slamming into the walls. One collapsed, unconscious. Another clawed at her eyes, shrieking as black veins spread across her skin.
The High Witch staggered but remained standing, staring in horror at the newborn cradled in Seraphyne's arms.
The baby's eyes were open.
Not the milky unfocused gaze of a newborn—but clear. A deep, luminous violet that glowed faintly in the darkness.
"She sees," someone whispered.
"No," the High Witch corrected, dread choking her voice. "She knows."
Seraphyne looked down at her daughter, tears streaking her face—not from pain, but from fear. From love. From the unbearable weight of what she had done.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to the child. "I never wanted this for you."
The baby did not cry again. She only stared up at her mother, fingers curling slowly, as if grasping the threads of the world itself.
Far away, beyond mortal lands and cursed forests, something ancient stirred.
In the infernal realm of Noctyrr, where fire did not burn but devoured, Kaelith awoke with a gasp.
He shot upright on his obsidian throne, claws digging into the armrests as heat surged through his veins. His breath came heavy, his chest rising and falling as if he had just escaped death itself.
The flames lining the throne room roared higher, reacting to his agitation.
"What is it?" one of the demon lords asked cautiously, bowing low.
Kaelith did not answer immediately. His golden eyes burned brighter than the hellfire around him, narrowed as he stared into nothing.
He could still feel it.
A pull.
A sharp, searing tug deep within his core, like a blade lodged in his soul and twisted without mercy. Power had flared across the realms—wild, feminine, ancient.
Witchcraft.
But not the diluted magic of covens and charms.
This was primeval.
Forbidden.
Alive.
"She's been born," Kaelith said finally, his voice low and dangerous.
The demon lords exchanged uneasy glances.
"Who?" one dared to ask.
Kaelith rose slowly to his feet. His wings unfurled behind him, massive and shadowed, the tips brushing the vaulted ceiling. The sigil of his bloodline burned across his chest, reacting violently to the disturbance.
"The witch," he said. "The one written into the oldest prophecy."
A hush fell over the chamber.
"That prophecy was sealed," another demon said. "Destroyed by your father himself."
Kaelith's lips curved into a cold, humorless smile.
"Prophecies don't die," he replied. "They wait."
Back in the mortal realm, Seraphyne wrapped her daughter tightly in black silk embroidered with protective sigils. Her hands trembled as she pressed a kiss to the baby's forehead.
"Listen to me," she whispered urgently, tears dripping onto the child's skin. "They will hunt you. Witches, demons, kings—everyone. Never trust power freely given. Never reveal your true name."
The baby blinked slowly, her gaze unbroken.
"You are Lyrielle," Seraphyne said, her voice breaking. "My curse. My miracle."
The High Witch stepped forward, her expression hard. "You know what must be done."
Seraphyne looked up sharply. "No."
"If she stays, the coven will be annihilated," the High Witch said. "You've already felt the backlash. The realms have noticed her."
Seraphyne hugged Lyrielle closer, her magic flaring defensively. "She is a child."
"She is a weapon," the High Witch corrected coldly.
For a long moment, Seraphyne said nothing. Then her shoulders slumped, the fight draining from her as reality crushed her heart.
"I will hide her," she said hoarsely. "Bind her power. Seal her memory. Let her live as mortal."
"That seal will break," the High Witch warned. "All seals do."
Seraphyne nodded. "Then I pray she is strong enough when it does."
She traced a trembling finger across Lyrielle's forehead, whispering ancient words older than language itself. Magic surged, wrapping around the child like chains made of light and shadow.
Lyrielle whimpered softly for the first time.
Her eyes dimmed.
The forest exhaled.
Far away, Kaelith staggered as the pull suddenly dulled, as if something precious had been ripped from his grasp.
His jaw tightened.
"You can hide her," he murmured, fire dancing across his skin. "But fate has already bound us."
He looked toward the unseen mortal realm, his expression dark with promise.
"And when she awakens," he added softly, "the world will burn."