The moon was full, its pale glow casting a silver sheen across the stone floor of Ravenshade's east wing. Seraphine stood silently by the tall glass window, a velvet robe draped around her frame, hair cascading down her back like a silken waterfall.
Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, but her thoughts were far deeper—on Caelum, on Marlik, on the prophecy slowly unfolding.
Behind her, the door creaked open softly. No need to turn. She already knew the steps, the presence, the warmth he carried.
Alaric came wordlessly, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. He buried his face into the crook of her neck and inhaled her scent, the exhaustion in his body melting into her.
"You should be resting," Seraphine whispered, leaning into him.
"So should you," Alaric replied gently. "But I couldn't sleep. Not with this plan running in circles in my head."
Seraphine turned slightly, her fingers brushing his cheek, his lips.
"No war talk," she murmured, placing a delicate finger on his mouth. "Not tonight. Not now."
Alaric blinked, surprised—but the fire in her eyes told him everything. "Seraphine—"
"You've done enough," she said, a small smile curving her lips. "For Caelum. For me. For everyone. Tonight, let us remember we are still… us."
Her hands moved to cup his face, and she drew him in for a kiss. Slow. Deep. Searching. Alaric responded with the ache of a man who had missed her even while standing beside her every day.
Their lips parted only slightly when she murmured, "Let me taste you."
He tilted his head slightly, exposing his neck willingly, eyes fluttering closed. A mark of trust only one could offer their eternal mate.
Seraphine's fangs extended, gleaming under the moonlight.
Then—pierce.
Alaric gasped softly, a rush of warmth coursing through him as her lips pressed over his pulse. Her hands gripped his shoulders, holding him close as she drank—slowly, reverently. A bond reforged with every drop.
When she pulled back, crimson at the corner of her lips, Alaric caught her in his arms.
"My turn," he whispered, voice low and rich.
He kissed her again, this time with fire igniting between them. He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed across the moonlit room, her laughter soft like silk brushing skin.
He laid her down, hovering above her for a breath before his fangs grazed her collarbone. Her back arched beneath him as he bit gently, feeding, their magic intertwining with every heartbeat.
Then nothing else mattered.
No prophecy. No threat. No darkness.
Only their bodies, rediscovering each other. Only their souls, finally at peace. They moved as one, tangled in sheets and shadows, lit by silver rays and quiet gasps.
They made love until the first blush of dawn kissed the edges of the sky.
And for a moment—just a moment—they remembered what they were fighting for.
The light of dawn spilled gently across the halls of Ravenshade, catching on the stone pillars and cascading drapes. Outside, the forest rustled quietly in the breeze, birds beginning their morning chorus.
But inside the manor, one soul could not rest.
Caelum sat cross-legged in the courtyard garden, eyes closed, his hands resting on his knees. Dew clung to the petals around him, the air thick with the scent of herbs and old magic. He had come here to meditate, to find peace as his father had taught him—but peace refused to come.
Instead, he felt it.
Like a whisper beneath the earth. A ripple in the currents of the unseen.
His brows furrowed, lips parting slightly. A shadow, cold and invasive, brushed across his consciousness. He recognized it—not from memory, but instinct.
Marlik.
The name surfaced unbidden in his mind, and with it came a twisting in his gut. The ghost of dread.
He opened his eyes sharply. The garden around him had gone still. Even the birds had silenced.
"Mother…" he murmured, and without another word, he stood and turned, rushing back into the manor.
---
Meanwhile, in the sanctum beneath the ruins of the Old Council chambers, Marlik sat on his obsidian throne, deep in the belly of the earth. Candles flickered on their own, forming a constellation of shadows across the cracked walls.
A loyal servant knelt before him, a wraith-like creature formed from broken spirits and binding blood.
"My lord," it hissed. "The boy grows aware."
Marlik smiled, his eyes glowing with sick delight as he stared at the enchanted mirror hovering in midair—its surface filled with Caelum's image.
"That's the beauty of him," he said, voice like a velvet blade. "So much potential… so many voices in his blood."
He stood, pacing slowly. His long cloak trailed behind like smoke.
"He feels me. And he should. That's part of the plan. Let him wonder. Let his parents scramble. They've prepared for battles of might and blood, but this…"
He turned toward the mirror, eyes wild.
"This is a battle of souls."
With a flick of his hand, the mirror vanished in a wisp of black smoke.
"Soon," he whispered, grinning. "Soon, I will be reborn… in a vessel worthy of the gods themselves."
---
Back at Ravenshade, Caelum rushed into the war chamber where Carlos had just risen from rest. Seraphine and Alaric were nowhere in sight yet.
Carlos turned instantly, noticing Caelum's flushed expression. "What is it?"
"I felt him," Caelum said breathlessly. "Marlik. He's watching. I don't know how, but I could… hear something. Like a whisper trying to get into my head."
Carlos's face darkened. "He's testing the boundaries."
Just then, Alaric entered—his face quickly shifting from soft to serious the moment he saw Caelum's tension.
"I'll reinforce the mental shields," Alaric said, moving to them. "If he's reaching out through soul magic, we need to act now."
Seraphine appeared moments later, her robe hastily wrapped, her expression already sharp.
"Marlik won't wait for our permission to strike," she said. "He's trying to provoke us."
Caelum, eyes still wide, asked the one question none of them had said aloud yet.
"What if he doesn't want to kill me?"
The room fell silent.
Alaric's jaw clenched.
"He doesn't," Seraphine finally answered. "He wants to be you."