The moonlight poured gently into the stone chamber of Ravenshade Manor, washing the room in silver. Lysandra stood by the mirror, her reflection still unfamiliar—no longer just the woman she once was, but something far older and stronger. Selene, the first daughter of Vellaria, had returned.
Her palm rested lightly over her abdomen. The heartbeat within was faint but steady, thudding with a rhythm that was entirely new—yet deeply ancient. A miracle, born from a love she could no longer claim, tied to a man she could no longer name.
> "No one must ever know."
The words echoed in her mind.
No one—especially not the child's father.
If the Council discovered who sired the child, they would come for it. And if the Landon Tree, the sacred bloodline beacon, sensed the connection… the child's life would be in danger before it even began.
Lysandra stepped toward her altar—humble and concealed beneath a veil. She drew the old runes into the air with her fingers, whispering forgotten incantations in the tongue of the Elders. Her voice shook, but her heart remained firm.
She had decided.
She would sever the link between her child and its sire.
The spell was forbidden—designed to break magical inheritance, to shroud the child in an aura of neutrality. It would seal any trace of the father's blood. The child would carry only hers. A silent future, hidden from fate, from prophecy, from peril.
The ingredients shimmered on the altar: a fragment of obsidian, crushed moonstone, her own blood mixed with elfroot, and a golden leaf from the Landon Tree itself—retrieved long ago in secret, against every rule.
As the final words passed her lips, the candle flames danced and hissed. A wind gathered in the room, invisible and cold, curling around her like a mourning shroud.
> "I cut the thread. I seal the line.
Let none trace this child's design.
No blood shall bind. No bond shall show.
Let life be born that none shall know."
Her womb flared with light—soft and golden—then dimmed. The severing was done.
She dropped to her knees, gripping the edge of her bed as exhaustion swept over her. Tears slipped from her eyes, not of sorrow, but of mourning. Not for the father. Not even for herself.
But for the truth she could never share.
This child would grow in safety, yes… but in silence.
---
A Soft Knock at the Door
Later, Carlos entered with a quiet knock and a tray in his hands.
> "I brought something warm," he said softly, setting it down. "You're looking better."
Lysandra nodded faintly, brushing her hair behind her ear.
> "Thank you."
He sat beside her, hesitant, then spoke with brotherly warmth.
> "You don't have to tell us who the father is. Not unless you want to. What matters is that you're not alone in this."
Her throat tightened.
> You are the only ones who truly feel like family, she wanted to say, but couldn't.
> "I'll stay here a little longer," she said instead. "Just until I'm strong enough to stand on my own again."
Carlos smiled gently.
> "As long as you need. You're safe here, little sister."
He reached out and hugged her. And in his arms, Lysandra allowed herself a brief moment of vulnerability. She buried her face in his shoulder, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
He didn't ask any more questions. He didn't need to.
---
Outside the Room
Alaric waited in the hall, arms crossed, watching the moon through the tall windows. When Carlos joined him, he only asked,
> "How is she?"
> "She's getting stronger," Carlos replied. "But something about her has changed. She's… different."
Alaric said nothing. He felt it too.
There was something powerful blooming within Lysandra—Selene. Something ancient. Something sacred.
And none of them yet knew just how much the future was already changing within her womb.
The city lights of the human realm flickered outside the glass-paneled window, casting long shadows across the luxurious apartment. The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, but Madeline sat upright on the velvet chaise, lips pressed together, waiting.
The key turned in the door.
Caveen entered, his expression unreadable, his aura as cold as the air trailing behind him. He didn't even look surprised to find her awake.
> "You're home," she said quietly.
He gave a faint nod, removing his coat and tossing it over the back of the chair.
> "I didn't expect you to wait up."
> "You never do," Madeline murmured, standing slowly. "Just like you never expect to talk to me… or touch me… or even look at me like I'm your wife."
Caveen froze at the edge of the room, his hands still in his pockets.
> "You knew what this marriage was when you agreed to it."
Her eyes burned.
> "I didn't agree to a life of pretending, Caveen. I agreed because I thought… maybe over time, you'd let me in. That maybe I could be something real to you."
He sighed and turned away.
> "Madeline—"
> "You don't come home. You live in your damned tower most nights like this marriage doesn't even exist. When you are here, you sleep in your study. You speak to me like a stranger." Her voice cracked. "Why did you marry me, Caveen? Was it duty? Pressure? Guilt?"
Silence.
Caveen walked toward the window, the city reflecting in his eyes.
> "It wasn't guilt."
> "Then what was it?"
He didn't answer immediately. His voice, when it came, was low.
> "It was the only path left… after I lost the one I truly wanted."
Madeline's heart clenched. She had always suspected… but hearing it—spoken so plainly—crushed her.
> "Lysandra," she whispered.
He didn't deny it.
> "You marked her once, didn't you?" she said bitterly. "I saw it in your eyes at the wedding. You weren't looking at me. You were scanning the crowd, hoping she wouldn't show."
Caveen's jaw tightened.
> "Madeline, I've tried. But I cannot force love where it doesn't exist."
> "You don't even try," she hissed. "You lock yourself away. You run to that damn tower like a ghost. You left me with nothing but a ring and a name."
Caveen turned to face her, eyes stormy.
> "Would you rather I lie to you? Touch you with a heart that belongs to someone else? Would that make you feel like a wife?"
Tears spilled down Madeline's cheeks.
> "No," she whispered. "But I would rather be unloved than unseen."
He looked away again.
> "I never asked to be your second choice," she said, trembling. "But I'm tired of waiting for a man who left his heart in another life. If this is all our marriage is going to be—cold halls and quiet rooms—then maybe we should stop pretending."
Caveen walked past her toward the hallway.
> "I'll be at Vile Tower tonight," he said quietly. "Don't wait up."
And just like that, he left again—leaving behind the echo of a marriage that was already falling apart.