The palace grounds stretched endlessly before me, a dark maze of manicured hedges, marble statues, and winding paths hidden under the canopy of ancient trees. Moonlight spilled between the branches, casting jagged shadows that stretched like claws across the earth. I stayed close to the walls, moving through the underbrush with all the caution I could muster. Every nerve in my body was taut with tension. I needed to get to the palace library without being seen. Whatever the nobles were whispering about, whatever fears they had regarding a "Watcher born of two flames," I needed to know more.
The library, as I'd learned, was more than a place of learning. It was a repository of the kingdom's secrets, its walls lined with ancient tomes and forbidden texts—knowledge too dangerous for the common people, or even for most of the palace's residents. Located at the heart of the palace grounds, it was heavily guarded, especially at night. Yet, it was my only hope of finding the answers I sought. Answers about my past. About the prophecy. About the ancient darkness.
I crept deeper into the garden, moving quickly and quietly. The shadows clung to me like a protective shroud, guiding me along hidden paths between towering hedges and beneath the low-hanging branches of twisted trees. Every rustle of leaves or crack of a twig beneath my boots made my heart jump, my senses on high alert for the slightest hint of movement. I couldn't afford a single mistake. Not now.
As I neared the eastern side of the palace, the high windows of the library towered above me, their frames illuminated by the flickering glow of oil lamps within. Their light was faint, casting only the gentlest of glows on the stone walls outside. A lone guard stood at the main entrance, his figure rigid, his eyes scanning the grounds for any sign of intrusion. I shrank back into the shadows, watching him closely. I needed to find another way in.
There—a window on the second floor, partially obscured by the branches of a large oak tree. I would have to climb to reach it. I took a deep breath, glancing around one last time to make sure the guard's attention was elsewhere. Then I darted forward, slipping across the open space and reaching the base of the tree. My fingers dug into the rough bark as I began to climb, my feet finding holds among the knots and branches. The tree swayed under my weight, its limbs creaking, but I moved swiftly, fueled by determination.
I reached the window ledge and peered inside. The room was dim, lined with towering shelves filled with old tomes and scrolls. The air seemed to hum with an ancient energy, as if the very walls held memories of those who had walked these halls long ago. I could hear the distant echo of footsteps from somewhere deeper within the library—patrolling guards, no doubt. I would have to be quick.
Taking a deep breath, I eased the window open and slipped inside, landing softly on the marble floor. The cold seeped through the soles of my boots, sending a shiver up my spine.
The library was silent, save for the faint rustle of pages turning in some far corner, perhaps carried by the wind, or perhaps by something else. I wasn't alone here, not entirely.
The smell of old parchment and dust filled the air, a heady mix that seemed to cling to my lungs. I moved deeper into the library, my eyes scanning the rows upon rows of books. I needed to find the section on prophecies, on Watchers, on anything that might explain the meaning of the "two flames." My fingers brushed over the spines of countless volumes, feeling the worn leather and the raised lettering, but none seemed to hold the answers I sought.
Finally, I came upon a section marked with the symbols of the old gods—strange, intricate carvings that glinted faintly in the dim light. My breath hitched as I reached for a heavy, leather-bound volume. Its cover was etched with a symbol that sent a chill through me: a flame crossed by a sword. My mother had spoken of this symbol when I was young, saying it was the mark of the first Watchers. I felt the weight of it in my hands, the significance of what I might be holding.
I opened the book, carefully turning the brittle, yellowed pages. My eyes scanned the ancient text, and then I found it:
*"The Watcher born of two flames shall herald a time of great change—either the salvation of the kingdom or its destruction."*
My pulse quickened. The prophecy was real. It spoke of a female Watcher, one born not from the male line but from two powerful legacies. A Watcher born of two flames. The words echoed in my mind like a tolling bell. Salvation or destruction. The weight of it settled on me like a stone, and I couldn't help but wonder if my existence was a harbinger of doom.
The text continued, describing a time when the ancient darkness, a malevolent force tied to the deepest fears and regrets of humanity, would rise again, stronger than ever. This darkness, known as **Mal'karath**, was not merely a shadow or an absence of light—it was a living force, a being that fed on despair and chaos. It thrived in the hidden corners of the human soul, in the guilt that festered unspoken and the grief that never healed. It had been defeated once before, long ago, but it could never be destroyed completely. As long as humanity existed, so too would Mal'karath.
The text told the tale of a great Watcher named **Aranor**, the mightiest of his kind. Aranor had faced Mal'karath in battle, knowing that victory would not come through sword or spell, but through sacrifice. Realizing that the darkness could not be slain, only contained, he had chosen to bind his essence to the male line of Watchers, creating a lineage that would always stand guard against it. This was the origin of the belief that only male Watchers could wield the power needed to hold back the darkness—a belief that had persisted for centuries, unchallenged and unbroken.
But the binding was flawed. The text hinted at a weakness, a vulnerability that no one had foreseen. Over time, the strength of the binding could wane, especially in a kingdom divided, where doubt and fear spread like wildfire. The darkness would sense these cracks in the armor of the realm, growing bolder, more aggressive. When the binding weakened, a new kind of Watcher would be needed—one born outside the traditional line, one with the potential to either restore the balance or to open the door for Mal'karath to consume everything.
My breath caught in my throat as I read these words. It all made sense now—the current Watcher's growing weakness, the unrest in the city, the whispers of fear that seemed to cling to every street corner. The prophecy wasn't just a story; it was a warning. And if it was true, then I—an anomaly, a female Watcher born of two legacies—could be the kingdom's last hope… or its downfall.
The air in the library grew colder, and I could feel the weight of the ancient texts pressing down on me, the whispers of long-dead scholars brushing against my ears. I needed to leave, to get back to Hei Hei, to a place where I could process everything I had learned. I carefully slid the book back into place, my thoughts still spinning with the implications of what I had read.
I turned to leave, but a soft creak of a floorboard behind me sent a jolt of fear through my body. I froze, every muscle tense, my hand drifting to the hilt of my sword. Someone was there, watching. Slowly, I turned, my eyes scanning the shadows just beyond the reach of the dim lamplight.
A figure emerged from the darkness—a tall, hooded figure whose face was obscured by the shadows, their presence almost ethereal, as if they were a part of the library itself. "You tread on dangerous ground, child of two flames," the figure said, their voice low and resonant, almost like a growl that reverberated through the silent halls. "Do you seek to fulfill the prophecy, or to rewrite it?"
I narrowed my eyes, trying to see beneath the hood, to glimpse their face. "I'm here for the truth," I replied, my voice steady despite the thundering of my heart. "About my birth. About this prophecy. And how to save this kingdom."
The figure stepped closer, the dim light catching the edge of a sharp, knowing smile. "The truth is not so simple, nor is it kind," they said. "The darkness is not what it seems, and neither is the light. Be careful which path you choose to walk, Watcher."
I took a step back, my grip tightening on my sword. "Who are you?" I demanded. "How do you know about me?"
"An observer," the figure replied, their tone almost amused. "One who has watched the dance of light and shadow for many ages. I know that your path is one that will shake the foundations of this kingdom. But know this: some truths are better left buried."
Their words sent a chill through me, colder than the stone beneath my feet. There was a depth in their voice that spoke of long-forgotten knowledge, of secrets that should never see the light of day. I wanted to press them for more, to demand answers, but something in their presence warned me against it.
Before I could gather my thoughts, the figure seemed to melt back into the shadows, vanishing as if they had never been there at all. I stood still, my breath shallow, my heart still hammering in my chest. Whoever they were, they knew more than they were letting on—more than perhaps anyone alive. And they were right about one thing: my path would change everything. But whether it would be for better or worse remained uncertain.