eraphine's breath came slow and measured, though her pulse hammered beneath her skin. The robed figure's silver eyes remained locked onto her, unblinking, unwavering, as if waiting for something.
A test. A reaction. A sign.
"What do you mean, the first seal?" Her voice was steady, but inside, she was unraveling.
The figure's head tilted slightly. "The chains that bind the Harbinger were forged in blood and magic, locked by six seals across the world." His gaze flickered down to the mark on her wrist. "One of those seals is bound to you."
Seraphine's fingers clenched. "And if it breaks?"
Caius answered before the robed figure could. "Then the Harbinger will wake. And the world as we know it will burn."
The words settled like a stone in her chest.
She had expected danger. She had expected treachery and blood and war. But this—
She swallowed hard. "You're saying I am a key to this thing escaping?"
The figure was silent for a moment. Then, softly—"You are also the key to keeping it locked away."
A shiver traced down her spine.
Caius stepped forward, arms crossing over his chest. "The Inquisition has been searching for these seals for centuries, believing they could destroy the Harbinger before it wakes. But their methods are crude. If they break the seals wrong, they might hasten its return instead."
Seraphine exhaled sharply. "So either way, the world is at risk?"
The robed figure inclined his head. "Unless the last descendant of the Duskborne fulfills her purpose."
Her jaw tightened. "And what purpose is that?"
The figure lifted his hand, and the shadows around them trembled. The carvings along the ancient walls shimmered to life, pulsing with an eerie silver glow. Images played out before her—stories locked in stone, waiting to be remembered.
A woman, robed in fire, stood before a great chasm, arms outstretched. A serpent coiled around her, its fangs bared, as chains of light shot forth from her hands.
A prison. A sacrifice. A curse.
Seraphine's stomach twisted. She saw the next carving—saw the woman collapsing, her body fading into mist as the prison sealed shut.
And then she saw the last image.
A girl with silver eyes and a serpent's mark.
Her.
Seraphine stepped back, a cold sweat breaking over her skin. "No," she whispered.
The figure lowered his hand. "Your ancestors gave their lives to bind the Harbinger. That burden now falls to you."
---
The Burden of Blood
Seraphine wanted to scream. To deny it.
She had spent years fighting for her own survival, running from the Inquisition, from the ghosts of her past. She had dreamed of revenge, of reclaiming what had been taken from her.
But she had never dreamed of this.
She turned to Caius. "You knew, didn't you?"
He didn't look away. "I suspected."
A sharp, bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Of course you did."
The robed figure watched them silently.
Seraphine's mind spun. If the seal was truly tied to her, that meant she was being hunted for more than just her magic. If the Inquisition learned what she was, what she carried—
They would stop at nothing.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, steadying herself. Then, she looked at the figure. "Where is the first seal?"
A pause. Then—"You already stand upon it."
Her breath hitched.
Caius tensed. "You're saying Ashenhold itself is one of the six prisons?"
The figure nodded. "Beneath this ruin lies a gate. And it is weakening."
Seraphine's pulse thundered.
No wonder the air felt different here. No wonder the shadows seemed to breathe.
She glanced at the carvings again. Her fate had been etched in stone long before she was born.
But she had never been one to accept fate.
---
A Warning in the Dark
The ground rumbled.
Seraphine froze.
The torches lining the corridor flickered violently, their flames twisting into unnatural shapes. The shadows that had lingered at the edges of the chamber moved.
Not like mist.
Not like tricks of the light.
Like something alive.
Something waking.
Caius drew his sword in an instant. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."
The robed figure turned sharply, silver eyes flashing. "The first seal weakens faster than I feared."
Seraphine felt it before she saw it—the pulse of something ancient beneath her feet. The magic in the chamber surged, coiling like a thousand unseen serpents.
Then, from the depths of the darkness, came a sound.
A whisper.
No. Not one.
Many.
Seraphine's breath hitched as shapes began to emerge from the blackness—distorted figures, shifting, writhing, their forms barely human.
Caius stepped in front of her. "Shadowspewn."
The creatures moved unnaturally, their bodies flickering like dying flames. Their hollow eyes glowed a sickly silver, their mouths opening in unearthly moans.
The robed figure's voice was grim. "They are remnants. Fragments of the Harbinger's will. And they have come to feed."
One of the creatures lunged.
Caius moved fast—faster than any mortal should—his blade slicing through the air. The creature shrieked, its body dissipating into smoke. But more surged forward.
Seraphine's hands ignited with fire.
She didn't hesitate.
Flames roared from her fingertips, colliding with the advancing shadows. The creatures shrieked, writhing as the magic burned through them. But for every one that fell, more emerged from the darkness.
Caius cursed. "There's too many."
Seraphine grit her teeth. She could feel it—the pull of the magic, the way the chamber itself was reacting to her presence.
She had been drawn here for a reason.
This was a test.
A proving ground.
She lifted her hand. The mark on her wrist burned.
And then, as if answering her call—the seal awakened.
A blinding burst of light exploded from the stone beneath her feet. The air vibrated with energy, a force older than the Empire, older than the gods themselves.
The shadows recoiled, screeching in agony as the power of the seal surged through the chamber. The carvings on the walls flared, their magic reigniting after centuries of dormancy.
Seraphine gasped as visions flooded her mind—flashes of a time long past. The woman from the murals. The battle against the Harbinger. The sacrifice that had sealed it away.
And then—
A voice.
"Daughter of the serpent. Keeper of the first gate. Heed the call of the ancients."
The light expanded, swallowing everything.
And then—
Silence.