Queen Elyria sat upon a low divan draped in twilight-colored velvet. Her robe was woven from threads of deep violet and starlight silver, trimmed with embroidery that shimmered when it caught the flickering lamplight. Her hair was unbound, cascading in moon-pale waves over her shoulders. A crystal pendant hung against her collarbone, the sigil within it softly pulsing.
“Come, child,” she said, voice smooth as falling dusk. “You’ve walked through shadow and flame already. One more step will not break you.”
Thaelyn’s throat tightened. The Queen’s presence always made her feel both seen and exposed. She crossed the room with quiet steps and stood before the Seer.
“Your Majesty,” she whispered, lowering her gaze.
“Elyria, when it’s just us,” the Queen corrected gently. “Titles are heavy things. And you already carry too much.”
Thaelyn met her eyes then, silver shot with a glow that did not belong to mortal blood. Eyes that saw more than sight should allow.
“Thorne said we should speak with you before we leave. He said you would help prepare us.”
“I will,” Elyria murmured. “But there is more than strategy to discuss. Sit with me.”
A silent pulse passed through the chamber. The lanterns dimmed, the shadows leaned closer. Thaelyn lowered herself onto the cushioned stool opposite the Queen, and the silence between them was filled with the sound of ancient breath. Nyxariel stirred in the back of her mind, a low vibration of awareness, but she remained quiet.
“I’ve watched the sky for many years,” Elyria said, folding her hands in her lap. “Tracked storms not born of weather, but of fate. And in all that time, I feared one sign above all others.”
She turned her gaze to the sealed ceiling above them, its polished surface reflecting starfire etched in Aether runes.
“The twin crimson moons,” Elyria murmured. “The same alignment under which Thorne was born.”
Thaelyn frowned, unsure. “You mean it’s connected to him?”
Elyria nodded. “He was born under a rare convergence. A celestial storm, both moons crimson and full, a sign the ancient seers called ‘The Twin Blood Womb.’ It is a harbinger of change and danger. And you, child, ” her gaze settled heavily upon Thaelyn, “you are the storm it called forth.”
The words fell into the silence like stones into still water.
“I know what I am,” Thaelyn said softly. “I know Aether runs in my blood.”
Elyria nodded. “More than that. You are legacy. The dragon that chose you, Nyxariel, was once the bonded soul of your ancestor. Their bond, broken in the Sundering, echoes through you now.”
“And Vornokh?” Thaelyn’s voice wavered.
“The Prime Bond has begun to awaken,” the Queen said. “That is why you and Thorne are drawn together so strongly.It is not a mere chance. It is not romance or love. It is destiny, and it will be your greatest strength or your doom.”
Thaelyn sat back, breath short.
The Queen closed her eyes briefly, as if deciding how much to say. When she opened them, they glowed brighter, and her voice dropped lower, near reverent.
“I will speak now of the part of the prophecy I may share. The rest will come in time, if you survive to hear it.”
She held out a hand, palm upward, and from her fingers a thread of silver mist spun outward, shaping into words, ancient script hovering in the air between them.
Then she spoke, not with the voice of a queen, but of a vessel.
When the Aether stirs from slumber deep,
And stormlight walks where silence sleeps,
The last heir born of shattered skies
Shall rouse the flame where darkness lies.
From mirrored wings and dragon's cry,
The bond once broken dares to try.
