It was a clear summer night under a cloudless sky. The air was still and warm with the scent of earth and wildflowers. It was the kind of night where the heavens felt endless and alive. Through the open window, a red wandering star streaked across the vast expanse of sky, leaving behind a faint glowing trail that seemed to pulse with otherworldly energy. The stars above glittered like scattered jewels, their cold light casting long shadows in the quiet, dimly lit chamber.

​

Inside, the room was thick with tension, every corner heavy with unspoken words. The flickering light of a single candle cast soft, wavering shadows across the walls, its flame dancing in rhythm with the uneasy atmosphere. The women gathered around the bed, their faces a silent orchestra of shock, disgust, pity, sadness, fear, and disappointment, each emotion more pronounced than the last. The heavy scent of incense danced through the air, trying—but failing—to mask the rawness in the room. Somewhere in the distance, footsteps echoed down the stone corridor, each one growing louder until the door swung open.

 

The Great Mother entered with a rush of wind. Tall and regal, draped in black and indigo robes that rustled like tall grass in the breeze, she stood like a statue, her sharp brown eyes seemingly absorbing all the information in the room at once. Her gaze fell upon the small child cradled in the woman’s shaking arms, and in that fleeting moment, the gravity of the situation seemed to settle on her like a thick blanket. With a single glance, she absorbed everything—the woman’s fear, her guilt, her every lingering doubt, and her hope. Then, slowly, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

​

When she opened them, her voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Was this worth it?" she demanded, her eyes boring into the woman on the bed. "You had a duty. A path. You were the beginning of something far greater than the world could ever imagine. But instead, you cursed us all because of your own vanity."

 

The woman on the bed recoiled at the accusation and her eyes began to shimmer. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she started, “I—” 

 

The Great Mother didn’t let her finish. "You were entrusted with a future, Reyna. A future that now teeters on the edge of ruin. And yet, you squandered it all. For what? A fleeting moment of lust? For a romance that was never going to last?"

The woman on the bed blinked rapidly as tears began to roll down her cheeks. “Leyza, I’m so sorry. I was careless. I—”

 

Great Mother Leyza’s tone brooked no dissent as she interrupted the woman on the bed once again. “This is bigger than you, Reyna,” she said, her gaze narrowing. “You have brought shame upon yourself, danger upon our people, and have altered the future in ways we can no longer control. This could ruin us.”

 

“My dear,” the Great Mother sighed, almost sorrowfully, “you are to become a queen. Your choices must be more careful. Calculated, even.” She paused, letting the gravity of the words sink in before continuing. “Your actions can no longer be the reckless whims of a little girl born in summer. Lest you want your family destroyed. If you cannot learn this, if you cannot master this responsibility, you will be the next to fall—just like the rest before you.”

 

By this point, the woman on the bed was crying and her body shook as the tears flowed freely from her eyes. 

 

With a sigh, heavy with both disappointment and resignation, the Great Mother stepped forward and sat beside her. She reached out, her fingers light and careful as they brushed away the tears that ran down the woman's face.

 

"There is still hope, my child," she said, wiping away the last of the woman’s tears from her face. "But it will require strength and sacrifice beyond measure. Can you promise me that you’ll be strong enough to fix this?"

 

The woman looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with anguish. 

 

"Yes," she whispered, her whisper barely carrying through the small chamber. "I will do whatever it takes to make this right."

The Great Mother nodded, a brief and thoughtful look crossing her face before she stood once more. "Then we must act swiftly."

 

Her eyes flicked to the child, sleeping softly in its mother’s arms, its tiny chest rising and falling in tune with her own. The Great Mother’s expression tightened, her lips pressing into a grim line. She turned to one of the sisters standing nearby, her voice dropping into a hurried, hushed exchange. "No one can know about this child," she declared, turning back to the woman on the bed. "By the gods, if he is who we fear he might be, our fates may already be sealed. Gods be good, he must not be the one spoken of in the prophecies."

 

The woman on the bed gasped, clutching the child tighter against her chest. Her eyes widened as tears began to well up once more. "You don't mean..." she began, the words catching in her throat.

 

"Yes," the Great Mother replied with a sigh. "We planned for Tyrius, but if our mapping is correct, then all the bloodlines of the great houses have finally intertwined with this union. And if the prophecies hold true..." She paused, her words hanging in the air like the toll of a funeral bell. "This child is both a blessing and a curse—a harbinger of change that we may not survive."

 

The woman’s tears spilled over once again. Her voice broke as she asked, "I’m worried, Great Mother Leyza. How can I protect him?"

​

The Great Mother exhaled sharply, her composure cracking ever so slightly as she paced the room. "If he is who we believe he may be, he has the potential to be more powerful than his father. And if that’s the case, he must be brought up at the Citadel where he can be studied and mentored effectively."

​

The Great Mother took a seat next to the woman on the bed, wiping away some stray tears that had fallen onto her arms. "We’ll be okay, my daughter. If the gods are kind, you will bear a child with your husband, one who will fulfill the conditions of the prophecy in a few years’ time. Life will continue as it has and no one will be any the wiser to the events which transpired here. Until that day comes, this child must remain hidden, a secret known only to us."

Her voice then dropped to a whisper. "Pray the gods have mercy, for if the wrong hands uncover this truth, it will not just be your family that falls—it will be all of us."

 

The woman in the bed looked down at her sleeping child, his innocent face a stark contrast to the gravity of the situation at hand. Silent tears trickled down her cheeks, each one falling onto her arms like a gentle rain.

 

"Now is no time for tears, my dear," the Great Mother interjected. "We need to get you to the East Tower river. There's a ship leaving for Theralus at dawn. Your uncle may have a use for the boy and make him into a great knight like his father. And if the gods are good, he might even be willing to adopt him as his own. When the time is right and he is ready, we shall bring him into our care. Come, we must get you ready to leave. Give me the child."

 

The woman's stomach tightened, and before she could stop herself, she heard herself speak. "No. I…I want to be with him. At least for tonight. I need to make sure that wherever he's going, he'll be okay."

 

The Great Mother looked at the woman closely as if studying her features, and then sighed, a weary resignation settling over her face. She reached out, gently caressing the woman's hair in a gesture of silent understanding. "Why must you be so willful?" she murmured, "this is how this entire mess started..."

 

But despite her reservations, the Great Mother knew that she could not dissuade the woman from her chosen path. With a nod to Lysandra, she issued her final instructions.

 

"Help clean Reyna up," she instructed. "We'll clear the city as much as possible to give you time to get to the stables. After that, we’ll instruct the guards to prepare your ship for Theralus. But we can’t come with you. Not at this time. If you insist on doing this, you must be careful and do this alone."

 

The woman gave a silent nod, wincing as some of the sisters gently lifted her and the child from the bed and led them to the bathing chamber. As warm water cascaded over her skin, washing away the traces of blood and sweat, the woman closed her eyes, seeking solace in the brief respite from the chaos that surrounded them. Beside her, her son cooed softly, his innocence a balm to her weary mind.

 

When the bath was complete, the sisters carefully dressed her in two layers of clothing, each garment a carefully chosen disguise to conceal her identity. While within the confines of the castle walls, she would don the regal attire befitting her status, a shield against suspicion as they navigated past the watchful eyes of the royal guard. But once she had made her way down to the secret chamber hidden deep within the bowels of the castle she would shed her outer layers of clothing revealing the humble and nondescript garments beneath. It was a calculated risk, a necessary sacrifice to evade detection as they ventured out into the war-torn streets beyond. 

 

After carefully making her way through the castle, she eventually found herself in the Great Mother’s chambers. Quickly closing the door behind her, she and three of the sisters moved aside a bookcase revealing a secret passage to the outside world. 

 

With her baby cradled in her arms, Reyna stepped into the corridor, her heart pounding in her chest. The moment she decided to take this next step, her life would change forever. With shaking hands, she took a breath and pushed aside the tapestry, revealing the hidden passageway deep into the heart of the castle. 

 

The air was thick with the scent of mildew and mold as she descended the spiral staircase, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls. As she wound her way through a labyrinth of tunnels, her senses were overwhelmed by the musty smell of damp earth and the distant sound of her echoing footsteps. And after what felt like hours, she emerged into an alleyway bathed in the soft glow of a lit tavern, the sounds of the city coming to life around her.

 

She hastily shed her royal garments, her regal disguise disappearing with them. The once-familiar streets of her beloved city were now a battleground, echoing with the clamor of conflict and the acrid scent of burning buildings. Men clashed in the streets, their shouts of rage and steel blending with the crackle of flames licking at the ancient stone structures. The cobblestone walkways, once polished to a gleaming sheen, were now slick with the blood of the fallen, turning the city into a grim tableau of death and destruction.

 

This was the legacy of the late king’s final, damning decision.