Opheliana Nightshade stood before the grand, antique mirror in her candlelit bedroom, her fingers delicately adjusting the deep crimson velvet choker that encircled her neck. It was the evening of her eighteenth name-day — a night that should have brimmed with excitement, yet she felt a curious blend of restlessness and apprehension.

“Opheliana, dear, you look absolutely stunning!” Mrs. Black called cheerfully as she entered the room, her presence as familiar and comforting as ever.

“Thank you, Mrs. Black,” Opheliana said with a faint smile. “But must I wear this old-fashioned gown?” She tugged uncomfortably at the corseted silk dress, its elegance undeniable, though far from her style.

Mrs. Black’s eyes darkened momentarily, a flicker of emotion passing like a cloud over the moon. “Your father would have wanted tradition honored tonight,” she replied gently. “Now, let me help with your hair.”

Opheliana’s breath caught. Her father — a name more often whispered than spoken. She had only fragments of memories: laughter echoing in a distant hall, the scent of woodsmoke and leather, the hush that followed whenever she asked too many questions. He had died in a mysterious accident when she was very young, leaving Mrs. Black, ever faithful, to raise her.

As Mrs. Black deftly pinned her dark curls into an intricate arrangement, Opheliana ventured softly, “Do you think he would be proud of me?”

Mrs. Black froze for just a second, her eyes locking with Opheliana’s in the mirror. “Very proud, my dear,” she said with careful sincerity. “Though he might worry about your… newfound interests.”

Opheliana met her gaze with quiet defiance. “My interests in magic, you mean?”

A barely perceptible nod was the only answer, followed by silence as the final hairpin was set.

The manor downstairs was alive with music and the murmur of elegantly dressed guests. Laughter drifted through the candlelit halls as servants passed trays of spiced wine and sugared fruit. Yet all the festivity seemed to fade into the background the moment she stepped onto the staircase and saw him.

Kael Shadowsley — a name she had heard only in passing, attached to a distant branch of the family tree. He stood alone near the fireplace, cloaked in black and shadow, his pale eyes watching her with unsettling intensity.

As Opheliana descended, the din of the party seemed to quiet, her heartbeat echoing louder in her ears. When she reached the floor, Kael approached with feline grace, offering a slight bow.

“Happy name-day, Opheliana Nightshade,” he said, his voice a smooth, hypnotic murmur. “We’ve never been properly introduced… though I feel as though I’ve known you forever.”

Her breath caught again — this time not from grief or nerves, but something deeper. Curiosity. Recognition. Danger.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, her voice steady despite the chills trailing down her spine.

Kael merely smiled, enigmatic and knowing. “Perhaps tonight, you’ll begin to remember.”

And in that moment, Opheliana realized: this night held more than tradition. It held secrets — and perhaps, the key to her past.

Thirteen years prior to Opheliana’s eighteenth name-day, thunder rolled across the moors like the growl of some slumbering beast. The ancient Shadowley mansion loomed atop the cliffside, its turrets swallowed by fog and ivy. Inside, shadows danced in the flickering candlelight of the great hall, where time seemed to stand still.

Lyra Shadowley stood on the cold stone floor, her cloak soaked from the storm. Rain dripped from her hair and the hem of her dress, but she paid no mind. Her hands clutched her swollen belly, her eyes wide with desperation as she faced the only family she had left—her brother, Malakai.

"Malakai, please—spare our unborn child from the curse!" she pleaded, voice cracking.

Across the room, Malakai stood at the foot of their ancestral throne, shrouded in velvet and cobwebs. Once a warm and laughing boy, he was now cloaked in darkness, his eyes glowing faintly with an unnatural hue—tainted by Erebus, the ancient force their family had long served and feared.

"Spare it?" Malakai echoed, voice low and resonant. "Erebus’s power demands an innocent Shadowley soul every generation. Without the offering, our bloodline withers. You know this."

Lyra stepped closer, defiant despite her trembling limbs. "Kael’s father broke it—don’t you remember? Through twin birth. It’s possible to sever the curse!"

At the mention of Kael, Malakai’s expression twitched. He turned slightly, as if the name had conjured old ghosts. His voice dropped to a murmur, almost curious. "Twin birth, you say... It was said to be a fluke. A myth. But..."

He stepped toward her, placing one cold hand on her belly. Lyra flinched, but did not pull away. A strange stillness filled the room—then, Malakai's eyes widened ever so slightly.

"I sense it. Two hearts. You carry twins."

A flicker of hope lit Lyra’s face.

"If they bond—truly bond—they may resist the call of Erebus," Malakai said, though his tone carried no reassurance. "They could purify the Shadowley name. But..."

He turned away, voice bitter. "If they turn on each other—if even one gives in—the darkness will not only return, it will flourish."

The unborn children stirred within Lyra, their energy suddenly vivid, like flickers of starlight beneath her skin. Her heart pounded.

"What must I do?" she whispered.

"Separate them at birth," Malakai said, his voice now a command. "One shall be raised in light, the other in darkness. Only through contrast will their true natures emerge. Their choices will decide the fate of the Shadowleys—and perhaps the world."

Lyra swallowed her sorrow and nodded slowly, unaware of the shadows that slithered behind Malakai’s eyes.

As she turned to leave, her brother stood silent in the gloom, the weight of prophecy hanging heavy between them. But deep inside, Malakai had already chosen his path. He would take one child—mold them in the ways of Erebus. He would ensure the prophecy bent to his will.

The twins would be born—one of light, one of shadow.

 And war, Malakai believed, would be inevitable.

Opheliana Nightshade’s heart still raced from the weight of Kael Shadowsley’s gaze. His eyes, dark as storm clouds and just as unreadable, had lingered on her for too long to be casual. His voice, velvet and shadow, echoed in her memory.

“I’ve known you forever…”

She’d repeated those words to herself more than once that evening, their strangeness stirring something deep and unsettled within her. How could he say such a thing when they had only just met? Or had they?

The grand ballroom of Evermere Hall sparkled around them—candles in crystal chandeliers, music winding through air heavy with roses and secrets. Guests swirled in silks and velvets, laughter masking the undercurrents of tension Opheliana was just beginning to notice. Kael mingled easily, drawing attention, yet his eyes never stayed far from her. Every glance, every smile, made her breath catch, as if he knew her better than she knew herself.

By midnight, the warmth and noise had grown stifling. Opheliana slipped into the moonlit garden, where cool air kissed her flushed skin. The ancient hedges whispered with wind, and the scent of night jasmine lingered. She hadn’t expected to see Kael follow—but somehow, she wasn’t surprised.

"Opheliana," he said, voice low and close, "may I ask—do you ever feel like something's missing? A part of you... hidden, even from yourself?"

She turned sharply, startled by the precision of his words. "Yes," she whispered. "Always. Like there’s a door in my mind, locked tight. And I’ve never known why."

His gaze sharpened, fierce and aching. “I think I might have the key.”

His gaze sharpened, fierce and aching. “I think I might have the key.”

Before she could speak, the sound of a voice—Mrs. Black, ever watchful—called from the doorway, breaking the spell.

“Opheliana, dear, your guests await!”

She glanced back at Kael, her breath quick. As they walked together toward the house, she dared to whisper, “What do you mean—the key?”

His lips brushed close to her ear. “Meet me at the old windmill, on the outskirts of the estate. Midnight tomorrow. Come alone.”

Her heart thundered. She didn’t speak, just nodded slightly, though doubt and longing tangled inside her.

As they reentered the ballroom, Lyra Shadowsley stood near the fireplace, eyes cold and sharp as flint. Her gaze tracked her son and Opheliana with unsettling focus.

She leaned closer to Mrs. Black, her voice low. “Do you think she suspects anything?"

Mrs. Black’s lips barely moved. “Not yet, Lyra. But Kael’s return complicates everything…”

In that moment, something ancient and buried stirred beneath the surface of Evermere Hall. Opheliana felt it—a tremor in her soul, as if Kael’s presence had unlocked the beginning of something long forgotten. Or perhaps something never meant to be remembered.

And somewhere beyond the hedges and candlelight, the windmill waited.

Ps: enjoy reading, I hope you like it. Thankyouuu<333.mwapsss! Hmmmm.m