Chapter 1: The Vision That Dooms

The room smelled of burning sage and ancient vellum, a sharp contrast to the icy stone walls that encased Serenya Astrel like a tomb. She knelt in the chamber’s center, a gilded mirror before her. Its surface rippled like water caught in moonlight, pulsing faintly as though alive.

Her lips moved in a whisper, the incantation flowing effortlessly despite the trembling in her fingers. She pressed her hands flat against the mirror’s cold surface, her emerald eyes narrowing in concentration.

“Speak to me,” Serenya commanded, her voice laced with both resolve and fear. “Show me what lies ahead.”

The response was immediate. The air thickened, pressing against her chest as though unseen hands were squeezing the life from her lungs. Candles flickered and died, and the room fell into a suffocating darkness, the only light radiating from the mirror itself.

Then came the images.

A city engulfed in flames. Shadows devouring the horizon. Towering figures cloaked in swirling smoke with hollow, merciless eyes. And in the center of it all, a monstrous silhouette—a being of pure malice, its gaze searing through the vision to meet hers.

Its voice was like shattering glass.

"The Heart will shatter. The Seer will fall. And the age of darkness will reign."

The vision shifted. Serenya stood at the edge of a battlefield drenched in blood. Cries of despair echoed as twisted forms—shadowbeasts, their limbs jagged and grotesque—slaughtered soldiers without mercy.

Then she saw herself: pale, lifeless, sprawled across the mud. The glow of her gift had left her body, her blood pooling beneath her. A crown of thorns lay shattered beside her head.

The mirror erupted in a blinding flash, and Serenya was flung backward. Pain lanced through her head as she struck the stone floor. She lay there, gasping for air, her vision swimming. Her pulse pounded in her ears as the enormity of what she had seen settled in her chest like a boulder.

She was going to die.

Not someday, but soon.

Footsteps echoed beyond the heavy door at the room’s far end. A cold voice cut through the silence.

“Open the chamber.”

Serenya forced herself upright, brushing her raven-black hair from her face. The mirrored surface before her had returned to its lifeless state, its secrets hidden. The gilded door creaked open, revealing two figures clad in ceremonial robes.

Councilor Merovin entered first, his towering frame and hawk-like features casting an intimidating shadow across the chamber. Behind him was Lyrid, his younger acolyte, pale and gaunt with sunken eyes that seemed to drink in every detail of the room.

“You’ve seen something,” Merovin said, his voice like gravel grinding against stone. He strode forward, his eyes scanning her face, her posture.

Serenya’s hands instinctively dropped to her lap, concealing the dark veins creeping along her forearm. “The mirror was unclear,” she lied, her voice hoarse.

“Lying does not suit you, Serenya,” Merovin replied, circling her like a vulture. “Visions this powerful do not come without consequence. Look at you. You’re paler than usual, trembling like a leaf in a storm.”

Lyrid remained silent, his gaze flicking between Serenya and the mirror.

“What did you see?” Merovin pressed.

She hesitated, her instincts screaming to deflect, to obfuscate. “I saw only fragments,” she finally said, carefully measuring her words. “Shadows. A city in chaos. Nothing concrete.”

Merovin’s nostrils flared. “Nothing concrete? The kingdom teeters on the brink of annihilation, and you give us riddles?”

“You know how visions work,” Serenya shot back, her tone sharper than intended. “They’re not guarantees—they’re warnings. Possibilities.”

Merovin’s lips curled into a sneer. “Your next summoning will be tomorrow at dawn. You will use every ounce of your power if necessary. Valtressa cannot afford your hesitation.”

With that, he turned sharply, his robes sweeping across the stone floor. Lyrid hesitated before following, casting Serenya a glance that lingered a second too long.

The door slammed shut, leaving her alone once more.

Serenya sat in silence, her fingers tracing the cold stone beneath her. Her body ached, and the toll of the vision was unmistakable. The veins along her wrist had darkened further, a cruel reminder of the price she paid each time she called upon her gift.

Her mind replayed the prophecy: the rise of darkness, the shattering of the Heart, her death. The pieces aligned too perfectly to ignore.

If she stayed in this tower, chained to the Council’s will, the prophecy would come to pass.

Her emerald eyes drifted to the high, arched window at the room’s far end. Beyond its iron bars lay the city of Valtressa, a sprawling labyrinth of cobblestone streets and towering spires. Beyond that, the unknown. Freedom.

Her hand clenched into a fist.

She could not remain here.

Later that night, Serenya paced her chamber, her mind racing. The Council would never let her leave willingly. To them, she was an asset, nothing more. Her powers were their shield, their tool, and they would see her broken before they allowed her to stray beyond their control.

Her gaze shifted to the desk near the window. The ceremonial robes she had worn for years sat folded neatly atop it, their pristine white a mockery of the life she had lived. Next to them was a plain leather satchel she had stashed years ago—her only preparation for a moment like this.

She pulled the satchel open and hastily stuffed it with essentials: a small knife, dried provisions, and a silver pendant engraved with a symbol of protection. Her hands lingered over the pendant. It had been her mother’s, one of the few memories she had left of her family.

A soft knock at her chamber door froze her in place.

“Serenya?” a voice called. Lyrid.

Her pulse quickened. She slid the satchel beneath her bed and stepped toward the door, schooling her expression into one of calm.

“What is it?” she asked as she opened the door just enough to see his face.

Lyrid hesitated, his pale features half-hidden in the dim light of the corridor. “The Councilor asked me to ensure you were… prepared for tomorrow.”

“I’m fine,” Serenya replied curtly.

His gaze lingered, and for a moment, she thought he might press further. Then he nodded. “Goodnight, Oracle.”

The door clicked shut, and Serenya exhaled slowly.

She couldn’t wait any longer.

The night air was cold and biting as Serenya scaled the tower’s outer wall, her fingers gripping the cracks in the ancient stone. Below her, the city sprawled in a patchwork of moonlit streets and flickering lanterns.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she reached the ground. She slipped into the shadows, her satchel slung tightly across her shoulder. Every step away from the tower felt like a defiance of fate itself.

She didn’t look back.

The vision had shown her the end, but Serenya was determined to carve a new path.

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