Rain tapped lightly against the old stone windows of House Velzorah. Inside, the air was thick with smoke. Lord Lucian Velzorah stood tall with his silver cloak dragging behind him as he wrapped it around his trembling wife.
"Daelya," he whispered, cupping her face, "you must go. Now."
She shook her head fiercely while resting her hand over her swollen belly. "I won’t leave you! We can still run together, far away. Let them believe whatever they want."
Lucian smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "They will hunt us both. But if they think you’re dead, you and the child will have a chance." He reached into a small iron chest and handed her a leather bag filled with golden coins. "It’s not much... but enough to keep you hidden."
"I don’t want gold," she said in a breaking voice. "I want you."
"I know." He pulled her close. "But I won’t let them take you. Or him." He placed a gentle hand on her stomach. "You carry my blood in you, Daelya. You carry our hope. You must be strong for him."
A sharp knock echoed through the hall, followed by the clank of metal boots. They were here.
Lucian’s face hardened. "Go. Now. Through the servant’s tunnel. Take no horse. Move quietly."
"Lucian..." she choked.
"I love you," he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Run, Daelya. Run and don’t look back."
Then, the doors of the Velzorah estate burst open.
"..."
Outside, soldiers of House Vanýr stormed into the courtyard, in black and bronze armour, with their swords drawn and torches blazing. Their leader, Lord Voryn Vanýr, rode ahead with his vicious eyes.
Lord Velzorah stepped outside with his cloak and calm face as if this were just another night.
"What is the meaning of this, Voryn?" he asked, though he already knew.
Voryn dismounted. "You’re said to be guilty of heresy, blood magic, and treason. By order of King Elyndor, House Velzorah is to be cleansed."
Lucian’s lips twitched. "I always knew you’d come for me. Just not like this." He took a breath. "But I will not die by your blade, Voryn. If the king wants fire... then fire he shall have."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and shouted to his servants: "Ignite the sanctum! Let our ashes speak louder than their lies!"
The servants who were loyal to the last breath rushed to obey. They knew there was no getting out of this. Flames rose swiftly. Screams followed. One by one, the towers of Velzorah lit up like torches in the night.
Smoke curled up into the sky. The house’s wood cracked, and the stone crumbled. The soldiers watched in stunned silence as House Velzorah burned from within, no battle, no bloodshed... Just fire.
The people of House Velzorah had burned themselves, starting from their Lord, Lucian Velzorah, who made all this sacrifice just so his pregnant wife could flee safely without chase.
"This is much easier than expected." Voryn Vanýr said to himself as he watched the Velzorians burn themselves alive in their homes
"..."
"..."
Far beyond the walls, in the cold forest, Daelya ran. Her boots were soaked, her cloak torn, and her hand never left her stomach. She clutched a small, glowing relic, an ancient sigil of House Velzorah, hidden under layers of her clothes.
Behind her, the night lit up orange. Flames went high above the treetops and screams echoed. Her husband’s voice... gone with them.
Daelya stopped just once and turned to look. Tears slid down her cheeks as she whispered, "Forgive me, Lucian. I’ll keep him safe. I swear it."
She turned and disappeared deeper into the woods, alone, afraid, and carrying the last of House Velzorah within her.
*****
5 HOURS AGO
The royal chamber was silent, too silent. In the center of the room stood a woman cloaked in black. Her eyes were covered in a thin veil, and her voice was bold. Nyssara, the last known prophet of the old temples, stood trembling before King Elyndor himself.
He watched her closely with a furrowed brow and gripped his hands on the arms of his throne. "You said you had something urgent, Nyssara. Speak."
Nyssara’s body convulsed, her breath catching in her throat. She held her head, murmuring in an old tongue. Her voice then rose in a harsh scream.
Her veil dropped. Her eyes were pitch-black. And then she spoke.
"A child... born beneath a bleeding sky.
A red comet shall pierce the heavens.
Born of dragon’s flame and ancient blood,
This child will rise in shadow and silence,
And bring an end to the Elyndor reign.
Velzorah’s seed shall bring the fall."
Silence.
King Elyndor sat frozen. "What did you just say?" His voice was low and dangerous.
Nyssara fell to her knees, clutching her chest, her voice weaker now. "My king... forgive me. I only speak what the flame shows. The child is not born yet... but soon."
Elyndor stood slowly. "Velzorah?"
He began to pace, deep in thought. House Velzorah had long been feared and respected. Ancient knowledge, whispers of dragon lore, and rumors of blood-magic ran through their name. But they had always been loyal. Lucian Velzorah had stood by him when the throne was shaky. When others had turned away.
Still... this prophecy.
It sounded too dangerous to ignore.
His mind raced. What if it were true?
What if a child of Velzorah really would rise to destroy everything?
He remembers that Lucian’s wife was pregnant and it was almost due. But he just couldn’t.
He turned to Nyssara. "Have you told anyone of this prophecy of yours?"
She bowed her head. "I serve only the truth."
He drew his sword.
"I serve the realm."
A single stroke... The blade flashed, and the prophecy died with her.
Or so he thought.
But the truth doesn’t die easily.
Hidden eyes watched. There were whispered voices. House Vanýr, always watching, always listening, had ears even in the palace.
By the time Nyssara’s blood had cooled, Lord Voryn Vanýr already knew.
"..."
Hours later, the great doors of the throne room flew open. King Elyndor looked up from his scrolls.
"Lord Vanýr?" he said, clearly surprised. "You came without an audience."
Voryn’s eyes blazed with fury, though his tone remained calm. "Forgive my entrance, my king. But I hear troubling things... things about prophecies and Velzorah."
Elyndor’s face turned to stone. "You heard wrong."
"No, I didn’t," Voryn said, stepping forward. "You forget, House Vanýr helped build this kingdom. We bleed for the throne. We fight your wars. And we protect it from threats, no matter how noble their name may sound."
"You would have me betray Velzorah? A house that helped me take the throne?"
"A house of blood-magic and secrets," Voryn snapped. "You’ve heard the prophecy. If you let them live, this entire realm will fall. Velzorah must be wiped out, every last trace. Before it’s too late."
Elyndor sat back heavily. "He is my ally."
Voryn leaned in. "He is your doom." Voryn Vanýr pressed the king so much that he gave up.
Finally, with a heavy heart, Elyndor spoke.
"Send the order."
"..."
By nightfall, House Vanýr’s banners had already been raised.
Armies gathered and their swords were ready. They rode with swift feet and ruthless precision, cloaked in the authority of the crown. Their target was clear:
House Velzorah.
They would strike before another child could be born. Before the prophecy could take root. Before the dragon’s flame could rise.
What they didn’t know...
Was that destiny has already taken its first breath.