Chapter 17 No time left
486 Words
They were only twelve.
But the power inside them refused to wait.
Kaelen was the first to break.
A sparring match in the training yard became a spectacle when his silver eyes flashed mid-strike—and his opponent was hurled backwards with a pulse of pure force, slamming into a stone wall with a deafening c***k.
He hadn’t touched him.
He hadn’t meant to.
The earth had moved with his rage.
Three days later, Lioren’s fire burst through every ward the court mages had installed. His bedroom ignited in a column of golden flame that took a dozen elemental witches to extinguish. The boy had emerged unharmed.
Not a burn on him.
“I couldn’t stop it,” he whispered, shaking in Araya’s arms. “It wanted out.”
They were no longer boys.
They were weapons waking up.
And the darkness… was already at the gates.
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The magic veil fell across Nytherra like a storm.
It began with the howling of wolves at the city’s edge, louder and more desperate than any had ever heard. Then came the winds—unnatural, black-tipped, laced with frost that burned. The royal mages summoned the Veil: a shield of shimmering light woven through the very sky, sealing the entire capital inside a dome of enchantment.
But it wasn’t enough.
The wards cracked.
Creatures of smoke and ash skulked the outer borders, clawing at the Veil with fangs not of this world.
King Theron called an emergency council.
“They’re after the boys,” he said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Queen Syreena stood beside him, her hands glowing with protective glyphs. “We trained them to be rulers. But not to survive war.”
Vaelen slammed his fist onto the war map. “Then it’s time they learned what they are.”
Araya stood from her seat, voice clear and cutting: “They need to know before it’s too late.”
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That night, the twins were summoned to the sacred underground chamber—the Temple of Origin.
A place where truth had no shadows.
Where bloodlines spoke, and no lie could be told.
“Sit,” said Mira, standing in robes of dusk.
The boys obeyed. Their eyes wide. Curious. Scared.
Vaelen stepped forward, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.
“You were not born to inherit a throne. You were born to defend a world.”
Araya knelt in front of them.
“You carry blood older than kingdoms. Magic born of sun and moon. But with it comes burden.”
Mira chanted.
The chamber glowed.
And as power pulsed into the boys’ skin—marking them with the sacred glyphs of the First Bloodline—they saw.
The prophecy.
The Witch Queen.
The war.
Kaelen wept.
Lioren shook with rage.
Then… silence.
Kaelen stood. “We’re ready.”
Lioren grinned through the glow. “Let them come.”
- Writer
