The silence in the chamber was suffocating.
Kael stood by the blood-stained vault door, the eerie crimson glow from the runes casting sharp shadows across his jaw. Ivy knelt in the center of the ceremonial circle, her breathing uneven, her fingertips still crackling with leftover energy. The mark had formed — dark, intricate lines etched into the soft skin of her collarbone like fire kissed by shadow.
The Mark of Midnight.
“Ivy…” Kael’s voice cracked as he took a step toward her. “You… you weren’t supposed to bear that mark.”
She looked up, her golden eyes flashing. “And yet it chose me.”
From the archways above, Ember descended in silence, her white hair tangled with ash. “The prophecy spoke of the Flameborn. The Shadowkissed. But not this.”
“No,” Kael muttered, his eyes darkening.
