Daughter of Obsidian

Chapter One – The Ball of Shadows The palace glowed like a jewel against the dark Anatolian night, its domes and spires gilded with firelight. Lanterns swung along the colonnades, spilling golden halos onto marble courtyards where fountains sang and peacocks strutted like courtiers. From the distance, the music was soft—strings and drums, a lullaby to mask the tension coiled within the walls. Inside, the ballroom burned. Hundreds of candles dripped light from crystal chandeliers, scattering fire across silks, jewels, and polished floors. Perfume—amber, rosewater, musk—clung to the air, thick enough to choke. Nobles in embroidered kaftans and veiled gowns swirled in measured dances, their laughter sharp as glass. Mavi Altınkaya stood at the edge of it all. Her gown was obsidian silk, the color of night folded into flesh. Black diamonds dusted her collarbone, and a raven-feather pin gleamed in her dark hair. She was breathtaking. She knew it—they all knew it—but beauty had never felt so heavy. Everywhere she turned, whispers slithered. “The orphaned heiress.” “The girl cursed by fire.” “She should not have survived.” Her lips curled into a smile as sharp and delicate as a blade. She had practiced that smile for years. It was the only shield she had left. Above her, carved into the marble pillars, a raven stared down from its perch, crowned with a circlet of obsidian. The symbol of her house. The shadow that never left her. She could still hear the crackle of flames when she closed her eyes. The night her family’s estate burned, the screams, her mother’s hand slipping from hers. She was only a child then, but shadows had risen that night—alive, protective, hungry—and she had walked out of the fire alone. Tonight was supposed to erase that story. To remind the empire that Mavi Altınkaya was more than a cursed tale whispered in corridors. She was legacy. She was wealth. She was power. And yet—her skin prickled. The music faltered. The dancers stumbled. Gasps rose, sweeping across the hall like wind through dry leaves. A raven—real, alive, vast as a storm—descended from the shadows above the chandeliers. Its wings stretched wide, black feathers glimmering with faint streaks of silver, as though the moon itself had bled into them. It landed above Mavi. For a moment, the hall was silent. Even the candles seemed to burn lower, bowing to the creature’s presence. The raven tilted its crowned head and met her gaze. The world dissolved around them. There was no music, no court, no whispers. Only those black eyes, endless and ancient, staring into hers. Something unseen shifted, vast and terrible. A weight pressed against her chest as though the night itself had recognized her. The raven stirred. A single feather tore free, drifting downward, slow, inevitable, as if time bent around it. Mavi’s hand rose without thought. The feather touched her palm— and the shadows beneath her feet rippled alive. Cold surged through her veins, sharp and sweet. The guests recoiled, crossing themselves, muttering prayers, but she barely heard them. The feather pulsed with faint silver light against her skin. Then, like smoke curling through a keyhole, a voice slipped into her mind. Smooth as velvet. Cold as death. The Obsidian Court remembers its daughter. Mavi’s heart slammed against her ribs. The ballroom erupted in cries, but she stood motionless, the feather burning cold in her hand. For the first time since the fire, she was not afraid.For the first time, she felt alive. The feather burned cold in Mavi’s hand. Shadows rippled beneath her feet, stretching like black veins across the polished marble. A noblewoman shrieked. Someone else cried, “Witchcraft!” The crowd pulled back, leaving her alone in the center of the ballroom floor, the music dying into silence. A man in crimson silk stepped forward—Lord Serkan, his beard oiled, his eyes narrow with suspicion. “This is an omen,” he hissed, pointing a jeweled finger at her. “The cursed child brings ruin wherever she walks!” Mavi tilted her chin, her smile sharper than his words. “Strange,” she murmured, her voice steady though her blood raced. “If ruin followed me, my enemies would be the first to burn. And yet, here you still stand, my lord.” A ripple of uneasy laughter cut through the fear. Some hid their smirks behind jeweled fans; others crossed themselves in prayer. From above, the raven spread its wings once more, a storm of feathers whispering against the high arches. The creature’s crown glimmered faintly in the candlelight. Serkan spat on the floor and backed away. “This court will not bow to monsters.” Mavi’s eyes flashed. She stepped forward, her voice a blade cloaked in velvet. “Then perhaps, my lord, you should stop mistaking strength for monstrosity.” Gasps shivered through the hall. Whispers followed, quick and sharp, like knives clattering across stone. Then the voice returned in her mind—low, intimate, a shadow brushing against her thoughts. Daughter of Obsidian. Your enemies fear you because they know you are ours. Her breath hitched, but she forced her smile to hold. Only she could hear it. Only she felt the pulse of cold power in her palm where the feather rested. And for the first time in her life, Mavi did not feel cursed. She felt chosen.