POV: Arken
The first scream of the cosmos tore through the void like shattered glass.
Arken rose from his obsidian throne as the vibration of ancient magic slammed into his domain. The cavern of shadows trembled, black stone cracking as silver light bled through from a realm he despised.
“Impossible,” he hissed.
The pools of dark scrying water at his feet erupted into violent ripples. Visions surged across the surface—twin moons, silver fire, a woman doubled over in moonlight—
—and a pulse of unborn power so ancient it made the darkness recoil.
Arken’s breath turned ragged.
“The heir,” he whispered.
Not yet born.
Not yet named.
But already radiating a resonance older than kingdoms, older than even the prophecy that bound the twins.
His claws sank into the arm of his throne. “The
