The rain hadn't stopped since their return. It swept across the estate in sheets; wind keening through the stone corridors like a mourning spirit. Lumina stepped into her chambers without a word, drenched in silence that mirrored the storm outside. She hadn't spoken since they left the library… since Father Thorne's voice carved cracks into her world.
The necklace around her throat felt heavier now; the diamond resting against her collarbone like a stone that had been sleeping for centuries. She reached up and touched it absently… and then stopped.
It was glowing.
Faintly; like a whisper caught in moonlight. A soft pulse of silver-blue shimmer radiated from its heart, flickering once, then again—like it was alive. Like it knew. Her breath caught in her throat as she held it between trembling fingers, eyes wide in disbelief.
"I don't understand…" she whispered, barely able to hear herself over the storm.
The candlelight around the room trembled with each gust of wind beyond the tall windows. She sank into the chair by the hearth, though no fire had been lit. Her limbs felt too heavy to move… too weighed down by questions, by fear, by the weight of everything she'd learned. She hadn't asked for this. She didn't want to be special… she just wanted to survive.
But the world never asked what she wanted.
Lumina pulled a blanket around her shoulders and curled into herself; the diamond resting warm against her chest. Outside, lightning slashed the sky… and inside, she closed her eyes to silence the echoes of prophecy still ringing in her ears.
She dreamt of fire.
Not the comforting kind that warmed the skin… but fire that consumed everything it touched.
She stood on a scorched field where ash replaced snow, and broken crowns littered the ground like bones. The air was thick with smoke… with whispers in languages she didn't know, but somehow understood.
Starborn… Ash Queen… Breaker of Thrones…
They came from every direction—voices hollow with time. Shadows moved between the blackened trees, tall and shapeless… watching. Waiting. She looked down at her hands; they were stained red. The color ran down her wrists like ribbons… but it didn't feel like blood. It felt hot—like it was flame crawling beneath her skin.
She wanted to scream, but her throat was tight with smoke and grief.
"Lumina…"
She turned—someone had spoken her name. The voice was close… too close. Soft and broken, familiar in a way that made her heart twist. It could've been her mother… or—
"Wake up, Lumina. They're coming…"
Then everything turned to ash.
She woke with a scream.
Her bed was drenched in sweat; the sheets tangled around her legs, chest heaving like she'd run miles through storm and fire. Rain still lashed the windows. Her fingers trembled as she pushed back her hair, eyes wide in the dark.
The necklace pulsed once against her skin… then went still.
She sat there, frozen, until the scream faded from her lips. The thunder rolled above her head like a warning—deep and echoing. She pressed her hand to her heart and willed it to slow… but something had changed. Something inside her had cracked wide open, and no amount of breathing could make her whole again.
Then—
A knock.
She stilled.
Not Damien… not now, she thought, but the knock came again. Softer this time. She pulled on her robe and crossed the room on shaky feet. The handle felt cold beneath her fingers as she opened the door—just enough to peek out.
A man stood in the hallway.
Tall. Impeccably dressed. Pale in a way that spoke of old blood and older secrets. His hair was midnight-black, slicked neatly back; his smile, charming… but hollow.
"May I come in?" he asked, already stepping past her.
She stepped back instinctively; uncertain. "Who are you?"
He raised a brow, amused. "You don't know? I'm wounded." He poured himself a glass of blood-wine from the crystal decanter on her side table as if it belonged to him. "I'm Eren. The king's younger brother… though not nearly as entertaining as Damien, I'm afraid."
Lumina stood motionless; arms folded tightly across her chest. "Why are you here?"
"To talk… and to offer you a drink." He raised the glass with a wry smile. "You look like you've seen death's doorstep and invited him in."
"I had a nightmare."
"Oh, dear girl… in this palace, nightmares are currency. Best get used to them."
She didn't respond. His presence put her on edge—too smooth, too calculating. His eyes were sharp as blades… though always smiling.
"You know…" Eren said, swirling the red liquid in his glass, "that necklace of yours… very old. Very powerful. It hasn't glowed in centuries… not since the last time a star fell from the sky."
Lumina stiffened. "What do you mean?"
He tilted his head. "Some thrones fear prophecy more than daggers. You should remember that."
She stepped away from him, unease twisting in her gut. "What do you want from me?"
"Nothing… for now. I merely thought you deserved a warning. The queen watches everything—and you… Lumina… you shine far too brightly for her liking."
He drained his glass in one slow sip, then placed it neatly on her table.
"When you start seeing ghosts in the halls… don't scream too loud. Some of us are light sleepers."
With that, he bowed, the kind that mocked more than it respected… and slipped out into the hall without a sound.
Lumina didn't sleep for the rest of the night.
The storm had passed by morning… but the clouds hadn't. They hung low in the sky, thick and grey, casting a pall over the castle.
Lumina sat on the edge of her bed, shoulders stiff, the weight of the night pressing into her bones. Her eyes were ringed in shadow—she hadn't slept, not really. Not after the dream. Not after Eren.
The diamond necklace still rested against her skin, faintly warm… as if it had soaked in the fear and whispers of the night. She ran her thumb across it and tried not to shiver.
A knock came—this one louder, firmer. She turned, already knowing who it would be.
The door creaked open before she could answer.
Damien stepped in, dressed in black with a crimson cloak slung over one shoulder. His presence filled the room like a storm front… calm on the surface, but charged beneath. She looked up at him; he was watching her, quiet and unreadable.
"You're awake," he said, though he already knew the answer.
She nodded.
"You didn't sleep."
"No."
He glanced at her pale face, the way her shoulders sagged… the fact that she hadn't even tied her robe properly. His jaw tightened slightly. "Get dressed. We're leaving in fifteen minutes."
She blinked. "Where?"
"There's someone I want you to meet. He may have answers."
Lumina opened her mouth to question further… but stopped. Damien had already turned away.
Before he left the room, he paused. "Wear the necklace," he said quietly. "And don't let anyone take it from you."
The carriage ride was silent.
Damien sat across from her, arms folded, eyes locked on the passing woods beyond the glass. Lumina kept her hands in her lap, fidgeting with a piece of thread on her sleeve… too afraid to speak, too tired to think clearly.
She stole a glance at him now and then—how still he was, how his expression never faltered. He had a quiet kind of power… the sort that didn't ask for attention, but claimed it regardless. His presence demanded silence; commanded fear without raising his voice.
Yet here she was… in the same carriage as him. And somehow, that scared her less than the dream.
Eventually, her voice broke through the quiet. Soft. Hesitant.
"My lord… how did you know about me? About the prophecy?"
He didn't look at her.
"Like I said before, I know a lot of things, Lumina."
She didn't speak again.
The library looked like it belonged to the bones of the world.
It was hidden deep in the cliffs beyond the vampire kingdom; carved directly into the stone, ivy crawling over its surface like veins on old skin. The doors groaned open with the weight of forgotten time… and the scent of dust and ink washed over them.
Inside, it was quiet; not with emptiness, but with reverence.
There were no guards. No priests. Just a man seated behind a desk near the center—his robes grey, his hair pale, though his face had barely aged. He glanced up at the sound of their boots on the stone floor.
"Damien," he said, standing. "You never visit unless something important has stirred the bones."
"And they're stirring," Damien replied.
Lumina trailed behind him, her hands clutched together; the necklace around her throat hidden beneath her cloak.
The priest—Father Ezra, she learned—wasn't like the others. He smiled at her kindly, but with a knowing glint in his eyes that unsettled her. He seemed to see too much.
"A human girl… and not just any," he said, walking toward her slowly. "Starborn, if the necklace's glow is true."
Lumina stiffened. "How do you know about it?"
"Because I've studied it for centuries." Ezra gestured for them to follow him deeper into the library. "That necklace was forged from a fallen shard—the same that lit the skies the night your mother died."
Lumina's heart skipped. "You knew her?"
"Not as well as I wished," he said quietly. "But she came here once… long ago. Pregnant. Alone. Afraid. She asked about the prophecy; I told her what I could. And then she vanished into the mountains."
Lumina's throat felt tight. The air in the library was too thick… too heavy. She struggled to breathe.
"She said her child would be different," Ezra continued, "that the blood in her womb was more than mortal… that something ancient had awakened."
He stopped before an enormous tome on a pedestal. The pages turned on their own—like a whisper moved through the parchment. When it stopped, a drawing of the diamond necklace stared up at them.
"It's called the Starheart," Ezra said. "And it only glows for the heir of the Ash Queen."
"Who was she?" Lumina asked, voice trembling.
"A myth," Damien said under his breath.
Ezra smiled grimly. "No… a memory. A queen of fire and ruin; born of both dark and light. Feared by vampires… hunted by werewolves… worshipped by witches. She disappeared after the Sundering War."
"And I'm her heir?" Lumina whispered.
"You may be," Ezra replied. "Or you may be something even older."
Lumina stepped closer to the ancient tome, her hand hovering just above the illustration of the necklace. The Starheart pulsed gently beneath her cloak, warm against her skin; it responded to the book… to the memory held within its pages.
"What do you mean… something older?" she asked quietly.
Ezra's eyes softened; but there was caution in them too. "Some believe the Ash Queen was not the beginning… but the continuation of a deeper line. A bloodline that stretches back to the first fire—when the stars themselves burned with magic."
Damien stood silently beside her; his jaw tight, hands clasped behind his back. He was listening carefully… perhaps more than she realized.
Ezra continued, voice dropping as he moved toward another shelf of bound scrolls. "I have read things… fragments of prophecy… tales told by dying witches. They speak of one who will rise when the old blood calls home. A child touched by flame… bearer of the last light."
Lumina's fingers curled inward. "But I don't feel powerful. I don't feel… anything like that."
Ezra gave her a sad smile. "You will. Power like yours doesn't come all at once. It awakens when it is needed… and right now, the world is still testing you."
Damien finally spoke, his tone more clipped than before. "What do we need to know about the prophecy itself?"
Ezra nodded and opened another tome; this one older, the writing more fragile. "It is fragmented. Most records were destroyed when the witches' citadels fell. But this much remains…"
He pointed to a passage scrawled in faded ink.
"From ash she rises… in fire she is crowned. With stars on her brow and death in her blood, she will unmake the throne of monsters."
Lumina stared at the words. They didn't feel foreign. They felt like something inside her had already heard them… long ago, in some dream she couldn't remember.
Damien said nothing; his gaze lingered on her face. When Ezra stepped away to retrieve more scrolls, Lumina turned to him.
"Do you believe it?" she asked.
Damien held her eyes for a long moment. Then he said, almost reluctantly, "I believe something is coming. And I believe you're at the center of it… whether you want to be or not."
She looked down; her fingers brushed the necklace again. "I don't know who I'm supposed to be."
"You don't need to yet," he replied. "But you will."
Ezra returned with a thin scroll wrapped in leather. "This is the oldest piece I have. It was written by a high priestess during the fall of Velmira—the last known city of the witches. It speaks of a girl who will wear starlight at her throat… who will be hunted by fire and fang alike… and who will choose whether to save the kingdoms or burn them."
Lumina's breath caught. Her throat closed.
"You don't have to decide now," Ezra added gently. "But the moment will come when you must choose."
They left the library late in the day; the sky was still bruised with storm clouds, and the wind had a sharp bite. The carriage ride back was quieter than the first—if that was even possible.
Lumina leaned her head against the window, watching the trees blur by. Her thoughts were a storm of their own.
Damien remained still across from her… his expression unreadable.
She turned to him finally. Her voice was quiet. "Thank you… for today."
His eyes met hers. "You don't need to thank me."
"I think I do," she said. "You didn't have to take me there. Or stay."
He looked at her for a long time… then leaned slightly forward.
"I didn't do it for kindness, Lumina. I did it because I need to understand what you are… before someone else tries to."
She blinked, taken aback.
"But that doesn't mean I'll let them hurt you," he added, softer this time. "Not while you're under my roof."
She hesitated. Then nodded.
As the castle came into view in the distance, she whispered, "Do you think I'm dangerous?"
Damien looked at her; there was something in his eyes she couldn't quite name. Not fear. Not awe. Something closer to caution.
"I think," he said slowly, "you will be."