The stars weren't right.
Mira didn't know how she knew. But as she lay on the roof of her father's old cottage, wrapped in a wool blanket with the cold biting her nose, she stared up and felt a wrongness in the sky.
The constellations were still there.
But they watched her back now.
Like mirrors. Like eyes.
And they whispered: You've been seen.
She hadn't told Xerces about the bird.
Or the second one.
Or the third.
Each one left near her door in a neat line—each a little more decayed than the last. Their eyes weren't just missing. They had been burned from the inside.
The villagers didn't notice. Or pretended not to.
But she did.
And she felt it every time she tried to sleep.
That prickling sensation in her chest.
That sense of a cold hand around her thoughts.
The worst part?
She wasn't scared anymore.
Not the way she should be.
Not when she dreamed of ash-covered cities or blood-red trees growing upside-down. Not even when she heard whispering in the fireplace or saw the flame cast shadows that didn't match the furniture.
She felt drawn to it.
Whatever it was… it knew her now.
And somehow, a part of her welcomed it.
On the fifth night since she defended Xerces, Mira found herself back at the barn.
He wasn't inside.
So she waited.
She didn't know what she'd say.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe just sit beside him again. Let the silence speak where words couldn't.
But as she stood there, a sharp pain bloomed in her palm.
She gasped and opened her hand.
A thorn—black as pitch, curling like bone—was embedded in her skin. She hadn't seen it, hadn't felt it until now.
She pulled it free with trembling fingers.
Blood pooled instantly, red as rust, thick as syrup.
And then—just for a second—it turned black.
Her heart slammed in her chest.
But when she blinked, it was gone.
Just red again.
Just… normal.
Xerces returned minutes later, cloaked in cold wind and candle smoke. His eyes narrowed the moment he saw her.
"You're bleeding."
She held up her hand.
"A thorn. Strange one."
He moved closer. Carefully. Studied it.
His brow furrowed.
"This wasn't natural."
He said it like a fact, not a question.
Then: "Something has marked you."
"I know."
"You didn't tell me."
"I wanted to be sure."
"Are you?"
She met his gaze. Eyes like old bone beneath flame.
"No," she said. "But I'm not afraid."
He looked at her for a long time. Then sat beside her, the weight of his presence heavier than ever.
"You should be."
"I was," she whispered. "But not anymore."
"Why?"
"Because I feel like I've already changed."
He turned to her sharply. "How?"
She hesitated. Then placed a hand on her chest.
"I feel… like something inside me woke up. Like something was always there, sleeping, and now it's watching."
He didn't respond at first.
Then said, "The Devourer touches dreams. But rarely the soul. If it's reached you, it's because it wants something from you."
"Is that bad?"
"It depends on what it sees in you."
Mira exhaled slowly, trying to hide the tremble in her voice.
"I don't want to be a pawn."
Xerces looked at her.
"Then become a queen."
Later that night, Mira sat alone in her room, staring at her hand. The wound was gone. Healed too quickly.
But she didn't feel relief.
She felt the thorn still inside her. Not in flesh—but in spirit.
And she realized something awful.
She was no longer afraid of monsters.
She was afraid… of herself.