The darkness wrapped around Seraphina like a lover with cold hands.
She awoke gasping, her mark pulsing violently beneath her skin. She didn't remember how she had been moved—or who had carried her—but she was no longer in the blood-soaked corridor.
Instead, she lay upon a bed carved from ancient wood, soft wolf pelts draped across her body, faint silver light spilling in from the jagged window. The walls were stone, but laced with vines that shimmered under moonlight. A fire crackled low in the hearth, but its warmth didn't reach her bones.
Something inside her had broken open last night.
Something ancient.
And it remembered pain.
She sat up, gripping the edge of the bed as visions flickered through her mind—the elder's body slammed into stone, her scream tearing through realms, and the girl's hollow gaze as blood soaked the floor.
Footsteps echoed.
Lucien appeared in the doorway, his cloak damp with snow. His silver eyes, stormy as ever, landed on her.
"You're awake," he said quietly. "We didn't think you would rise so soon."
"I screamed," she whispered. "And the world bent."
Lucien nodded, stepping inside. "You wield chaos-born magic. That scream wasn't just grief or fury—it was primal. Forbidden. A soul-cracking force."
She looked at him, trembling. "Am I a monster?"
"No," Lucien said, sitting beside her. "You're a key."
"To what?"
"To everything the Elders fear."
---
Later that day, Seraphina was summoned by the Crimson Elders. Their chamber had changed—more guarded, layered in spells, eyes watching from every shadow.
The oldest Elder, draped in tattered red and holding a black crystal staff, motioned for her to step forward.
"You've awakened the Cradle," he rasped.
"The what?" she asked.
"The place where the first marked child was born," Lucien said, appearing beside her. "A cursed cradle—sealed long ago beneath this fortress."
The Elder nodded. "And now it stirs again."
The mark on Seraphina's back throbbed with pain.
"I didn't mean to—"
"You didn't need to," said the only female Elder, her face half-burned and her voice sharp. "You are the Cursed Cradle reborn. The old power flows through you like a poisoned river."
Another Elder stood. "We've kept this magic buried for centuries. You cannot control it."
Lucien snarled, stepping forward. "She will learn."
"Then she must face the cradle," the female Elder hissed. "Let her descend into the Black Hollow and awaken what sleeps below. If she survives the cradle's truth, she may be worth keeping alive."
---
The entrance to the Black Hollow was sealed behind the oldest library in the fortress—buried beneath spells, chains, and bones of traitors. The path spiraled downward, damp and steep. Wolves refused to follow beyond the first gate.
Lucien handed Seraphina a lantern carved with runes. "You'll be alone. Nothing inside will be real. And yet, everything will try to kill you."
"Comforting," she muttered, gripping the handle.
He stopped her before the threshold. "If your soul breaks… I won't be able to bring you back."
She met his eyes. "Then it's a good thing I don't plan to break."
---
The cradle was no room—it was a realm.
When Seraphina crossed the threshold, she was plunged into a dreamscape of ash and moonlight. Black trees twisted into the sky. Red snow fell upward. In the distance, a crying child echoed endlessly.
She followed the sound.
Through shifting woods, through illusions of her mother burning, of villagers screaming, of wolves turning on her. Her legs moved on their own, drawn toward the sound.
Then, she found it.
A cradle made of bones.
Inside lay a newborn—swaddled in cloth marked with ancient glyphs. But its eyes were open, glowing white, and its mouth curled into a sinister smile.
Seraphina stepped back. "What are you?"
The baby spoke—not with voice, but with memory.
You are me. And I am what you will become.
Visions slammed into her:
—An ancient goddess cursing a bloodline for betrayal
—A woman burning under a red eclipse, pregnant and screaming
—A baby born in the ashes of slaughter
—Wolves bowing to her cries
—The Alpha kneeling, heart in her hand
Seraphina screamed.
The cradle exploded in black flame. The baby vanished.
And in its place—
A mirror.
She looked into it.
Her reflection smiled—eyes glowing silver, canines extended, her mark now covering her entire spine like a winged sigil.
She wasn't human anymore.
And deep in her chest, she no longer wanted to be.
---
She awoke outside the Hollow, clutching something in her fist.
A fragment of the cradle—a carved rune shaped like a fang.
Lucien knelt beside her. "You're alive."
"I saw the beginning," she gasped. "And the end."
He touched her cheek. "And which are you?"
She opened her palm, revealing the rune. "I'm both."
---
That night, she stood under the blood moon again.
Lucien joined her, wordless.
"Everything's changed," she whispered. "I don't know who I am anymore."
He took her hand, pressing it to his chest. "Then let's find out together."
But as the wind howled and the wolves sang to the moon, Seraphina knew—
She had crossed a line.
She was no longer the hunted.
She was becoming the hunter.