The fire crackled softly in the chamber, but the room felt cold.
King Nicolas stood still, staring at the child in Queen Aylin's arms.
The storm outside had begun to calm, yet a new storm had risen inside him.
The baby girl looked peaceful, unaware of the fear her birth had caused.
Her tiny fingers curled around her mother's robe, and the faint glow of her skin filled the room with warm light.
"A girl," Nicolas said slowly, his voice heavy.
"Yes," Aylin replied, her chin raised. "Our daughter."
The king turned away and walked toward the window. Outside, the sky was gray, and the wind whispered through the towers.
For years, he had fought wars, crushed rebellions, and defended the kingdom with iron and blood. But this… this was something he could not fight with a sword.
"You know the law," Nicolas said. "You know the prophecy."
Aylin stepped forward. "I know fear dressed as tradition," she said firmly. "And I know lies told for generations."
Nicolas clenched his fists. "Every king before me obeyed it. Every queen accepted it."
"And how many kingdoms still stand because of it?" Aylin asked. "How many innocent lives were destroyed because people were afraid of a child?"
The king turned back, anger flashing in his eyes. "This is not just a child.
She was born with signs. Light. Wings. The people will panic."
"They already fear her," Aylin said softly. "Will you join them?"
For a long moment, neither spoke.
The baby stirred and let out a small sound. Nicolas looked at her again. Her eyes opened briefly, glowing softly, and for a heartbeat, the king felt something he had not felt in years.
Hope.
Then the doors burst open.
The High Priest entered, his long robes dragging across the floor.
Behind him were advisors and guards, their faces tense.
"It is true then," the priest said, staring at the child. "The prophecy has begun."
"Watch your words," Nicolas warned.
"The signs are clear," the priest continued.
"A firstborn girl of light. If she lives, the kingdom will fall. The gods demand balance."
Aylin pulled the baby closer to her chest.
"The gods did not speak," she said. "Men did."
"The people must never know," the advisor whispered.
"If they do, riots will follow."
Silence filled the room.
Finally, Nicolas spoke.
"The child will not be killed."
Everyone gasped.
"But," he continued,
"she cannot remain here."
Aylin's eyes widened. "What are you saying?"
"If she stays in the palace, she will never be safe," Nicolas said quietly.
"Every shadow will carry a knife. Every smile will hide fear."
"So you would take her from me?" Aylin's voice broke.
"No," he said. "I would save her."
The king turned to the guards.
"At dawn, the child will be taken beyond the northern mountains. To the hidden lands. She will be raised in secret."
Aylin shook her head. "She needs her mother."
"And she needs to live," Nicolas replied.
Tears filled Aylin's eyes, but she did not beg. She looked down at her daughter and kissed her forehead.
"My Alara," she whispered. "My light."
Before dawn, the palace slept.
Wrapped in a simple cloth,
Alara was carried through hidden tunnels beneath the castle. Only a few knew the truth. To the world, the child would be declared stillborn.
As the guards rode away into the mist, Queen Aylin stood at the highest tower, watching until they disappeared.
She placed a hand over her heart.
"Wherever you are," she whispered, "remember who you are."
Far away, the baby stirred and smiled — and for a brief moment, the stars above Avci shone brighter than ever.
Because the light of the sky still lived.
And the prophecy had only just begun.