(Final Scene)
Far from the tower—beyond even the reach of the Eclipsed Plane—a chamber carved from obsidian pulsed with unnatural heat.
Torches burned blue. Chains of bone coiled around statues of fallen gods. And at the center, seated upon a throne of cracked glass, was a woman cloaked in crimson smoke.
Her eyes were pale gold, her lips curled into a knowing smile.
She had seen the vision, too.
The child. The Gate. The two possible futures.
She dipped her finger into a bowl of ink made from shadows and prophecy, swirling it slowly.
"So… the Flameborn has stirred," she murmured, voice honeyed and lethal. "And the Watcher has revealed himself."
Behind her, a figure knelt — armored in serpent scale, his face hidden behind a visor shaped like a screaming skull.
"Shall I send the Ash Blades, my lady?"
She smiled wider.
"No," she whispered. "Not yet. Let them think they're safe. Let her powers blossom... ripe for ruin."
She stood, smoke rising like a crown.
"When we strike, we take the child before she chooses. Before she thinks."
The bowl of ink trembled… then cracked.
---
Back in the ruined tower...
Seraphina leaned into Ravon's chest as the Watcher's vision faded.
"She will have to choose," she said, hand resting over her womb. "And that choice... may destroy everything."
Ravon brushed a lock of hair from her face, his voice steady. "Then we don't wait for fate to come. We shape it. Together."
The Watcher lifted his staff and traced a path through the air — a map of ley lines glowing in silver flame.
"There is one place left untouched by time or war. The Valley of the Cradle Keepers. If you wish to understand the child's power — you must go there."
Seraphina met Ravon's eyes, her own burning with purpose.
"Then we leave at first light."
And far above them, the stars shifted — as if watching.