The night was unnaturally still.
Even the wind, which often whispered through the obsidian towers of Ravon's fortress, now stood suspended in breathless silence. Somewhere deep in the heart of the citadel, Seraphina sat alone in a room lit only by flickering blue flame.
She placed a hand on her belly.
Warm. Alive.
She felt it again—a soft flutter, not just of movement, but of sound. Faint as a sigh, delicate as snow melting on skin.
A lullaby.
We are born of dusk... and cry in dawn...
Her eyes widened. "Did you hear that?" she whispered into the quiet.
No one answered.
But something did stir.
From within.
Her child's soul was singing.
---
Far beneath the cursed lands, beyond the ash-choked valleys of the Forgotten Gate, something ancient opened its eye.
It had been asleep for millennia.
But the flame had stirred it.
The Seed lives, the voice echoed through black stone and broken runes. The Womb is no longer hidden.
The Ash Blades awoke.
Cloaked in smoke, armored in silence, they emerged from the tombs they were sealed in. Half-living, half-vengeance, they were the gatekeepers of lost prophecy, sworn to destroy what the old gods feared.
They did not speak.
They moved.
---
Ravon burst into the chamber, sensing it. The blood in his veins roared like a tide.
"You heard it too," Seraphina said, her voice calm but shaken.
"The child called," Ravon said, eyes wild with a thousand thoughts. "And something answered."
He crossed to her quickly, kneeling before her, resting his head gently against her womb.
Stillness. Then heat.
A surge of power flowed from the child to him—unformed, raw, ancient. His demonic nature flared in response.
"I have to protect you," he whispered. "Both of you."
He stood and drew a dagger from his belt—not of steel, but of blood-forged obsidian. He sliced his palm, letting crimson drip onto the floor in a circle.
"Ravon, what are you—"
"A binding rite. A demon-lord pact. If I seal our souls, nothing can touch you."
He began to chant in the tongue of flame.
The room trembled.
But instead of only binding light—
—it beckoned shadow.
The fire dimmed.
A thin crack appeared in the far wall—not stone, but space itself.
From within that tear, a whisper spilled out:
"She carries the Breath of Two Realms. The Gate shall no longer hold."
Seraphina gasped.
Ravon staggered.
And through the crack in the veil, one foot stepped through.
Armored. Burnt black. Sword humming with cursed magic.
An ash blade had arrived.