Chapter 25: Ashborne
The cradle-keeper vanished, swallowed by the veil between realms, carrying the shattered light in his ash-streaked hands.
Seraphina stood alone.
Or... what remained of her did.
A part of her fire was gone — not stolen, but given. A choice made in the stillness between life and loss. Her body felt colder, her vision edged in silver shadows, and yet... something deeper pulsed within her: not emptiness, but a different kind of flame. One not born from rage or power — but from sacrifice.
And within her womb, it stirred.
Not just a child.
A force older than memory.
Ashborne of flame, bearer of prophecy.
She touched her belly, her fingers trembling. "I feel you," she whispered, voice soft as ashfall. "You're awake now, aren't you?"
The Abyss behind her churned. A wind, heavy with voices, rippled through the dark as if her offering had cracked something open. Or called something forth.
Then—
A gasp.
Ravon.
He was still lying where the veil had left him, body scarred with symbols not written by mortal hands, breath shallow but present. His fingers twitched against the scorched ground.
Seraphina knelt beside him, the world spinning faintly.
"I paid the price," she whispered, brushing her fingers across his cheek. "Now it's your turn to wake up."
But instead of opening his eyes—
He wept.
A single tear slid down his cheek, glowing silver-blue — the same light the cradle-keeper had bled from her flame.
The last syllables of the broken prophecy faded like smoke on wind, but Seraphina still felt them etched into her bones.
She was no longer the same.
Not since she gave her flame.
Not since she became Ashborne.
A cold heat rippled through her — a paradox, a power both luminous and lacking. The fire in her veins wasn't gone… it had been halved, reformed. A second heartbeat now pulsed just beneath her own — the child, awakened not with cries but with presence.
Seraphina stood, breath uneven.
"You gave it," he whispered. "You gave part of your fire."
She nodded once. "The cradle-keeper took it."
"Then you'll never burn the same."
"I don't need to." Her voice was quiet… but it didn't tremble. "I have something new now."
As if in answer, a ring of light shimmered briefly beneath her feet — not flame, but a golden ash-sigil that pulsed with silent force. It flickered in and out like a memory trying to root itself in the present.
Suddenly—Ravon gasped and sat up, clutching his side.
"What is it?" Seraphina rushed to him.
His hand was glowing faintly with black-red mist. Symbols curled along his wrist — new ones, freshly burned in.
"The seal on the veil…" he said through clenched teeth. "It cracked when you gave your fire. I felt it… something on the other side smiled."
A beat of silence.
Then Seraphina whispered, almost to herself:
"The veil, which is the gate, is almost broken. Or… it is broken."
She touched her belly.
Inside, her child pulsed with quiet, ancient light — not chaotic, not dangerous… just known by the other side. As if the offering had stirred something watching, waiting, remembering.
The sky dimmed above them.
And from the far horizon — where no path should exist — a figure began to walk.
Not running.
Not flying.
Walking.
Clothed in dust.
Cloaked in ash.
Eyes like cracked crystal and breath that turned the air brittle.
Ravon tensed. "That's not a dream-being. That's not a shadow-guard."
Seraphina felt it too.
This one… knew her name.