They came with the mist.
No horns. No fire. Just silence—thick, crawling, unnatural.
The sanctuary's outer rim pulsed once as the wards detected them, and then shattered like frost beneath breath.
Seraphina raised her head, instantly alert.
Ravon felt it too. Even tethered to her flame, his instincts surged. Shadows were moving—fast, intentional, coordinated.
> "They're here," he said, voice rough. "Cradleless."
Outside, beneath the bleeding veil, they emerged.
Hooded figures, faceless, each bearing a sigil carved into their palms — the mark of forsaken wombs and twisted vows. Once midwives, now assassins of destiny.
They walked in lines, in silence, and as they raised their hands—
The air wept ash.
---
Inside the Sanctuary
Seraphina stood tall.
The bond with Ravon was fragile but holding. The child within her was calm… but she knew that could shift with the storm coming.
> "They're after the cradle," she whispered.
"They want to erase the child before breath."
Ravon stepped beside her, gathering what power he had, still burning faintly from the flame she shared. His skin cracked with glowing fissures — not pain, but awakening.
> "We hold here," he said.
"We do not run."
She nodded. Her fingers glowed gold as she reached toward the altar, and the Ashborne Seal ignited. The sanctuary began to hum — ancient energy coursing through it, singing from the walls.
---
The First Wave
The Cradleless charged.
They didn't scream. They didn't speak. They floated — swift and silent, their blades wreathed in silver and sorrow.
Ravon moved like a storm.
Each swing of his hand shattered the earth, his demon fire reignited, raw and undisciplined but fierce. His growl tore through the air as he shielded Seraphina's left.
She danced through them — not killing, but unweaving.
Each enemy she touched turned to cinders and smoke, her power not of destruction but transformation. Flame and mercy, bound together.
But there were too many.
And still they came.
---
The Oracle's Warning
Far above, the Blind Oracle trembled where she knelt before the moon.
> "The cradle bleeds," she whispered.
"If the flame dims, the veil will fall.
And the gate will open…"
She cried out, collapsing.
Somewhere beyond the veil, something heard.
---
Turning Point
Inside the sanctuary, a Cradleless blade pierced the seal — a crack formed.
Seraphina cried out.
Ravon turned, rage flaring, eyes glowing red-gold. He slammed his fist into the ground, and the force reversed the spell—but barely. He staggered, coughing ash.
> "We can't keep this up," he muttered.
Then—
A light burst from within Seraphina's womb.
Soft. Rhythmic.
A heartbeat—but more than mortal.
The Cradleless nearest to her froze, eyes wide in shock. One fell to her knees, weeping without sound, before dissolving into light.
> "They felt the soul," Seraphina breathed.
"It's starting to change them."
> "No," Ravon growled, "only the ones not fully lost."
Another wave crashed through the sanctuary walls.
This one… different.
They were no longer seeking death.
They were seeking to consume the cradle.
---
The Final Stand
A horn suddenly sounded—from within the mountain.
Then a second—deeper, older.
> Not Cradleless. Not enemy.
Something ancient. Something awakened.
Ravon's head snapped toward the northern wall.
> "The Ashborne Guard," he whispered. "The sleeping blood. They're coming."
The sanctuary flared as the seal reformed.
The child's flame surged once more—defiant.
Seraphina stepped forward, bathed in golden light, her voice strong:
> "We are not broken."
> "And we will not burn alone."