The woman rose from the throne like a shadow uncoiling. Her cloak slithered across the floor, hissing against the stone like a live thing. Nkosana stood frozen, but not from fear—something deeper, primal. Recognition.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"I am the Keeper of the Curse," she said. "And I've been waiting for you since the moment you were conceived."
The runes on the walls pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. The chamber seemed alive, humming with memories buried in the bloodline of kings and killers.
"You carry the Demon Seed," she continued. "A legacy sealed away centuries ago. Now it blooms, and your world will either burn or bend."
Nkosana clenched his fists. "Why me?"
"Because you were born *wrong*… on the cursed day, under the broken moon. Your mother tried to hide it, but the blood speaks, boy."
He stepped back. "I didn't ask for this."
"No one ever does," she said, suddenly beside him. "But you're not here to *choose*, Nkosana. You're here to *become*."
She pressed a hand to his chest. A sudden heat ignited inside him—flashes of power, rage, destruction.
Then darkness.
And a new voice.
One not his own.
*"Let me in."*