The throne room of Zica pulsed with silence, cold and thick like death. The dark king stood at the edge of the obsidian balcony, his hands clasped behind him, his eyes narrowed toward the horizonless ceiling of the underground world. The prophecy haunted him—a child has come, and she will be your undoing.
He didn't know who she was or where she hid, but that didn't matter. He would find her. Or better yet—eliminate all possibilities.
"Kill them all," Zica commanded, his voice as calm as it was cruel. "Every child aged six and under. In three days, not one shall remain alive in Kerion."
His advisors shuddered. His soldiers saluted. No one questioned him.
⸻
In a hidden home nestled far from the capital's eye, Afroda and Zena watched their daughter laugh as she practiced magic in the moonlit yard. Sevira had just turned six—lively, brilliant, and fierce. Afroda had trained her since she was five, molding her into a quiet storm of strength and skill. She didn't yet understand who she was, but her parents did.
That morning, Afroda left to train his soldiers in the rebel camp hidden beneath the roots of Kerion's giant crystal trees. As he gave commands and demonstrated techniques, a soldier interrupted him.
"Sir… there's someone here. He says it's urgent."
A stranger approached—hooded, breathless, unknown.
"I come from the Seer," he said. "I am his brother. He's… gone. But he left this for you."
The man handed over a sealed letter and vanished into the trees.
Afroda dismissed his troops and returned home early.
"You're back so soon," Zena said, her eyes narrowing with concern. Sevira beamed and ran into his arms. "Did something happen?"
"Nothing to worry about," Afroda said softly. "Not yet."
While Zena and Sevira prepared dinner in the kitchen, Afroda locked himself in his room and read the letter by candlelight.
Afroda,
By now you know something has gone terribly wrong. I write this with the last of my strength. The child is ready.
Do not question how I know her name—Sevira means 'born to save.' She will carry the power you never imagined, and the heart to bear it. Train her. Teach her. Protect her. The time is near.
Only she, and one not of Kerion, can survive the passage of Micav.
The war is coming. Take care of your wife and daughter. Take care of yourself.
– The Seer
Afroda closed his eyes, heart pounding. Then he tore the letter into pieces and burned it.
⸻
"Dinner's ready!" Sevira sang, bouncing into the room.
Zena smiled as she watched her daughter dance around her father, urging him to eat. But that night, the meal held a strange heaviness. When they were finished, Afroda gathered his wife and daughter near the fire.
"There's something you need to know," he began.
He told Zena about the letter. He told Sevira about her true purpose. About the prophecy. About the wickedness of Zica.
Sevira listened silently, her big brown eyes fixed on her father. When he finished, she whispered, "When will I know it's time to stop him?"
Afroda knelt before her, gripping her tiny hands. "You'll feel it. The Seer said the signs will come when Zica begins something so evil, it will shake the bones of Kerion."
Zena added, "When that time comes, remember who you are. Be strong. You are more than you know."
Sevira nodded slowly. "That's why you only let me go out at night, isn't it?"
They smiled faintly. She was sharper than they gave her credit for.
⸻
The next day, her training continued. Afroda pushed her harder than ever, and she rose to every challenge. Her speed, her instincts, her command of basic magic—it all bloomed as if she'd done it for years. Zena stood at the edge of the training field, awestruck.
But the joy was short-lived.
By dawn of the next morning, Kerion burned with screams.
Zica's soldiers stormed through homes, slaughtering every child they found. The Monicans, innocent citizens of Kerion, ran in terror, clutching their children as soldiers chased them down.
Zena looked out their window and froze. "They're here," she whispered.
Afroda stood still, calculating, panicking quietly. Zena turned to him, frantic. "How do we get Sevira out? How do we sneak her past them? What do we do? Say something!"
He was already moving. Sevira ran into the room, her eyes wide. "Mama, Papa! What's that noise? Are people fighting?"
Afroda didn't answer. He ran into the kitchen, grabbed a large wooden storage bucket and returned.
"Get in," he said firmly.
Sevira stared at him, confused. "What?"
"Now, Sevira. Trust me."
She obeyed. Zena quickly piled old blankets and clothes over her. Then, without another word, they ran—Afroda carrying the bucket as fast as his legs could take him. Through alleyways, across shattered roads, under the cover of smoke and screams, they raced toward Micav—the river that connected Kerion to the world above.
When they reached it, Afroda placed the bucket into the dark water. He opened the lid. Sevira looked up, frightened and trembling.
Zena placed a small sack of food in her arms and held her close, weeping.
"My baby… make us proud," she whispered. "You're stronger than even we know."
Afroda touched her face. "Remember everything I taught you. You were born to save us. I love you. Your mother loves you. We believe in you, and we will always be with you."
Zena kissed her forehead. "Never forget us, my angel."
Tears streamed down Sevira's cheeks. "Please… don't leave me! I can't do this alone!"
Afroda turned away, unable to answer. Zena lingered until the last possible second.
"We'll meet again, my child. We will."
With a final push, the river carried Sevira away into the unknown.
⸻
That day became known as The Crimson Mourning.
Children slaughtered. Parents taken as slaves. Homes razed. The Monicans who survived would never forget it.
Afroda and Zena were among the captured. They were beaten, bound, and dragged to the capital. Zica, in all his cruelty, ordered the slaves not to be killed—not yet. "Let them suffer," he said. "Let them beg for death."
Meanwhile, Sevira sailed alone through the dark channel of Micav. Days passed. She ran out of food. Her lips cracked. Her skin turned pale. Her hair knotted in salt and wind. But her parents' words echoed in her heart.
And then, as if the heavens heard her silent cries, a monstrous storm erupted.
The waves swallowed her scream.
And then—
Silence.
When the storm cleared, the bucket washed ashore on a sunlit beach. And Sevira, unconscious and breathless, had arrived in the world above.