BIRTHDAY MORNING
Kira woke to sunlight streaming through the thin curtains and the sound of younger girls bickering over who got to use the bathroom first.
I am seventeen years old today.
She stared at the ceiling.
St. Agatha's Orphanage. The only home she'd ever known.
Kira pressed her palm against the birthmark on her skin. It had been itching all morning, an uncomfortable, insistent heat beneath her skin.
"Kira!' Little Mina's voice came from the doorway. Can you help me with my shoes? The laces are all tangled again.
Kira swung her legs out of bed, pushing aside the strange burning sensation. Come here, troublemaker.
Mina bounded over. Six years old. Left at St. Agatha's three months ago. Still believed her mother was coming back for her.
Kira knew better than to crush that hope.
There, Kira said, tying the laces with practiced ease. Now go get breakfast before the boys eat everything.
Mina hugged her fiercely before racing out. Kira allowed herself a small smile. At least she was good at playing mother to kids, even more lost than she was.
She dressed quickly, pulling on her uniform. The mirror showed her the same face she'd seen for seventeen years.
Downstairs, the dining hall buzzed with its usual morning chaos. Sister Mercy stood near the door, watching over her flock with hawk-like attention.
But this morning, those eyes were fixed on Kira with unusual intensity.
'Good morning, Sister,' Kira said, accepting her bowl of watery oatmeal.
Sister Mercy's gaze lingered on Kira's shoulder, as if she could see through the fabric to the mark beneath.
Happy birthday, child, Sister Mercy said quietly.
Yes, Sister.
Come to my office this evening. Sister Mercy adjusted her rosary, fingers trembling slightly. There are things you need to know.
Before Kira could ask what things, Sister Mercy turned away and disappeared into the kitchen.
Kira stood there with her cooling oatmeal, unease settling in her stomach. Things you need to know.
School passed in a blur.
Kira sat through classes without really hearing them, her thoughts circling Sister Mercy's words. The burning sensation beneath her skin never faded. Bythe third period, she excused herself to the bathroom and checked the mark in the mirror.
The silvery pattern looked the same as always, but when she touched it, the skin felt hot. Feverish.
"You okay?" Annie asked at lunch, concerned about creasing her forehead. You've been weird all day.
Just tired, Kira lied. I didn't sleep well.
"Birthday jitters?" Annie grinned. We should do something tonight. Celebrate.
Can't. Sister Mercy wants to see me after dinner.
"On your birthday?" Annie shook her head. Well, tomorrow then.
Kira nodded, but her thoughts were already hours ahead.
The afternoon dragged on. Each glance at the clock showed time moving with agonizing slowness. The burning in her shoulder had spread to her chest now.
By the time the final bell rang, dread had settled into Kira's bones.
By evening, storm clouds gathered overhead. Rain hammered against the windows as Kira climbed the stairs to Sister Mercy's office.
She knocked.
Come in, child.
The office was small, crowded with old furniture and the smell of long-unused books. Sister Mercy sat behind her desk, hands folded, her face drawn.
Sit.
She studied Kira for a long moment, as if memorizing her.
Seventeen years ago, Sister Mercy began, I found a baby on the cathedral steps.
Kira's breath caught.
She was a newborn. Hours old at most, Sister Mercy said softly. With a pendant, a parchment, and a piece of cloth with a name stitched on it. Kira.
My mother just… left me?
Seventeen years of wondering, and the answer was abandonment. Seventeen years of imagining reunion, and the truth was she'd been discarded on cold stone steps like unwanted cargo.
"Someone loved you enough to hide you," Sister Mercy corrected gently. Someone who knew that leaving you was the only way to keep you alive. The forest that morning showed signs of a chase, broken branches, and blood on the leaves. I heard them, child.
Ice flooded Kira's veins.
Whoever left you led them away. Deliberately. To save you." Sister Mercy's voice cracked.
The birthmark flared with sudden heat.
"The moment I touched these," Sister Mercy continued, sliding the pendant and parchment across the desk, I knew they were dangerous. There was something else written on the cloth: Keep her safe until her seventeenth year. Then she must know.
"Know what?" Kira's voice came out tight, strained.
That, child, I cannot tell you. Because I don't know.
Thunder cracked outside.
The heat in Kira's shoulder intensified, sharp enough to make her dizzy.
Touch it, Sister Mercy whispered.
Kira stared at the pendant. Every instinct screamed at her to refuse, to leave, to run from this moment and everything it would bring. What if I don't want to? What if I just want to stay here and keep being nobody?
Sister Mercy's expression softened with quiet grief. I don't think that's a choice you have anymore, child.
The lamp flickered.
Kira reached for the pendant with trembling hands.
Her fingers barely brushed the blackened silver before power erupted.
The pendant blazed in her palm, mapping intricate patterns beneath her skin, symbols, writing something ancient and vast waking up inside her.
The parchment unfolded on its own, glowing with that same impossible light.
Kira could read it.
The language was nothing she'd ever seen, nothing that existed in any book at St. Agatha's. But somehow the meaning poured directly into her mind.
The Marked Child wakes in her seventeenth year.
Her heart pounded against her ribs.
When blood calls to blood, the threshold opens.
The light pulsed with each word, each beat driving the prophecy deeper.
What was divided shall be made whole.
The pendant burned hotter in her palm, but she couldn't let go.
What was hunted shall return.
Her breath hitched, lungs struggling against the pressure building in her chest.
The daughter of two worlds rises.
The meaning seared itself into him, not understood, but known. Branded into her soul with terrifying certainty.
Then the connection snapped.
Kira collapsed forward, gasping for air. The pendant clattered to the desk. The parchment fell still.
But her birthmark continued to glow faintly, pulsing with each heartbeat. And the symbols they had changed.
What… Kira's voice cracked. She stared at her hands, at the fading glow beneath her skin, at the impossible light that still flickered in her veins. Sister, what am I?
Sister Mercy looked shaken. I don't know, child. I've kept you safe as long as I could. But the magic is waking now. They'll sense it.
Magic.
This can't be real, Kira breathed, still staring at her hands. Magic isn't real. This isn't
Lightning split the sky outside, close enough to shake the building.
What happens now? The question came out small.
Sister Mercy's voice was hollow. Now you find out what you really are. Before they find you first.
Who are they? Desperation sharpened Kira's voice. What are you talking about?
I don't know.
Kira gathered them with numb fingers and shoved them into her pocket.
Seventeen years of ordinary life. Gone.
Go, Sister Mercy said gently. Lock your door tonight. Don't touch the pendant again. Tomorrow we'll
The lamp went out.
Darkness swallowed the office whole.
Then a new light filled the room.
Kira's birthmark blazed silver, the glow spreading in intricate patterns beneath her skin. Living tattoos written in light, crawling across her arms, her chest, her throat. She could feel them moving, writing themselves in real-time.
It should have hurt.
Instead, it felt like waking up.
Dear God, Sister Mercy breathed.
The lamp flickered back on.
The glowing patterns faded, leaving only the steady pulse of her birthmark visible through her clothes.
Kira could still feel it. The power beneath her skin.
She looked at Sister Mercy at the fear in the old nun's eyes, the love mixed with terror, and knew she couldn't stay in this room one more second.
I have to go, Kira said.
Kira, wait….
She didn't stop. She fled the office, Sister Mercy's voice calling after her, and ran to her room.
She threw herself onto her bed and clutched the pendant to her chest, mind racing.
Everything she'd believed about herself was gone.
And now the truth was awake.
The question was: what would she do with it?
Outside, thunder rolled across the sky.
And somewhere beyond the orphanage walls, something ancient stirred.
Something that had been waiting seventeen years for exactly this moment.
Something that had finally found her.