17
The first omen arrived in the form of crows.
Seven of them.
Perched in perfect stillness along the outer gates of Ashmoor, their black feathers gleamed blue in the moonlight, eyes fixed on the castle like sentinels.
Guards noticed them first.
Then the servants.
Then the whispers began again.
“Bad luck,” said the kitchen boy.
“No,” replied the stable master, visibly pale. “Not luck. Warning.”
By morning, the birds were gone.
But a letter was waiting.
Evanna held the parchment in shaking hands, her eyes scanning the inked script over and over again:
To the Alpha King and the Mother of the Marked One,
The moon does not whisper in vain.
She calls to those who remember before the bloodlines. Before the thrones.
The child has been seen.
I am coming.
—S.H.
Seer of Hollowfen
Rylan stood nearby, reading the letter for the third time, his fists clenched.
Evanna could barely breathe.
“I thought she was a myth,” she whispered. “The Seer of Hollowfen hasn’t been seen in over a century.”
“She chooses who sees her,” Rylan said. “And she never sends warnings.”
Lyra padded into the room barefoot, rubbing her eyes.
“What’s Hollowfen?” she asked.
Evanna quickly folded the letter behind her back. “It’s a very faraway place.”
Lyra frowned. “Then why do I know it?”
Rylan and Evanna shared a look.
Lyra stepped closer, brow furrowed. “I dreamed of her. Last night. A lady in black and silver. Her eyes were—”
She stopped.
“What?” Evanna knelt down. “What were her eyes?”
Lyra whispered, “White. Like the moon. But cracked, like broken glass.”
The news spread fast.
By mid-afternoon, nobles were gathering in small, tense circles. Council members whispered behind chamber doors. Some argued that the seer’s message was a blessing — others called it a curse.
“The girl is triggering old forces,” one court mage said. “Magic that hasn’t moved in generations.”
“Magic tied to the wolf-blood,” said another. “But warped. Something else stirs in her.”
“She must be studied.”
“She must be contained.”
Rylan, overhearing this, slammed the chamber doors open with enough force to shake the glass.
“You will not touch her.”
The room went silent.
“I don’t care if the gods themselves send ravens to my gates,” he said. “She is not your experiment. She is not your threat. She is mine.”
That night, Evanna stood at the edge of Lyra’s bed as she slept. Moonlight streaked across her blankets. Her fox rested beside her, worn and loved.
Evanna reached down and brushed a curl from her daughter’s forehead.
Then she turned to Rylan.
“We need to prepare,” she said.
“For the seer?”
“For what she might reveal,” Evanna whispered. “About who our daughter really is… and what she’s meant to become.”
Rylan’s eyes burned with fierce devotion. “Whatever she is… she’s ours.”
Evanna nodded.
And outside, far beyond the trees and the safety of castle walls, a woman in tattered black stood barefoot at the edge of Hollowfen Marsh.
Eyes white. Cloak silver. Voice like wind through bones.
“She does not belong to this time,” the Seer whispered. “But this time will belong to her.”
Then she stepped into the shadows…
And began her journey to Ashmoor.