The wind over Clover's southern wall was unusually still.
From his vantage point atop the battlements, Commander Therin of the royal vanguard watched as the first units of the joint Clover–Sidom operation moved through the gates. Sidom's soldiers wore deep blue cloaks, their silver emblems glinting in the morning light. Clover's troops, in forest-green and gold, marched beside them — uncertain at first, but unified in purpose.
There was no fanfare. Only the soft thunder of boots and the distant cry of a hawk.
Therin glanced to his side, where Katherine stood with her arms folded, face unreadable.
"They'll hit resistance before nightfall," he said quietly.
Katherine didn't look away from the horizon. "I'm counting on it."
---
Far behind the front lines, Sion leaned over a weathered table in his private study. The strange stone from Hallow Vale now sat in a bowl of holy water, softly humming — the divine and demonic energies still at war within it.
Raphael hovered nearby, arms crossed, his wings partially unfurled in tension.
"You're sure it doesn't refer to death?" Sion asked, his eyes scanning the ancient script again. "It keeps using the word shadow."
"It's deliberate," Raphael said. "In celestial prophecy, shadow implies distortion — a soul twisted, not destroyed."
Sion's jaw tightened. "Possession, then."
"Or worse," Raphael murmured. "Transformation."
He hesitated. "If the First Born is real — and if the cult knows who they are — then death might be mercy compared to what they plan."
Sion sat back, exhaustion creeping behind his eyes. "We need to find out who they mean. And we need to get ahead of this — before the 'gate' opens."
---
At the same time, in the Palace's eastern wing, Sara was already deep in her third healing shift of the day. Her magic was steady, but exhaustion tugged at her shoulders. The children brought in from the outer districts were quiet now, sleeping — but too still.
One boy stirred slightly, then whimpered. His skin flushed an unnatural red.
Sara placed her hand on his chest, whispering a chant of light. But this time, the resistance she felt wasn't passive — it pushed back.
For a moment, her vision swam. She saw something inside the child's spirit — not just a seed, but a watcher. Something looking out at her through the boy's soul like a window.
She gasped and jerked her hand back.
"They're awake," she whispered.
A second later, the boy's eyes opened — not fully, but enough for her to see the flicker of red behind his pupils. Then he slumped back, unconscious, breathing steady again.
Sara turned to the nearest assistant. "Quarantine the ward. Now. And send for High Warden Katherine."
---
John Ragnar sat in a borrowed carriage that bumped slowly along a muddy trade road just outside House Bellmark's estate. His face was lined with fatigue, but his eyes missed nothing. Janet, thankfully, had stayed behind — safe under Sara's care.
He adjusted the ring on his finger, enchanted for concealment, and turned to his second-in-command.
"Bellmark's steward meets someone every third night at the old mill," he said. "Tonight, we follow."
The guard nodded. "And if it's a trap?"
John gave a tired smile. "Then we spring it first."
Later that evening, they crept through trees under the cover of moonlight. The old mill sat quiet, covered in moss and ivy — abandoned years ago.
They waited.
And then he arrived — a thin, hooded man with a branded satchel. He pulled a scroll from inside, pressed it against the doorframe, and whispered something. A faint ripple shimmered — then disappeared into the wood.
John's eyes narrowed.
"Enchanted delivery. Ritual-grade. That's not tradecraft. That's cult work."
---
In the Royal Magic Library's lowest vaults, Katherine stood alone.
The sealed noble from the night before still sat under guard in the chamber above. He hadn't spoken since — just sat like a statue, unmoving, unblinking. Even Raphael had called his mind intact, but caged.
Katherine brushed her fingers over the iron-bound scroll before her. Its title shimmered in the candlelight:
"Chronicle of the First Born: From Starfire to Shadow"
She opened it. The pages breathed ancient dust. The first few entries were illegible, written in celestial shorthand, but a few lines glowed as if awakening to her presence.
> "Born not of lineage but of legacy, the First Born shall carry light and shadow both — the echo of the war before time."
"They must not die, for death releases the soul. But through shadow, the soul can be chained."
"When the moon bleeds thrice and the gate of the end yawns wide, the First Born must choose: salvation, or becoming the key."
Katherine froze.
A memory surged — Janet's drawings. The symbols. The bleeding moon.
She didn't waste time.
---
In Sara's chamber, Janet sat curled on a bench, staring at her half-finished sketch. She'd drawn a door. A very old, broken one — surrounded by thorns. Three small red circles floated above it.
She looked up as Katherine entered, her tone soft but urgent.
"Janet. Sweetheart… when you dream of the door, what's behind it?"
Janet's voice was quiet. "I hear someone calling. Like a whisper. But it's not scary. Just… lonely."
Katherine crouched beside her, her expression gentle but grave.
"And the voice — is it yours?"
Janet looked away, uncertain. "Sometimes. And sometimes it's a boy. He's lost."
---
That night, as Sion looked out over the glowing rooftops of the capital, the crystal orb behind him flickered to life on its own.
Static.
Then — a single image: the same robed figure from the drone footage, standing in a cave of black stone.
He looked directly into the feed again — but this time, he smiled.
And behind him, painted in blood and ash, was a new sigil.
Three red moons. One open gate. One chained soul.