The twins turned one under a blood-orange sky.
The celebration in Vireya was quiet. Not for lack of joy—but because too many prophets watched the moon with fear, waiting to see which way the stars would tilt.
Selene sat with Elira in the temple gardens, weaving lunar roses into the child's soft white-blonde curls. Elira glowed faintly as she laughed, lifting her hands toward the blossoms above.
"Moondaughter," whispered one of the temple maidens, bowing with reverence.
But where Elira brought light—
Theron brought storms.
Kael found him that same morning, crouched by the edge of the reflecting pool, eyes locked on his own shimmering reflection. The boy didn't move, didn't blink. The water around him boiled slightly, steam curling upward like breath from a dragon's throat.
Kael approached carefully. "Theron?"
The boy looked up.
And for one flickering moment, Kael saw someone else in his son's eyes.
A shadow.
A memory not his own.
Then it was gone.
Theron grinned and toddled into his father's arms, laughing like nothing had happened.
But Kael didn't smile.
---
Later that day, Selene and Kael met with the high seers of Vireya in the Chamber of the Moon's Heart, beneath the city.
The room pulsed with silver magic. At its center, a living crystal hovered—connected directly to the ley lines. Its glow had dimmed in recent weeks.
"It's the boy," said Seer Haelis, fingers steepled beneath her chin. "He is war reborn. And war hungers."
Selene stiffened. "He is our child. Not a prophecy."
"But prophecy has no mercy, Moonborn," said another seer, this one older than the stone beneath them. "He will either rise as guardian—or fall as destroyer."
Kael stepped forward, voice calm but iron-edged. "And if we refuse both paths?"
The crystal pulsed once.
The seers fell silent.
Because that had never been tried.
---
Three nights later, a storm unlike any in recorded history rolled over Vireya.
Not a natural one. Not even magical.
This was a reaction.
To what?
To Theron.
He had fallen ill—though not with fever, or chills, or plague.
He glowed from within, his skin lined with veins of molten gold. The moment he cried, the sky thundered. When he laughed, lightning cracked across the mountains. Selene held him close, feeling his body burn hotter than flame.
"His power is trying to outgrow him," said Maelyra, examining the child with trembling hands. "It's not that he's sick. He's… expanding."
Kael placed a hand over his son's back.
"Then we give him space. We teach him how to hold it."
"But what if he can't?" Selene whispered.
No one answered.
---
The next morning, Elira did something extraordinary.
She walked to Theron's side in the moonroom, placed both her small hands on his chest—and began to hum.
A gentle sound. An echo of the stars.
Theron, in the midst of glowing heat, stilled.
His fire dimmed.
His gold veins faded.
And the storm outside ended.
Selene and Kael stood frozen, watching their children in silence.
Elira leaned forward and whispered something in a language no one recognized.
Theron smiled.
And then, he wept.
---
The realm began to murmur.
From the frozen halls of Frostwild to the floating citadels of the Sunmages, word spread: The Moonfire Twins are beginning to awaken.
Not everyone celebrated.
Some began to fear.
Whispers of the old gods returning.
Of Azthera's broken line.
Of the First Flame waking once more.
Several territories sent messengers—not to honor the twins, but to warn: If Theron rose beyond control, there would be no forgiveness.
Selene burned the letters before they reached her children's names.
---
That night, in their private chambers, Selene sat by the hearth while Kael bathed the twins.
"I dreamed again," she said softly.
Kael looked over his shoulder.
"They were older. Grown. And they were apart. Elira wore starlight like armor. Theron… wore shadows. They didn't speak."
He lowered Theron gently into the warm water.
"Do you think it's truth or fear?"
Selene exhaled. "Does it matter, if it leads to the same ending?"
Kael knelt beside her, wiping water from his forearm. "Then we change the ending."
---
They began a sacred ritual—the Ceremony of Tethers—meant to deepen sibling bonds and fuse the core of shared magic. It had not been performed in over six hundred years. It was dangerous. And it required absolute unity.
Rowan warned them. "If either twin resists—if the connection is unbalanced—it could shatter the tether. And unbind their spirits permanently."
Selene looked to her children.
Elira played in the light, giggling as she shaped tiny stars from nothing.
Theron watched her silently.
Then crushed one of the stars in his hand.
Selene's heart cracked.
Still—they prepared.
---
The ceremony was held at midnight in the Sanctum of Echoes, a circular chamber carved into the roots of Vireya's heart. The floor glowed with ancient runes. The air tasted of lavender and lightning.
Selene and Kael stood in opposite arcs of the circle, holding their children.
Rowan chanted the binding hymn, his voice weaving between realms.
When the final note struck, they placed the twins in the center.
Elira reached for Theron.
Her hand glowed.
Theron blinked—then took her hand.
The runes flared.
The crystal above them pulsed.
And then—
A blast of power erupted.
Selene screamed as magic seared through her chest. Kael dropped to one knee. Rowan fell backward. The temple cracked at its seams.
And at the center of it all, the twins hovered—locked in a suspended pulse of light and flame.
They spun slowly, hand in hand.
And in their eyes, stars and fire.
Together.
Balanced.
Until—
Theron pulled away.
Elira cried out.
And the circle broke.
---
The explosion threw everyone back.
The twins fell—Selene caught Elira. Kael caught Theron.
Both children wept.
The circle of runes turned black.
The tethers?
Shattered.
---
Selene rocked Elira in her arms, whispering lullabies through tears.
Kael stood with Theron, who had gone silent—his eyes distant, his breath shallow.
"I failed them," Selene said.
"No," Kael whispered, "You tried. That matters."
"But trying isn't enough. If they are to survive this fate… we have to find another way."
Kael looked at her.
"There may not be another way."
She looked back, fire in her eyes. "Then we make one."
---
Far beyond Vireya, in the ruins of the Hollow Throne, a crack formed in the stone altar of Azthera.
A dark mist seeped upward.
And a voice, low and ancient, whispered:
> "The boy is ready.
The girl is pure.
And the blood shall choose."
---