Chapter 3

The halls of the Verran palace were cold and silent, echoing with the weight of centuries. Seraphina's boots clicked against the marble floors as she made her way through the labyrinthine corridors, her mind a tempest of thoughts. The walls around her were adorned with the portraits of her ancestors—kings and queens who had fought and bled to preserve their kingdom, who had passed down their hatred of Draven like an heirloom. She had always taken pride in their legacy, but now, that pride was tinged with uncertainty.

Kael's words haunted her. The Shadowborn. She had heard the name before, whispered in old stories meant to frighten children, but never in her darkest dreams had she imagined they could be real. Yet the fear in Kael's eyes had been genuine, and it gnawed at her like a poison.

*We're both being played, Seraphina. There's a darkness coming that neither of our kingdoms can face alone.*

She hated him for making her doubt, hated that he had planted the seed of fear in her heart. But she couldn't afford to ignore the threat, not when the stakes were this high. She needed answers, and there was only one place to find them.

Seraphina stopped before a pair of massive oak doors, intricately carved with scenes of battle and victory. Beyond them lay the Oracle's Chamber, a place of ancient magic and untold power. Only the rulers of Verran and their heirs were allowed inside, and even then, only in times of dire need.

Taking a deep breath, Seraphina pushed open the doors and stepped into the chamber.

The air inside was thick with incense and the scent of old parchment. The walls were lined with shelves crammed full of scrolls and tomes, each one containing the secrets of the kingdom's past. At the far end of the room, a circle of pale blue light marked the Oracle's platform, where the ancient seer awaited her.

Seraphina approached the platform, her steps slowing as she neared the figure standing in the center. The Oracle was a tall, gaunt woman with long silver hair that cascaded down her back. Her eyes were milky white, blind to the world but seeing far beyond what most could comprehend. She wore a simple robe of midnight blue, the color of the void between the stars.

"Princess Seraphina," the Oracle greeted her, her voice soft and ethereal. It was a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, echoing in the deepest recesses of the mind. "You have come seeking answers."

Seraphina inclined her head in acknowledgment. "The Shadowborn," she said, not wasting time on pleasantries. "Are they real?"

The Oracle tilted her head slightly, as if considering the question. "They are as real as the blood that flows through your veins, as real as the breath in your lungs. They are the darkness that dwells in the hearts of men, the ancient evil that has slumbered for centuries, waiting for its time to rise."

Seraphina's heart skipped a beat. "And the prophecy? The one that speaks of the union between Draven and Verran?"

The Oracle nodded slowly. "It is true. The bloodlines of Draven and Verran are the key to defeating the Shadowborn. Only together can they wield the power needed to banish the darkness."

Seraphina's mind reeled. This couldn't be happening. The thought of uniting with Draven, of allying with the very people who had brought so much suffering to her kingdom, was abhorrent. But if the prophecy was true, if the fate of the world depended on it...

"No," she whispered, more to herself than to the Oracle. "There must be another way."

"The fates are woven, Princess," the Oracle said, her voice tinged with sadness. "To deny them is to invite ruin. The choice is yours, but know this: if you refuse, the Shadowborn will consume all."

Seraphina's hands clenched into fists. She had never felt so helpless, so trapped by forces beyond her control. She had always been the master of her own destiny, but now, it seemed that destiny had other plans.

"And Kael?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Can he be trusted?"

The Oracle's expression was unreadable. "Trust is a fragile thing, easily broken and difficult to mend. But in these times, you may find that trust can grow in the most unexpected places."

Seraphina frowned. The Oracle's words were infuriatingly vague, offering no comfort, no clear path forward. But that was the way of prophecies—twisting and turning like a labyrinth, offering glimpses of truth but never the full picture.

She wanted to scream, to rail against the injustice of it all, but she knew it would do no good. The future was uncertain, and all she could do was prepare for what was to come.

"Thank you, Oracle," Seraphina said, her voice steadier now. "I'll do what I must."

The Oracle nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. "You are strong, Princess. Stronger than you know. Remember that strength in the days ahead."

With a final nod, Seraphina turned and left the chamber, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The weight of the prophecy pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating, but she couldn't afford to falter. Not now.

As she made her way back through the palace, she felt the eyes of the portraits on her, the silent judgment of her ancestors. What would they think of her, if they knew she was considering an alliance with Draven? Would they call her a traitor, a coward? Or would they understand the impossible choice she faced?

It didn't matter. She had to do what was right, not what was easy. And if that meant working with Kael, then so be it.

But she wouldn't trust him. Not fully. She would keep her guard up, ready for the inevitable betrayal. Because if there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that Kael of Draven was as dangerous as the darkness they faced.

When she reached her chambers, Seraphina found a letter waiting for her on the desk. The seal was unfamiliar, but the handwriting was precise, almost clinical. She broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, her eyes scanning the lines of text.

*Princess Seraphina,*

*If you are reading this, then the time has come. The Shadowborn are rising, and the fate of the world hangs in the balance. I have information that may prove invaluable to our cause, but it is not safe to share in writing. Meet me at the old watchtower on the southern cliffs at midnight. Come alone.*

—A Friend.

Seraphina frowned, rereading the letter. A trap? Perhaps. But something in the tone of the message felt genuine, desperate even. And if there was even a chance that this "friend" had valuable information, she couldn't afford to ignore it.

She folded the letter and slipped it into her cloak, her mind already calculating the risks. Midnight was only a few hours away, and she needed to prepare. Whoever this friend was, they had better have answers. Because Seraphina was running out of time—and out of options.

As she left her chambers, the weight of the prophecy settled over her like a shroud. The darkness was coming, and the fate of the world rested on her shoulders. But Seraphina was not afraid. She had been forged in the fires of war, honed into a weapon sharp enough to cut through the lies and deceit that surrounded her.

And she would wield that weapon with deadly precision.

No matter the cost.