The History Of The Old Blood

The next morning, the world felt… different.

Not because the stone walls of my chamber had changed—they hadn't. The iron bars on the windows still cast the same shadows across the floor. The door still groaned on its hinges when the guards passed by.

But I had changed.

For so long, all I thought about was escape. Every waking hour was spent calculating steps, memorising patrols, testing weaknesses in the walls. My heart had lived in flight, thudding like a trapped bird every time someone got too close. But now?

Now the fear had quieted. Not gone—but quieter. Like a storm that had passed, leaving silence in its wake.

I sat on the edge of the bed, the journal resting beside me, its cover warm against my thigh. It didn't glow or whisper or shake—not anymore. It simply waited. Like the power inside me.

I wasn't just some prisoner anymore. I wasn't just prey, circling the edges of a predator's den.

I was something else. Something I didn't fully understand yet.

But I felt it.

It had been inside me all this time, coiled in silence, watching. And yesterday, it had chosen to answer. Or maybe it had chosen to ask. The question on that page still echoed in my thoughts:

"What will you become when the crown is yours?"

The old me would have laughed—mocked the very idea. I never wanted a crown. I wanted freedom. I wanted to live.

But now I couldn't ignore the truth: freedom alone would never be enough. Not when something ancient had awakened in my blood. Not when this power was waiting for me to claim it, shape it.

I didn't know yet what kind of ruler I could be. I don't even know what I want anymore.

But for the first time, I wasn't looking for a door to run through—I was searching for one to open.

And I was ready to see what waited on the other side.

The knock on the chamber door was unexpected.

Not the usual impatient pound of a guard, nor the cautious creak of a servant delivering food. This knock was deliberate. Calm. As though the person on the other side already knew I'd answer.

I stood slowly, slipping the journal under the pillow. My fingers still tingled from touching its cover.

"Come in," I said, voice steadier than I felt.

The door opened. And in walked Lira.

Not in her usual healer's robes, but something far darker—an ash-grey cloak fastened with a symbol I'd only seen in the margins of forbidden texts: a coiled serpent around a rising sun.

Her eyes flicked to the pillow, then back to me. "It's awake, isn't it?"

I didn't answer. I didn't need to.

Lira stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "They don't know yet," she said quietly. "But they will. And when they do, they'll either try to cage it…" Her gaze turned sharp. "Or kill it."

My breath hitched. "You knew all along?"

She gave a slow nod. "Since the first day you arrived. The way the shadows curled around your steps. The way the runes near the tower doors flickered when you passed." She studied me. "But I wasn't sure if it was you—or just something near you."

"And now?" I asked.

She took a breath. "Now I think you're its vessel. And that makes you more dangerous than you realise."

I felt scared all of a sudden.

I could feel the power stirring again, reacting to her words. Curious. Hungry.

"I didn't ask for this," I said.

"No one ever does," she replied. "But some are born with it anyway. And now it's up to you to decide: will you let them find you unprepared… or will you let me show you what it means?"

I stared at her. Suspicion warred with need.

"Why would you help me?"

Lira leaned closer, voice like smoke. "Because if you fall into the wrong hands, this entire realm will burn. And I don't want to watch the world end."

I was quiet for a long time.

Then I pulled the journal from beneath the pillow, opened it to a blank page, and let the ink form on its own again.

The ink didn't move right away this time. It waited—like it was listening again, not just to me… but to her.

Lira's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"Show me," I said.

The ink bled slowly across the parchment, curling into unfamiliar symbols at first, then into words I could read—barely.

"The snake coils even as it sheds its skin."

I looked up sharply. "What does that mean?"

But Lira didn't answer. She was staring at the words with a haunted look, like she'd seen a ghost press its hand to the page.

"I've seen that phrase before," she murmured, almost to herself. "It was etched into the walls of the Sanctum before it burned."

I frowned. "What Sanctum?"

She blinked once, her mask slipping back into place. "A place that doesn't exist anymore."

That wasn't an answer.

I closed the journal slowly, tension winding in my gut. "Why are you really here, Lira?"

A pause.

She studied me for a moment, then walked to the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to let the dying sunlight graze her face. "Because the last person who held that power used it to tear a hole through the veil between life and death. We sealed the breach—but we never found the source."

She turned back to me. "Until now."

My blood went cold. "You think I'm—"

"I think you're linked to whatever was unleashed. I think you were never supposed to survive the night your bloodline was erased. And I think if the High Circle learns what you carry, they'll do what they failed to do all those years ago."

Her voice dropped.

"They'll kill you."

The silence that followed was unbearable. The journal throbbed with heat against my hand.

"I don't even know who I am anymore," I said softly.

Lira approached, her expression softening. "Then let's find out. Together. But you must decide quickly—someone else has started looking for you. Someone who remembers what you are."

"Who?"

Lira hesitated.

Then she whispered, "The Seer of Blackspire."

I froze.

That name hadn't been spoken in years—not since the massacre at Hollowmere. Not since the visions began.

And in the back of my mind, something whispered with a voice not my own:

"She knows the truth of your blood. But she also knows how you die."