Prologue

The moon casts a soft glow over the grand mansion of House Valentine, bathing the chamber in a serene light. The room was filled with the gentle rustle of silk and the quiet hum of murmured voices.

Lady Victoria de Valentine laying on her bed, her face flushed but glowing, exhaustion mixed with an undeniable joy, in her arms, she held a small bundle, the source of all happiness and joy in the room—her newborn son. His cries filled the room, pure and clear, a beautiful sound that seemed to echo through the heart of the house.

Louis, her husband, stood by her side, his eyes fixed on her and the baby. He reaches out and gently touched the soft, light, and small curls on the baby's head, a proud smile spreading across his face.

"He's perfect," Victoria whispered, her voice thick with emotions. She brushed a tiny strand of hair from the baby's forehead, gazing down at him with awe, "Lucien, My beautiful boy."

Louis bent down, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "Our son, He'll be everything we've dreamed of."

Victoria's eyes sparkled with quiet hope as she gazed at the tiny boy in her arms. "Lucien will carry the future of The Valentines," she murmured, her voice filled with warmth and love.

The room around them seemed to hold its breath, a peaceful silence setting over the family, Lucien's small hand reached up, curling around his mother's finger as if already seeking comfort and protection of those who would guide him.

For now, in this moment, there was only joy. Only the promise of a future yet to be written, and a family who had just welcomed their precious baby and their heir into the world.

Yet, on that very night...

Deep beneath the earth, hidden in the catacombs of an ancient temple, a gathering of robed figures stood in a semicircle around a raised altar. At its center, an obsidian gemstone pulsed with an eerie glow casting flickering light against the damp stone walls.

The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, curling in the dim chamber like restless spirits.

"The Zathriel has been born," a voice rasped, breaking the silence. The word—ancient, sacred—held the weight of generations before them.

The Zathriel, the one fated to inherit both the gift and the curse.

A skeletal hand reached toward the gemstone, feeling the unnatural warmth it now emitted.

"We have waited countless cycles, and now the time has come," another murmured, reverence thick in their tone.

"The last bore the mark of fire. The one before, the voice of ruin. And this one...he carries the eyes of duality," a figure in the shadows whispered.

Murmurs of anticipation filled the chamber, but the leader raised a hand, silencing them.

"Not yet. The Zathriel is still an infant—too fragile, too unshaped. We must wait." Their voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the hunger that lay beneath their words.

"Let him grow. Let him taste life, so that when we take him, he understands what he was meant for."

Low chants rippled through the chamber, an oath sealed in whispered tongues.

They would wait, watching from the shadows, until the moment was right.

And when that moment comes,

The Key would be theirs.