The mist thickened the farther they went.
Mia couldn't see her feet anymore, only the swirling gray that moved like smoke around her. Her hand stayed close to Olcan's belt, her fingers brushing the leather for reassurance.
She hated how the mist made everything feel too quiet. Like the world was holding its breath.
"Are we almost there?" she asked.
Olcan didn't answer right away. He held up his hand, halting her.
They stood on a sloping hill now, facing a broken stone archway that rose from the earth like the ribs of a long-dead beast. Vines coiled around its base, and strange symbols were etched along its sides, glowing faintly with green and violet light.
Mia tilted her head. "What is this place?"
Olcan stepped forward, brushing his palm across one of the runes. "The Mist Gate. This is the border between the human realm and Avalon. No one enters unless the land permits it."
Mia frowned. "The land permits?"
He nodded. "Witches don't use armies. They use the land itself. The weather, the wind, the very air. Avalon is alive, and it doesn't like strangers."
She shivered. "So how do we get in?"
Olcan turned to her. "You."
Mia blinked. "Me?"
"You're part witch, even if it's distant. The Gate should respond to your presence."
He stepped aside.
Mia stared at the arch. Mist flowed through it, spilling into the path like waves. She took a breath and stepped forward.
At first, nothing happened.
Then the symbols on the stone glowed brighter.
The air changed. The mist rolled back. The ground trembled slightly beneath her feet, and a hum rose in her ears—low and ancient, like a song half-forgotten.
The arch pulsed with light, and the mist parted down the center like curtains.
Mia turned to Olcan. He gave a small nod.
"You've been accepted."
Together, they stepped through.
The land beyond the Gate was unlike anything Mia had seen.
Trees with silver leaves stretched into the clouds. Blue fireflies darted between glowing mushrooms the size of umbrellas. A narrow river floated through the air instead of the ground, its water trailing in long threads like floating ribbons.
Strange, beautiful. And quiet.
They followed a winding path through the forest. Olcan kept his eyes sharp, but there was no sound—no birds, no wind, just the gentle hum of magic.
"Is it safe here?" Mia whispered.
"No," he replied. "But it's sacred."
After an hour of walking, they reached a clearing. A small hut made of twisted branches stood in the center, surrounded by stones carved with runes. Smoke rose from the chimney, curling in odd shapes—a wolf, a crown, a snake.
Mia stepped closer, heart pounding. "Who lives here?"
"An old friend."
Before she could ask more, the door creaked open.
A woman stepped out, tall and thin, with skin the color of burnt oak and hair braided with silver threads. Her eyes were completely white—no pupils, no iris—and her mouth curled into a knowing smile.
"Olcan," she said in a voice like falling leaves. "It's been years."
"Mistress Neyra," he replied, bowing slightly. "I bring the one you foresaw."
The woman turned her gaze to Mia. "So. The hybrid child of fire and shadow."
Mia straightened. "My name is Mia."
Neyra tilted her head. "A name given, or a name chosen?"
Mia hesitated. "I… don't know."
"Then let's find out."
Before she could react, Neyra reached out and pressed a finger to Mia's forehead.
A rush of images surged into Mia's mind—blood on snow, a crown sinking into black water, a tower burning beneath a red moon. She gasped and staggered backward, eyes wide.
"What was that?"
"Your past and your future," Neyra said calmly. "Or one version of it."
Mia gripped her head, breath shallow. "It felt… real."
"It is real. Time is like a forest here. You can walk forward, but the path behind you sometimes moves."
Olcan stepped between them. "We need your help. She's awakening. Too fast."
Neyra's white eyes narrowed. "Then the prophecy truly stirs."
She gestured to Mia. "Come. Let me see your blood."
Mia's hand tightened. "You want to bleed me?"
Neyra chuckled. "Just a drop."
With shaking fingers, Mia allowed her fingertip to be pricked. Neyra caught the drop in a silver bowl and whispered something ancient.
The blood sizzled.
Mia flinched.
Then the bowl cracked.
Neyra stepped back.
"That… is not supposed to happen."
Olcan frowned. "What do you see?"
"She's not just wolf and vampire," Neyra said slowly. "Something older lives in her. Something buried."
Mia blinked. "Older?"
Neyra turned to her. "Do you dream of water, child?"
Mia's mouth went dry. "Yes. A lake. A woman with eyes like stars. She calls me by a different name."
Neyra's voice dropped. "Then your mother was more than royalty. She was marked."
Mia stepped back. "Marked by what?"
"The Origin Flame."
Olcan stiffened. "That's a myth."
"No," Neyra said. "It's the first magic. The source. Long before witches, wolves, or vampires, there was the Flame. A power too great to control. It marked only those who could restore the balance."
Mia stared at her hands. "So… what am I, really?"
Neyra gave a small smile. "You are the question the world has been waiting to answer."
That night, they rested in Neyra's hut. Mia sat by the fire, staring into the flames. Her thoughts were a storm.
Vampire. Wolf. Witch. Flame.
Too many names. Too many destinies.
She didn't ask for any of them.
But deep inside, something had awakened. Not just power, but a hunger.
Not for blood.
For truth.
Far away, in the dark halls of the vampire citadel, a cloaked man stood before a throne carved of bones.
"She has crossed into Avalon," the man said.
The figure on the throne leaned forward. His eyes glowed a faint gold, and his voice was ice.
"Then the game begins."