Eniya stood at the doorway of her father's study, arms folded tightly across her chest, her eyes still red from the night before.
"Dad?" Her voice was shaky. "What did you mean by... the Awakening? Am I going to be okay?"
Her father looked up from an old drawer he was rummaging through. His expression softened at the sight of her—his daughter, trembling, frightened, but brave enough to seek answers.
He walked to her slowly and pulled her into a hug. "Yes, sweetheart. You're going to be okay. This isn't a curse... it's a calling. A power that's been buried in your blood for years."
"I don't feel okay," she whispered, leaning into him. "I feel like I'm losing control of myself."
He pulled back slightly and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. "You're not losing control. You're beginning to remember who you are. Half-human... and half-elf. Like your father."
Eniya's lip quivered. "Why now? Why is this happening now?"
He walked to a cabinet and pulled out a thick, weathered book sealed shut with strange golden threads. He set it on the table and motioned for her.
"This book belonged to my ancestors. It's a record of bloodlines, abilities, destinies... but it only opens for those whose blood has been stirred by ancient power. I need to see if yours has."
She looked at the book cautiously. "What if it doesn't open?"
"Then you're still safe. Still untouched." He paused. "But if it opens... then someone—something—has already triggered your awakening."
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Eniya placed her hand on the book.
A low hum rose from beneath her fingers.
Then, the golden threads uncoiled.
The book opened.
Her father took a step back, stunned. "No... it's already begun. Someone has touched your spirit."
"Dad... what does this mean?" Eniya asked, her voice cracking.
"It means," he said slowly, "that whatever found you... wasn't human."
---
Meanwhile, at St. Luthor's Private Academy...
Ezra walked beside Morningstar through the nearly empty hallway as the final bell echoed through the halls. Students passed by, murmuring.
"Why they both acting so weird today?"
"They've been off ever since that party..."
Then a boy whispered to his friend, "Yo, I heard Ezra and Morningstar talking in the bathroom. I think they're both going insane."
Ezra froze mid-step.
He had heard the whisper. Clear as day.
But the boy had barely mouthed it.
Ezra turned to Morningstar, wide-eyed. "Did you hear that?"
Morningstar didn't answer.
Ezra's heart thudded. A wave of déjà vu swept over him—this moment, this conversation... it had played out before. In Physics class, three days ago. Not literally—but in his mind.
"Something's not right," he whispered. "I think I'm hearing... thoughts."
---
Later that night, Ezra lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, heart racing.
He hadn't slept in two days.
And then, without warning, a vision hit.
Ashes falling like snow.
A black sword blazing in his hand.
Morningstar standing before him, cloaked in fire and shadow.
"You swore your blade to me," the figure said. "You were my flame. My right hand."
Ezra gasped, shooting upright in bed, drenched in sweat.
"I served him," he whispered. "I served Morningstar."