/-Unknown pov-/
The Pale Chorus sisters had a vision.
It was the same one repeated three times, by three different sisters, all in a single night.
It was written: Hope exists because despair came first. Before kingdoms were built on stones, before ritual altars were built for the Creator to avert problems, there were only demons and horror.
A horror that gnawed through bone and blackened infants' mouths with rot. A horror that made the dead groan beneath the soil and claw their way back to life.
The Pale Chorus sisters called them the undead.
First came the hunger. Then the fever. And without warning, unnatural sounds would escape the mouths of your loved ones, even those buried three nights ago, a week ago… or even a century past.
They didn't return for healing. They didn't return for love.
They came to devour flesh like meat, and to savor blood like new wine. Doctors of the age called it a madness of the flesh.
But the great Kings of the North, East, and West knew better. They scoured heaven and earth for anything that might stop the rising curse—the sickness born of the torn Veil.
A veil that once divided life from death had grown rotten and thin. The disaster didn't just twist flesh. It twisted the soul.
But they found nothing.
And fear devoured the three kingdoms.
For years, the northern people of Veldera lived beneath the mercy of the Pale Chorus.
They offered prayers. Gold. Even their livestock.
But the Creator remained silent.
Why? No one could say.
Eventually, the Kings stopped sleeping. One by one, they climbed the cold steps of the Omniscient Temple to beg the Pale Chorus for answers… to search for hope.
They came so often that the sisters of the Pale Chorus grew weary of their presence.
The reason was simple: visions always came in fragments and the cost was steep.
At least one in ten sisters was buried alive to commune with the Creator. Many others died screaming from the visions.
But the tenth sister… no one expected her to walk the line between life and death.
One fateful night, two visions came.
The first vision was clear, and because it was clear… it was terrifying.
"The veil will fall unless the blood of the innocent is given freely. The Veil will be restored, but only when three daughters are returned… and Kings live till they cannot see."
The Pale Chorus sisters trembled.
Was the Creator truly so cruel? they wondered. Three girls? And how could a king live such a long life without a single attempt on his life? Natural deaths are rare these days.
However, deep in their blackened hearts, something older than obedience burned.
Vengeance.
Vengeance for all the years they served without thanks; For the sisters who died alone; For the lives of the sisters stolen in the name of prophecies and visions; For the chains they wore while the Kingdoms ignored their suffering.
The Pale Lady—Head of the Pale Chorus, understood then: This prophecy wasn't a gift.
It was the same horror dressed as hope.
Still, she knew what had to be done.
The sacrifice would proceed. But it would not be one of their own. All they needed were three girls full of light, kindness, gentle… and great symbols of Kings peace and love.
They would dress them in silk.
Kiss their foreheads.
Then slit their throats beneath the moon.
And if the Veil still wasn't repaired? Let the undead ravage the land, and let kings choke in their fear.
The Pale Lady no longer cared.
Neither did her sisters.
—------------------------------
The second vision came when they least expected it.
The night was still when the Pale Chorus gathered in the old graveyard. Their white robes floated in the breeze as they circled a freshly dug pit filled with roses and chicken bones.
They began to hum an eerie melody… which was a lullaby meant for something slithering deep beneath the earth.
Without warning, the youngest sister dropped to her knees. Her mouth twisted in agony as her body convulsed.
The Pale Chorus sisters recoiled in horror when a terrible, unearthly sound tore from her throat and her eyes rolled back into her head.
That sound did not belong to her.
Her fingers clawed at the dirt until her nails peeled off, leaving bloody marks in the earth.
Through shut jaws, she gritted out words in a demonic tongue:
"Born beneath the blood eclipse moon is the bride of the Master… the one who listens to blood sacrifices. Her breath is a curse. Her blood… the key. She is the heir. Through her, all shall fall."
Then the sister sank her teeth into her tongue with brutal force, choked and died within seconds.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
This was a prophecy no one had expected.
The Master… was not the Creator.
But at the edge of the circle, the Pale Lady slowly raised her head. For some reason, she was calm. Her calmness made the other sisters drop their confusions and questions.
"The interpretation of this prophecy means it is time," she simply said. "Call the kings. The sacrifice is upon us. The Creator has not forgotten."
As her sisters scattered to deliver the dire message, the Pale Lady released a breathless laugh.
She would keep the second prophecy to herself.
Until the time was right.
—---------------------------
By morning, the bells of House Raventhorn rang across the capital. In the high tower of the royal castle, King Alias knelt beside his daughter's bed, wiping tears from his graying beard with a trembling hand.
The room glowed with lanterns and smelled faintly of cake. It was as warm as Taralynn herself, his firstborn, and joy.
She had just turned eighteen.
"Happy birthday, my beautiful Princess Taralynn," he whispered, pulling her into his arms.
"Thank you, Father," she murmured against his chest, then paused. "You're crying."
King Alias said nothing.
He only held her tighter, as if afraid to let go.