Lysandra stood frozen before the tall, antique mirror, her reflection pale and restless. The silver light of the moon bathed her bare shoulders, making her look like a haunted spirit draped in silk.
Her fingers trembled as they rested on her stomach—barely swollen, but pulsing with a storm of energy far too wild for one so newly conceived.
Her breath caught.
Something was wrong.
No—something was… extraordinary.
It wasn't fear that gripped her—it was awe. A terrible, beautiful awe.
The magic curling inside her womb was not human, nor purely witch. It was too vast, too consuming, like the breath of a god trapped in mortal skin. Not a child. A force. A beginning.
Her heart thundered as she turned from the mirror and crossed the room, her silken nightgown trailing behind her like a ghost's lament. She moved swiftly, with desperate purpose, toward the far wall of her chamber. A hidden latch clicked beneath her fingers, revealing a narrow compartment built into the ornate bookshelf.
From it, she drew a forbidden grimoire—thick with dust and centuries-old fear.
Her hands shook as she opened it. The scent of age and power rose like a warning. Flipping through pages scrawled with ink and blood, she scanned ancient symbols, diagrams of magical genetics, and long-lost theories about supernatural fusions.
Then—
She froze.
There it was.
A symbol etched in dark crimson ink—a tri-marked glyph. Interwoven fangs, claw, and sigil.
> Lycan. Vampire. Witch.
Her lips parted in horror.
> "Nexus," she read aloud, her voice dry as ash.
> "He who carries the triune blood… Born of the Unity Pact. A being not of balance, but of convergence. A force destined to disrupt the pillars of power."
The book slipped from her hands, landing with a dull thud on the marble floor.
"No…" she whispered. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she collapsed into the velvet armchair.
Her fingers dug into the armrests as the truth unraveled, thread by thread.
This wasn't just a magical child.
This… was prophecy.
---
She stood again—dizzy, breathless—and staggered toward the writing desk. Flinging it open, she pulled out the Moonwell guest registry from the archives.
She flipped through the pages with growing panic, until her eyes landed on a name.
A name she had overlooked.
A name that now rang like a curse.
> Caveen Vellaria-Landon.
Her breath stopped.
Time halted.
Her mind reeled.
> "Vellaria…"
"Landon…"
Her voice cracked on the syllables.
The son of Vampire Princess Maika. The Heir of Lycan King Carl.
The most powerful hybrid born in generations.
The man she had enchanted.
The man she had used.
Her hand flew instinctively to her belly.
And now… she was carrying his child.
A low hum began in the air around her. The room vibrated softly. A lamp on the far wall exploded in a burst of magic. Curtains fluttered violently despite the absence of wind.
The child inside her responded to her emotions—wild, raw, alive.
Panic clawed at her throat.
She had violated the most sacred bloodline of the supernatural world. Not with malice—but through reckless, forbidden magic.
The memory-erasure spell had worked on Caveen. He didn't remember her. Not the enchanted night. Not the binding of their auras. Not the soul-deep pull she'd felt when she laid eyes on him tonight.
But fate remembered.
And now it had planted its seed in her womb.
A Nexus.
A being so rare, so feared, that ancient witches had buried the records of its existence.
The Council would tear her apart if they ever found out.
---
A knock echoed at the door.
"Lysandra? Are you alright?" came her cousin's voice, muffled with concern.
She didn't answer.
Couldn't.
The truth settled in her gut like a mountain of iron.
She had taken from an Elite heir.
She had birthed a revolution inside her.
And yet, beneath the fear… resolve rose like a blade.
She turned back to the mirror. Her reflection stared back—haunted, terrified—but beneath it shimmered something unbreakable.
> "I will protect my child," she whispered, power thick in her voice.
"Even if I have to face a Nexus himself."
But fate had more in store for her that night.
---
Arrival of the Vampire Queen
The air shifted.
A tremor—not of danger, but of something older.
Lysandra stilled, her fingers loosening, parchment fluttering from her grasp. The wards of the Moonwell estate rippled—soft and reverent.
A presence had arrived.
Not chaotic. Not cold.
But powerful. Ancient. Royal.
She turned toward the tall, arched windows. The silver drapes swayed as if touched by invisible hands. The wind held its breath.
Outside, a long obsidian car gleamed like night incarnate, its surface reflecting only moonlight.
From it emerged a woman.
Tall. Poised. Shrouded in shadowed elegance.
Her onyx cloak kissed the cobblestones. Raven-black hair flowed like silk down her back. And her eyes—those eyes glowed faint crimson, not with hunger, but with history.
The world itself seemed to quiet around her.
Wards bent, not in resistance, but in reverence.
Lysandra's throat tightened.
She didn't need an introduction.
> "She's Caveen's mother…"
> "She's a Carello."
The blood ran from Lysandra's face.
Down below, the usually composed Butler of the Moonwell Clan hurried out herself—an act of rare significance. She met the woman with a deep bow, her voice hushed and trembling. Not from fear.
From respect.
The visitor was more than nobility.
She was legend.
---
Lysandra backed away from the window, heart pounding. Her thoughts scattered like ashes in a storm.
The Carello bloodline… carrier of black magic so feared, so untouchable, that their name alone silenced courtrooms. They were thought long extinct, fragmented, hunted by the Council.
But one still walked.
And she had just entered this house.
Her hand flew protectively over her belly once more. The child stirred.
> "She'll know…"
"She'll sense it—her grandchild… her son's blood in me…"
A scream threatened to rise in her throat.
But no.
She couldn't afford panic.
She needed answers.
Why was Maika here? Was it diplomacy? A warning? Or… had she come for her child?
Lysandra turned to her vanity, where the enchanted mirror flickered—power reacting to the tremor of new magic in the estate.
The magic of a lineage that bent shadows, burned through lies, and walked the line between curse and royalty.
And standing at the center of that storm…
Was her unborn child.
> "The tides are shifting," she whispered, voice low and steady.
The tapestry was unraveling.