Ash clung to the estate like a second skin. Smoke curled from the funeral pyres, rising with the scent of burnt offerings and unspoken grief. At the eastern edge of the courtyard, Raina stood barefoot in the cold, her eyes fixed on the dying embers. Her mark throbbed—angry, alive.
The war was far from over.
Lucien hadn't spoken since Elias's confession, and Raina hadn't gone to him. They were suspended in silence, in a standoff of guilt and fear, both waiting for the other to flinch.
But she didn't have time to break.
A quiet shuffle behind her: Lucien.
He didn't touch her, just extended a worn, leather-bound tome.
"The Huntress Tome," he said.
She accepted it without a word and flipped it open.
"A hidden chapter," he added. "Sealed by ancestral magic. It unlocked the moment your mark crossed your shoulder."
"And what now? I'm supposed to finish what someone else started?"
"No. You're meant to finish what you were born for."
Her eyes landed on the page glowing with crimson runes.
Bloodline Invocation. A ritual that would unleash her full ancestral power.
"I've only been running at half capacity?"
Lucien's voice was low. "The rest is rage, hunger, fire. You'll burn through the world if you don't have an anchor."
She laughed without humor. "And what's that supposed to be? Love?"
"Yes."
Raina turned away. "Then I'm already doomed."
By morning, the earth shook.
The outer realms had arrived: shapeshifters, witches, bloodline gatekeepers. They didn't come to help; they came to watch—and choose sides if she fell.
In the war room, Elias approached, bruised and humbled.
"I'm sorry."
"You should be."
"I didn't mean to set this in motion."
"You didn't," she said. "You just lit the fuse."
Maeva entered, eyes sharp. "They're massing again. Not wild this time. Controlled. Tactical."
"Who's leading them?" Elias asked.
Raina already knew.
That night, the moon bled crimson.
Raina walked barefoot into the forbidden garden. The air buzzed with ancestral tension. Her mark had crept up her neck, burning hotter with each breath.
Lucien followed, his heart in his throat.
"Raina, stop."
"I can't."
"This ritual—it's not a gift; it's a curse in disguise."
She stepped into the center of the stone circle, drew her blade, and sliced her palm.
"I'd rather die myself than watch the world fall."
Lucien grabbed her shoulders. "Then I'll die with you."
She kissed him once, hard, and stepped back.
Blood met altar.
The runes flared.
Pain erupted—more than bone, more than magic. It ripped through her like a storm of fire and history.
She screamed. The flames consumed her.
And then—
Silence.
Raina rose from the ashes, eyes aglow, the air bending around her. Her voice dropped an octave, laced with power.
"I am no longer becoming; I am."
Lucien fell to his knees.
The sky cracked.
Lightning tore through the clouds.
Shadow beasts howled in every direction.
The ground split in places, and the elders ran—some to fight, some to hide.
Raina stood at the center of the chaos, no longer trembling.
She had become the prophecy.
By nightfall, the winds calmed.
The beasts vanished.
And Raina returned to her chamber.
She stared at the mirror. The woman looking back shimmered with divine wrath—hair darker, eyes molten gold. She touched her reflection and whispered,
"Who am I now?"
Lucien's voice broke the silence behind her.
"You're more."
"And if I can't come back from this?"
"Then I'll follow you wherever you go."
She laughed bitterly and hollow. "That's a terrible promise."
He stepped closer, his touch reverent. "I've made worse ones for you in other lives."
She let the tears fall.
He kissed them away.
By dawn, she stood armored in shadows and moonlight.
Her blade thrummed with memory. Her mark pulsed like a drumbeat of fate.
She descended the grand staircase. The elders parted without a word.
No one bowed.
But they all knew.
She was the reckoning.
The Huntress reborn.
And she was about to make the enemy regret ever waking her.