Part IV – Orika
•••••
Orika was born on a Monday. She didn't cry immediately.
Her eyes opened first.
She blinked like she remembered light. Like it offended her.
Her father swore he saw a faint pattern - like script - spiral across her iris before vanishing. Her mother wept without knowing why.
But somewhere - far beyond the sterile hospital air and warm blankets - something broke.
A pact.
An ancient, invisible oath... shattered.
Someone had promised Orika would never be born. That the line had ended. That the old power - the first chaos - had been sealed away forever, buried beneath order, sacrifice, and silence.
But someone lied.
A betrayal older than memory had opened the door again.
And outside that door, on the day of Orika's birth, the world began to twitch.
A man collapsed in the market square without cause. A politician choked on his own tongue during a televised lie. The wind screamed at a cathedral and shattered its stained glass truths.
They would say she was only a girl.
But some would remember.
And remembering, as the old truths know, is the first act of rebellion.