Year of Idite, 1164
The first pale light of dawn crept through the tall windows of Count Caelum Thorne's study, casting thin slashes of gold across ancient books, maps, and dark wood. The air smelled of ink, parchment, and faintly of lavender oil. The room had little furniture inside. Two floor to ceiling bookcases, a desk for work, a fireplace buried at the side of the wall, a single comfortable looking couch with a table in the front, and lastly a high-backed chair.
Caelum sat at his desk, a quill poised between long fingers, the glimmer of magical runes shifting subtly across the letters he was scribing. His dark blue hair spilled over one shoulder, and his teal eyes flicked up instinctively a heartbeat before the doors burst open without warning.
"Caelum!"
The frantic voice barely registered before she appeared—Lilith, now eight years old, small bare feet slapping against the floor, her nightdress tangled, her breathing ragged.
But it was not her panic that made Caelum rise so swiftly.
It was her hair.
The once snow-white strands—the mark she had received after her birth—had turned to brilliant crimson that she normally inherited from her mother, the color of freshly spilled blood. The fiery strands caught the dawnlight, almost glowing, as her wide ruby-red eyes filled with confusion and terror.
"Caelum—!" she gasped, stumbling toward him, her small hands trembling as she clutched fistfuls of her own hair. "What—what's happening to me? I—I woke up like this! I don't understand—!"
She was near tears, her voice cracked and breathless, panic rising like a tide. "I—I didn't do any spells—I didn't touch anything! Is this… am I sick?"
In two strides Caelum reached her, his gloved hands gently taking hold of her trembling wrists. His expression, calm as winter glass, flickered with something rare—something almost tender beneath the marble mask.
"Lilith. Breathe."
She gasped, her chest heaving, her lip quivering. Her eyes searched his face desperately, clinging to him as though he could undo whatever horror had befallen her.
"I'm—am I dying?" she whispered. "Is it some sort of curse? Did I—?"
"No." His voice was steady, a grounding force in her storm of fear. "You are not dying."
He guided her gently to sit in the high-backed chair near the hearth, kneeling before her with quiet patience. For a moment, only the crackle of the fireplace filled the silence.
Caelum hesitated for a split second, then reached for her hand, his voice hushed and heavy. "My lady… this is something I should not tell you for I am not your father, nor mother. However, since you came to me first, I will calm you down so you can hear the rest of the story from your parents."
Her lips parted, confused.
Caelum's voice came out calm and collected. "When the Duchess gave birth to you, you did not cry out. You were born to die, and you nearly did. I heard your parents went to see every healer, every priest to save you, but none managed. "
She stared, breath caught.
"It was the Goddess of Chaos who saved you," he continued, his voice in a soft whisper. "She gave you life. She healed you in secret, in the dark, when none of the other gods would."
Lilith's throat tightened. "But… I thought she was—bad. The stories—"
"The stories are lies," Caelum said softly, his teal eyes steady on hers. "The truth is in your blood, my lady. She saved you. That's why your once crimson hair turned white—a mark of the Goddess of Chaos. By her blood, you were reborn and became hers. But it was a magic too great for your body to carry all at once, it was not gentle. It was vast—too vast for an infant to contain."
He stopped for a moment so Lilith could take everything he just said in without problems. Then continued to talk with a calming tone.
"Your body reacted the only way it could: it buried that magic deep, changed itself to survive. That is why your hair turned white. Why your magic slumbered. It's taken years for your soul and body to adjust… and now your hair has returned back to its original color, next will be your eyes."
Lilith blinked, slowly absorbing the words.
"But now," Caelum continued, "your body has finally caught up. It is adjusting. The spell that once overwhelmed you is settling into place. You are not cursed. You are not becoming something else. You are simply… becoming yourself again."
The girl's small hands trembled in her lap. "But… you tought me that every deal has a consequence. If the Goddess saved me, then..."
Caelum stayed silent for a moment before speaking slowly while looking into her eyes. "You are hers, Lilith. She claimed you as her own child. And in time, you will understand the meaning of it."
Tears clung to her lashes. "So… I'm not dying?"
Caelum shook his head. "No. You are not."
Her small hands clutched at her nightdress. "And this is how I was supposed to look?"
He gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Yes. This crimson is yours—by birth, by blood, just like your mother. The Goddess did not change you. She preserved you."
Lilith looked at her reflection in the glass of the tall study cabinet—messy hair like a flame, wide eyes shining with the residue of fear. Her lip wobbled slightly.
"But what if… if someone sees me? If they notice the change?"
Caelum's voice hardened just enough to be steel beneath velvet. "Then they will say nothing. Because they know better. And if they don't…" He paused, lowering his gaze to meet hers. "Then I will remind them."
That made her smile, just a little.
He rose and extended his hand again. "Come. We'll send for your mother shortly. She deserves to know that you are returning back to normal… but first, let's fix your hair before the maids faint."
Lilith giggled, still damp-eyed, and placed her hand in his.
And though the panic had passed, the silence that followed was not empty. It was reverent—like the calm after a storm that had not broken the house, but reshaped its walls.