---
The old woman's voice wove through the flickering candlelight, soft but sharp as the shadows danced on the cracked plaster walls. Her five grandchildren sat cross-legged around the hearth, their eyes wide with wonder and fear.
"In the kingdom of Solareth," she began, "there was magic hidden beneath every stone and whispered on every wind. The royal palace of Cael'Reth stood atop an ancient leyline, its marble halls alive with secrets—enchanted murals that whispered forgotten truths, and a crystal observatory that saw beyond the stars, into the strands of fate itself."
The children leaned closer, breath held, as the grandmother's eyes glimmered with something old and knowing.
"But beware, my little ones," she said, "for among us walked the Xant—creatures of light and shadow, born of ancient magic, and feared by all. Their eyes glowed like twin moons; their hair shimmered silver-white beneath the sun. No female Xant was ever seen—only the cursed males, born with power too great for the world to accept."
The youngest boy shivered. "Did they really live here, Grandma?"
The old woman nodded. "Yes, but none survived long. The hunters hunted them. They were the most feared—and the most hunted—of all."
---
Noa clenched her fists, sweat stinging her eyes as she pushed through brambles and thorns, branches clawing at her sleeves like the hands of ghosts. The hunters' shouts pierced the night, angry and relentless. The moon hung thin and pale above, casting silver light over the dark woods where she ran—running not just from death but from a future no one wanted her to have.
She thought of her grandma's story—the cruel legends of the Xant and the hunters who chased them. She never imagined those tales would become her reality.
---
The memory surfaced, sharp and unforgiving.
The grand estate stretched beneath a velvet night sky, bathed in the warm glow of countless candles and lanterns. The ballroom of the Cecil family home was a glittering sea of silk, jewels, and whispered schemes.
Noa stood near a towering window, her figure framed by the silver moonlight. She wore a pale cream gown embroidered with delicate blossoms, her dark hair pinned loosely so stray curls brushed her neck. Her amber eyes watched quietly as her sisters, Celeste and Julia, flitted through the crowd like butterflies drawn to light.
Celeste dazzled in sapphire silk, her laughter sharp and confident as she danced from suitor to suitor. Julia, softer in rose-pink, whispered nervously about the men she hoped might claim her hand one day.
Their mother, Lady Nichole Cecil, gleamed like a queen in emerald green, her eyes calculating beneath a lace veil. Father, Bruno Cecil, stood with the stern air of a general, silent but watchful.
Noa felt like a shadow beside their radiance—a quiet girl with a secret love for the garden and her paintbrush, who found joy in the simple feel of wind against her skin or the soft scratch of charcoal on paper.
Her small sketchbook rested in her hands—a collection of drawings from stolen moments outside: the curling branches of ancient oaks, the silverleaves trembling in the breeze, the river's shimmering path winding beyond the estate's walls.
Tonight, though, no garden could soothe her. The ball was a cage, and her role was clear: a noble daughter, presented and paraded, a prize to be won.
The cruel twist was the man chosen for her—a lord named Blake, who wore a smile as false as the promises of the evening. He pressed his velvet-gloved hands too long on her waist during the dance, his breath hot against her ear. Noa kept silent, afraid of the scandal that might erupt.
Then, the inevitable came.
Her mother's nod, sharp and gleaming with ambition, gave the stranger permission to escort Noa outside. "Go. Get to know your suitor," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Noa's heart hammered as she followed him through the garden gates, the sweet scent of jasmine wrapping around her like a last tender goodbye.
At a hidden alcove, moonlight sifted through branches, silvering the stone bench where the man moved too close.
His hands were rough and unwanted. Noa struggled, pleading silently for release as he ignored her protests. Her screams were swallowed by the night, the thick velvet of his coat muffling her cries.
Then, a shadow moved.
A figure stepped from the darkness—tall, with hair like molten silver and eyes swirling with strange hazel fire. He came closer to them and beat up Lord Blake with such ease, it seemed he wasn't even using an ounce of strength. He caught her before the man could harm her further, lifting her effortlessly toward the woods, but she struggled to get out of his grip.
She knew Lord Blake would make excuses for why he was beaten—he wouldn't dare admit what happened here today; it would ruin him.
She was thankful this strange man saved her, but shouldn't he let her go? What was he going to do to her? she thought, struggling still.
He wore a very cold face as he laid her on a pile of leaves deep in the woods.
His voice was cold, low, and firm: "I won't make it hurt."
Noa froze. Won't make what hurt? What was happening? What was he going to do to her?
Terror bloomed in her chest like a dark flower. She knew such words were not promises of mercy but of fate.
Please, mister, let me go. I would do anything. My parents have money. If you want money, I would pay you. Please let me go.
The man said nothing but dropped down, anger swirling in his eyes. He held her hands down with little effort.
Her eyes filled with tears as she begged, yet it was as if he heard nothing.
He undressed himself, moved close to her, and began to undress her too.
She shouted with all she had but no one came—no one heard.
The moments that followed were a blur of cold, unwanted touches, unwanted kisses which muttered her shouts, tears she could not stop, and helplessness she had never known before.
When it was over, he left her alone in the bushes, his eyes burning with fury and something darker.
Noa sat trembling, the night swallowing her sobs.
---
Back in the present, the hunters were close—voices harsh and wild.
She pressed herself against the rough bark of an ancient oak, fingers brushing her swollen belly, a fragile shield between her and the world's cruelty.
The weeks after that night were a nightmare in slow motion.
Nausea crashed over her like relentless waves, stealing her appetite and her strength. The scent of perfumed ladies at court made her gag, and even the sight of fresh fruit turned her stomach.
Her mother's sharp questions cut into the silence one evening, finally forcing Noa to admit the truth.
Pregnant.
The word fell like a blade across the room.
Mother's face crumpled in disbelief and horror.
"How? Why? Our family's name—" Her voice broke. "This will ruin us."
"Whose child is it?" her younger brother Kevin asked with anger.
"I don't know," Noa said, looking down as a tear slipped down her face.
"How can you not know?" her sister Celeste asked furiously. "Because of you I might not be able to get married."
"I said I don't know. The man lifted me and took me—to the woods and..." Noa couldn't finish, breaking down in tears.
No sooner had she said that than realization flickered across their eyes.
"What? Someone dared do that to you?" her elder brother Robin said with fury.
Her mother almost fainted hearing that, and the once angry Celeste looked at her sister in shock.
Julia couldn't help but cry as she went over to hug Noa.
Her father, stoic and unyielding, turned cold as stone.
Months passed.
Rumors began to swirl through the halls of nobility, whispers branding Noa and her child as cursed.
Then came the festival.
The day hunters moved through the city streets, scattering crushed black poplar leaves—the bitter scent meant to ward off the Xant's curse.
But the charm failed.
Noa's cries shattered the calm as a golden light engulfed her, eyes glowing fiercely against her will.
Her family, who saw her in pain due to the leaves being sprinkled, looked on in shock.
The baby she carried was a Xant's.
Her mother wept, clutching at her chest, while her father's jaw tightened with grim resolve.
Her brother Robin, usually distant, burned with anger and tears in his eyes but could do nothing.
In the days that followed, it was not strangers but her own family who condemned her.
Father and brother—both hunters sworn to the kingdom's harsh laws—handed their daughter and sister over to a hidden cell beneath the estate.
A cold stone tomb where cursed women were kept until they gave birth, and their fates were sealed.
Noa's fingers traced the damp walls as tears fell silently.
She didn't want this child.
She never asked for this.
But it had already happened. What could she do?
She whispered promises to the child growing inside her—a promise that she would survive, that she would fight for their future.
---
And in the forest, the hunters closed in.
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