30 June 1995
22:30
Dunblane, Scotland
The village slept under a hushed silver sky, its cobbled streets slick with rain, glimmering like a trail of mirrors. A cool wind whispered through the branches, carrying the damp scent of earth and moss. Somewhere in the distance, an owl winged silently across the dark.
On the porch of the cottage, Tiffany Luna Clark pressed her back against the wooden frame of the door. Her lips still tingled, warm with the memory of Eric's kiss. The first kiss of her life. It should have been nothing but joy, but a strange heaviness curled inside her chest. Every sound felt sharper, every detail too vivid. The drip of water from the gutter, the hum of her own pulse in her ears, the faint shift of air around her.
She reached for the door handle when agony ripped through her left palm. She collapsed to her knees, clutching her hand as a golden blaze seared its way out of her skin. Light burst from her palm, blinding, furious, as though the sun itself had taken root inside her flesh. The porch lamp above sputtered, flickered wildly, then exploded in a shower of glass.
"Mom!" Tiffany's scream cracked the night.
The door flew open. Angelic Clark froze in the doorway, her face draining of color at the sight of her daughter's hand. A mark was burning its way into Tiffany's palm—sharp lines branded in molten fire. A bold V crossed with an L, crowned by a radiant sun.
"No," Angelic whispered, her voice breaking. "Impossible…"
"Mom...it burns!" Tiffany gasped, as sparks now leaped from both palms, filling the air with a low, thrumming hum, as though the night itself had awakened.
Angelic helped her to her feet, then dragged her inside and slammed the door shut. The safe, familiar smell of lavender and stew clung faintly in the hall, but it felt fragile now. Mocked by the storm raging from Tiffany's body. Upstairs, Angelic pulled her into her bedroom, locked the door, and yanked the curtains tight. Her trembling hands lingered on the latch before she turned back.
"This mark," she said, barely above a whisper, "belongs to the Via Lucis—the Way of Light. It chooses the gifted. Your father bore it. Your brother, too. But never… never a girl."
Tiffany's heart lurched. "My father? The one who left us?"
Angelic's jaw tightened. "I told you he abandoned us. That was a lie. He foresaw your death, again and again. To protect you, he let the world believe we had perished in the fire. Even your brother believes it. Even the Lukyans."
The words struck harder than the fire in her palms. Tiffany staggered back, golden light dancing across her silver dress, sparking across the furniture.
"Why me?" she whispered.
"We don't know," Angelic said, her voice trembling. "But this… changes everything. Rest now. Tomorrow I will call your father."
Tiffany sank onto her bed, her hands still glowing faintly. Her trembling fingers closed around the golden locket at her throat, the one she had worn since she was five, a gift from the boy she never forgot. Its weight grounded her, even as her world unraveled.
She clutched it tightly, breath shallow. And in the silence, one name slipped from her lips like a forbidden prayer.
"James."