prologue :Shadowley Family Curse

Thirteen years prior to Opheliana’s eighteenth name-day, thunder rolled across the moors like the growl of some slumbering beast. The ancient Shadowley mansion loomed atop the cliffside, its turrets swallowed by fog and ivy. Inside, shadows danced in the flickering candlelight of the great hall, where time seemed to stand still.

Lyra Shadowley stood on the cold stone floor, her cloak soaked from the storm. Rain dripped from her hair and the hem of her dress, but she paid no mind. Her hands clutched her swollen belly, her eyes wide with desperation as she faced the only family she had left—her brother, Malakai.

"Malakai, please—spare our unborn child from the curse!" she pleaded, voice cracking.

Across the room, Malakai stood at the foot of their ancestral throne, shrouded in velvet and cobwebs. Once a warm and laughing boy, he was now cloaked in darkness, his eyes glowing faintly with an unnatural hue—tainted by Erebus, the ancient force their family had long served and feared.

"Spare it?" Malakai echoed, voice low and resonant. "Erebus’s power demands an innocent Shadowley soul every generation. Without the offering, our bloodline withers. You know this."

Lyra stepped closer, defiant despite her trembling limbs. "Kael’s father broke it—don’t you remember? Through twin birth. It’s possible to sever the curse!"

At the mention of Kael, Malakai’s expression twitched. He turned slightly, as if the name had conjured old ghosts. His voice dropped to a murmur, almost curious. "Twin birth, you say... It was said to be a fluke. A myth. But..."

He stepped toward her, placing one cold hand on her belly. Lyra flinched, but did not pull away. A strange stillness filled the room—then, Malakai's eyes widened ever so slightly.

"I sense it. Two hearts. You carry twins."

A flicker of hope lit Lyra’s face.

"If they bond—truly bond—they may resist the call of Erebus," Malakai said, though his tone carried no reassurance. "They could purify the Shadowley name. But..."

He turned away, voice bitter. "If they turn on each other—if even one gives in—the darkness will not only return, it will flourish."

The unborn children stirred within Lyra, their energy suddenly vivid, like flickers of starlight beneath her skin. Her heart pounded.

"What must I do?" she whispered.

"Separate them at birth," Malakai said, his voice now a command. "One shall be raised in light, the other in darkness. Only through contrast will their true natures emerge. Their choices will decide the fate of the Shadowleys—and perhaps the world."

Lyra swallowed her sorrow and nodded slowly, unaware of the shadows that slithered behind Malakai’s eyes.

As she turned to leave, her brother stood silent in the gloom, the weight of prophecy hanging heavy between them. But deep inside, Malakai had already chosen his path. He would take one child—mold them in the ways of Erebus. He would ensure the prophecy bent to his will.

The twins would be born—one of light, one of shadow.

 And war, Malakai believed, would be inevitable.

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