The moonlight filtered through the cracks in the blinds, casting faint shadows on the worn wooden floor of Elara's small apartment. The air was thick with tension, the weight of the night's events pressing heavily on her chest.
Lysander stood by the window, his back turned to her. The faint glow of the city lights reflected off his figure, making him appear distant—almost unreachable. Elara had never seen him like this before. He had always been her protector, the person she relied on when the world seemed too much. But now, there was something in his eyes that she couldn't quite place.
She swallowed hard, her hands shaking. The conversation they'd had earlier that night—about the man who'd come to the café and his ominous words—had left her more confused than ever. Now, there was a quiet fear building inside her, growing with every second she waited.
Lysander turned to face her, his expression pained. "Elara…" His voice was soft, almost apologetic.
"What is it?" she asked, though she was already afraid she knew. She could see it in his eyes, the way he was avoiding her gaze. The truth was coming, she could feel it.
"You need to know who you are," Lysander said, his words slow and deliberate, as though they weighed more than they should. "The prophecy... it's about you."
Elara froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms as she tried to keep herself steady. The words that had been haunting her since the strange man had appeared, the words that felt like they were just out of reach, were now here.
"What prophecy?" she whispered, though she could already guess.
Lysander took a step closer, his expression grim. "You're not just some orphan, Elara. You're not just a girl who ended up in the wrong place. You're part of the prophecy that the Seven Families have been guarding for generations."
She blinked, disbelief clouding her thoughts. "What do you mean?" She took a step back, shaking her head as if trying to shake off the words. "I'm just a normal girl, Lysander. I don't have anything to do with your families, with any prophecy."
Lysander's eyes darkened with guilt, and he took another step toward her. "You are the key. You were born with powers—powers that are tied to the Seven Families. Powers that can change everything."
Elara's mind raced. She thought of the strange, uncontrollable surges of energy she had felt, the inexplicable flashes of light, and the way her body had responded when she was near Lysander. But she had never connected them to anything like this.
"Powers? Me?" Her voice cracked, disbelief turning into anger. "I don't even know how to control them. I've never even—" She stopped herself, the words choking her.
"I know," Lysander said, his voice tinged with regret. "That's why you need to understand. You're not just someone who got caught in the middle of all this. You are part of a long-standing bloodline, a legacy that ties you to my family. To the Seven Families." He hesitated, then added quietly, "To the prophecy."
"The prophecy…" Elara repeated, the weight of the words settling over her like a heavy blanket. "What prophecy, Lysander? What are you saying?"
He exhaled deeply, his gaze falling to the ground. "The prophecy says that the Chosen One will either bring about the destruction or the salvation of the magical world. It's not just about the Seven Families. It's about everyone. And you… you're the one who holds the key to everything."
Elara felt as though the ground was slipping out from beneath her. She stumbled back a few steps, shaking her head. "No. You're wrong. I'm just a girl. I don't belong to any prophecy. I don't belong to your world."
Lysander reached for her, but she stepped away, her heart pounding in her chest. "I've been alone my whole life, Lysander. I've had nothing but pain and struggle. And now you're telling me that I'm some kind of key to something bigger, something I can't even understand?" Her voice shook with emotion. "Why didn't you tell me before? Why did you let me fall for you?"
His face twisted with regret. "I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want to drag you into all of this. I didn't want you to feel like you were just a pawn in a game that's been going on for centuries. But now, with everything happening— the Rival Families, the prophecy… you need to know the truth. You're more than just an orphan. You're part of something far bigger than anything we've ever prepared for."
Elara turned away from him, feeling the coldness of his words seep into her chest. "So this is it, then?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "You were never really just my friend, were you? You were always going to use me. You were always going to pull me into your world."
"No," Lysander said quickly, stepping closer to her. "That's not it, Elara. I would never use you. I—I care about you more than you know. But I can't protect you from this. You have to understand that. We have to face this together."
Elara wiped away a tear before it could fall, her heart aching in ways she didn't know it could. "I don't know who I am anymore," she whispered, the confusion and betrayal in her voice evident.
Lysander looked at her, his expression desperate. "You're Elara, the girl I've come to care about more than anything in this world. The one I would do anything to protect. But you're also the key to something bigger. You can't hide from that. You can't hide from your own power."
Elara closed her eyes, the pain of it all crashing over her like a wave. She had thought that everything in her life had led to this moment—the moment when she would finally feel like she belonged. But now, standing on the edge of this new reality, she felt more lost than ever.
"You're asking me to accept something I can't understand," she said quietly. "You're asking me to become part of something I never wanted. I'm not ready for this, Lysander."
And as the silence between them stretched on, both of them knew that the truth could no longer be avoided. The prophecy was real, and Elara's life would never be the same again.