In the heart of Ravenshade Manor, where ancient portraits whispered secrets and chandeliers flickered as if holding their breath, the air had stilled.
It was supposed to be just another noble birth—painful, elegant, private.
But the moment she entered the world, even the fireplace went quiet.
---
Lady Isadora Ravenshade screamed through gritted teeth, her gloved hands clawing the silk of her birthing bed. Maids rushed, midwives panicked, and the palace physician muttered prayers under his breath—not just because of the labor, but because something else had filled the room.
Not fear.
Not tension.
Something heavier.
The sky, moments ago clear, had darkened with clouds like spilled ink. The lanterns around the room dimmed.
And then—
She was born.
A cry never came.
No wailing. No sound.
Just a baby… staring.
---
"She's not crying," one of the midwives whispered, her voice trembling.
"Is she—?"
"She's watching," another said, stepping back. "That baby is watching us."
---
The child lay silent in Lady Isadora's arms. Her skin was pale as moonlight, her hair soft but already dark, like shadow-stained snow.
But it was her eyes.
Wide open. Unblinking. Glowing—not with magic, not exactly—but with something old. Like they'd seen the world already.
Like they were measuring it.
"Seraphina," Lord Caelum Ravenshade finally said, stepping forward, his deep voice steady but… strained. "She'll be called Seraphina."
The baby blinked. Once. Slowly.
And then, the candles around the room flared—suddenly, violently—before dying into smoke.
---
Everyone froze.
Lady Isadora looked down at her child. Her brow furrowed… but she said nothing. Only held her tighter.
"She's… special," the physician mumbled, sweating now. "Strong aura. Strange phenomenon. But… healthy."
Lord Caelum said nothing. Just turned and left the room in silence, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow with purpose.
---
Outside the manor, the winds changed direction. Birds flew away from the tower tops.
And in the corner of the nursery, a single ornate mirror—one that had stood for over a century—cracked.
Just once. Right through the center.
And if anyone had been close enough…
They might've seen something inside it.
A small child, wrapped in flames, screaming without a voice.
But only for a second