Prologue
Third Person POV
The long war had descended like an endless midnight. Once, the supernatural species shared the earth in harmony, but the creation of the Void Locket by a dark Fae and a dark witch had fractured the world, pitting kindred against kindred. After the assassination of the King and Queen of all Supernaturals, the remnants of the ruling council collapsed into chaos. The King of the Fae grew desperate, worried not only for his own people, but for the future of all supernaturals.
The chamber was deep underground, dark and cold, lit only by the frail light of a dozen tallow candles. Shadows stretched and danced along the rough-hewn stone walls, mimicking the turmoil above ground. The air was thick with the strange, clinging scent of burning sage, dry herbs, and damp earth.
An old woman sat at the center of the room. Her silver hair fell in heavy braids over a frame made fragile by power, and her eyes were cloudy, milky-white—a common mark of a Seer who had seen too much. Yet she could see the truth where others could not.
A man stood before her, wrapped in a deep navy cloak embroidered with subtle Fae script. This was the Fae King. He was not afraid of the woman, but he was waiting, his fear held tight in his chest. He had traveled far to ask a question—one he was terrified to hear the answer to.
“You seek the truth of what is to come,” the seer whispered. Her voice was scratchy, like fine gravel, sounding as though she had spoken too many words in too many lifetimes. “But truth is heavy. Not all can carry it.”
“I must know,” the King said, his voice steady despite the dread. “Is there hope for unity? Can the war be stopped?”
The seer took a deep, rattling breath, hovering her hands over the bowl of mist in front of her. The fog twisted and swirled, forming strange, ancient symbols that crackled with blue energy. She opened her mouth, and the words fell out like stones tumbling from an old tower.
> The Seer’s Decree
> “When moonlight meets the endless sky,
> A union forged by fate draws nigh.
> Silver fur and magic’s flame,
> A tethered bond, two souls the same.
> From ancient blood, the hybrid born,
> A child of storm, of light, of thorn.
> Power woven, wild and free,
> The lost shall rise, their truth to see.
> Through fire, through shadow, through battles untold,
> The wolf and witch of silver and gold.
> One of the earth, one of the stars,
> Together they heal the kingdom’s scars.
> When war drowns land in endless night,
> And kindred souls lose all their light,
> The marked ones stand against the tide,
> With magic pure and fate as guide.
> A crown once shattered shall be whole,
> Bound by love and ancient soul.
> For when the silver wolf does reign,
> And witch-born flame doth break the chain,
> The world shall bow, the dark shall fall,
> And peace shall bind them—one and all.”
>
The Fae King clenched his fists. He knew. He had always known.
“This… this is real?” he asked, his voice now a strained whisper.
The seer turned her milky gaze toward him. “It is fate, Your Majesty,” she said softly. “And fate cannot be denied.”
A cold shiver, not of magic but of dread, ran through the room.
Someone else was there.
Hiding in the blackest part of the shadows.
Watching.
The seer’s head snapped toward the unseen figure. Her lips pressed into a thin, furious line. “You should not be here,” she warned.
A low chuckle came from the darkness. Smooth. Dangerous.
“Oh, but I should,” the shadowed figure replied. “Because fate… can be broken.”
The shadow vanished. The candles flickered violently, struggling against the sudden absence of energy, before settling once more.
The Fae King rushed to the door, checking the heavy wards and finding them untouched. He returned to the center of the room, his face pale. “Who was that? What did they hear?”
The seer closed her eyes. “Enough to fear. Enough to act. The darkness knows the prophecy now, and it seeks to preempt it. The Silver Wolf and the Hybrid must be protected, for they are the key, but not the whole lock.”
She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial hush. “The war will not be ended by werewolves, witches, and Fae alone. The true rulers of all supernaturals will not simply unite the existing factions. Their reign will awaken cultures thought to be extinct. The Dragon’s fire must be reborn. The Merfolk’s deep magic must return to the surface. And the lost Shifters must be recognized. Only when all of the ancient bloodlines stand under one crown will the prophecy be truly fulfilled, and the war ended forever.”
The Fae King stood frozen, the magnitude of the task before him terrifying in its scope. It wasn't just about saving his species; it was about saving a world he thought was lost. He looked at the bowl of mist, the glowing remnants of the prophecy still swirling, and knew his quest had only just begun.
The Fae King finally departed, his navy cloak blending into the dark stone tunnel outside the Seer’s chamber. He carried the heavy burden of the prophecy, but the Seer knew his fear would make him protective—and distract the enemy.
The Seer waited, her milky eyes fixed on the remaining candle flames. She drew a slow, deliberate circle in the damp earth with her staff, and the air in the chamber grew still, vibrating with a deep, resonant magic that shook the stones.
“I call upon you, Ignis,” the Seer commanded, her voice cutting through the heavy air. “King of the Dragon Shifters, hear my plea.”
A moment later, the air rippled, becoming hazy and scorching hot. Where the Fae King had stood, a magnificent figure materialized. He was tall, powerfully built, with armor that seemed to be forged from molten gold. His eyes were not human; they were liquid amber, burning with ancient fire, and his presence carried the weight of the mountains.
“Seer, why have you disturbed the great sleep?” the Dragon King, Ignis, rumbled. His voice was like grinding tectonic plates, low and intimidating.
“The greatest threat is upon us, Your Majesty. The prophecy has been spoken, and the enemy was listening,” she said, her voice strained. She presented a scroll made of polished, dark wood. “This is a copy of the Decree. You must protect it and the hope it carries.”
Ignis took the scroll, his fingers, tipped with faint talons, careful not to crush the wood. He read the words, and his eyes narrowed in comprehension. “The silver wolf and the hybrid—the ones who will end the curse.”
“They are the only hope for all of us, dragons included. But their path will be dangerous, and the enemy seeks to stop their ascent by targeting your future,” the Seer warned. She then revealed the heart of the plan. “Your royal line must endure, King Ignis, but it must be hidden. Your many-great-grandson, the next sovereign of your people, has been magically sealed.”
Ignis roared, the sound scorching the air. “Sealed? By whose decree?”
“By fate, and by my own hand, for his protection! The egg in which he rests will not hatch until it is brought into the sacred presence of the true King and Queen of all Supernaturals—the Silver Wolf and the Hybrid, mated and standing together. It will be the ultimate validation of their right to rule, and the key to awakening the Dragon Shifters.”
She fixed him with her intense, unseeing gaze. “You must take the egg and the prophecy, King Ignis. You must hide them in a cavern hard to reach, protected by the magic of both Fae and Witch—a place the enemy cannot easily infiltrate. Only then will your line and our world be preserved.”
King Ignis stood silent for a long moment, the fire in his eyes settling into fierce determination. “It will be done, Seer. I will carry this burden of hope to the deepest part of the earth. Until the Silver Wolf and the Hybrid come, the dragons will sleep, and the next Dragon King will wait.”
With a final, silent nod of agreement, the King of the Dragon Shifters turned, the air crackled one last time, and then he and the powerful scroll vanished, leaving the Seer alone to await the unfolding of the dark times.
