Prologue- Morwen’s Prophecy
Veyr Darklord concealed his most cherished treasure beneath his long, dark purple cloak. This treasure was a seemingly ordinary, banal object.
A hairpin.
Yet this hairpin had been stolen from the most powerful—and perhaps immortal—witch of the dreaded realm by the ancestor of Veyr Darklord who was the first of the Veyr bloodline to obtain unlimited power over Tenebral.
How a mere mortal had managed to steal this peculiar hairpin from Morwen’s hair remained unknown. Even the ancient chronicles of the Veyr Darklords did not reveal this story. Morwen herself never spoke of this shame to anyone.
Until that fateful day, Morwen ruled over Tenebral. From that day on, the ancestor of Veyr Darklord and his descendants governed Tenebral.
Why did Morwen allow this?
Because the hairpin was in the possession of the Veyr Darklord family, and Morwen was bound to serve whoever held the hairpin—precisely until it passed into another’s hands. Or returned to her.
Veyr Darklord walked along the bare stone corridor lit by torches, then ascended the spiral staircase leading toward Morwen’s tower, pondering why the witch had summoned him today.
“Strange. My father spoke with her once in his lifetime. My grandfather never even encountered the witch. Perhaps I am the first of the bloodline with whom Morwen willingly speaks.”
At the top of the spiral staircase, he stopped in surprise and sniffed the air. No one ever visited the mysterious tower. Even the bravest servants avoided Morwen’s tower. He expected the smell of soot and mold; instead, the air was filled with the scent of violets and hyacinths. In the middle of the long winter, this alone was nothing short of a miracle.
“She must still possess great power,” Veyr Darklord murmured in awe.
He did not fear Morwen. The hairpin was with him.
The almighty lord of Tenebral reached for the door knocker, but before he could touch it, pale blue patterns appeared in the air. The door swung open on its own.
“Witch sigils,” he thought.
Though Morwen served him, Veyr Darklord had never witnessed magic before.
Outside, everyone feared Tenebral. Inside, everyone feared Veyr Darklord. The reputation of Morwen’s power maintained this balance. There was no need for demonstrations of magic.
“In what form will she appear?” he wondered.
From the family chronicles, one could only guess the forms Morwen might take. She could appear as a seductive woman, a young girl, or an elderly lady with flashing eyes—whatever suited her mood.
Once the glowing witch sigils faded from the air, Veyr Darklord again felt his way through the dimness. At the end of a short, narrow corridor, another door awaited him.
Here, too, he did not need to reach for the knocker. Bluish witch sigils flared, and the door opened soundlessly before him.
“Welcome!” said a thin yet resolute little voice.
Veyr Darklord turned toward the sound.
In the northern part of the round, spacious tower chamber, a blonde, emerald-eyed girl of about ten years old sat upon a massive throne. Compared to her small frame, the throne was truly enormous.
Veyr Darklord was taken aback by the directness of her tone. The girl did not mention his titles or ranks. Morwen greeted the almighty lord of Tenebral as if he were a mere subject.
Veyr Darklord nearly produced the hairpin to remind Morwen who was the servant—but he restrained himself. He would not cause a scene beneath his dignity over this… little girl.
He did not return the greeting. Instead, he compressed his question into a curt response worthy of Morwen’s rudeness.
“Well?”
“Sit down!” the girl commanded.
Veyr Darklord gripped the hairpin tightly. There was no seating in the tower aside from the throne. And the girl was sitting on it.
He would have had to sit on the floor. That would have been a grave insult.
Morwen met the man’s gaze calmly. When she stood up, the throne dissolved into nothingness. She walked toward the tower window.
“Come, I’ll show you,” she beckoned Veyr Darklord.
When the girl raised her hand to chest height, the outline of a table formed out of nothing. There was a single object on it: a brown parchment.
Veyr Darklord could clearly see that the parchment was blank. He did not believe the witch had summoned him out of boredom.
Morwen sat down at the small table. A chair also formed from nothing.
Veyr sat down opposite the girl.
“Take it, and read it yourself!”
The man obeyed. He had already witnessed many strange things, and curiosity had taken hold of him.
The moment he touched the parchment, letters began to appear upon it.
“Lord Veyr, you accursed one! A son will soon be born, who will bring light to Tenebral.”
The man went pale.
The girl walked to the southern part of the tower chamber and sat down. Instantly, the throne appeared beneath her.
Morwen, the immortal witch queen, watched with an inscrutable expression as Veyr Darklord left the chamber in silence, his face white as snow, stumbling as he went.
“He resembles that Veyr,” she whispered.
Morwen summoned the parchment to herself. She traced signs and circles in the air above it. The writing on the parchment flared briefly, then faded.
She worked her magic for a long time.
Then she leaned back on the throne, satisfied.
Fate would be fulfilled exactly as Morwen had intervened.
