The air was heavy with the scent of rain and earth as the carriage rumbled along the uneven path, slowly winding its way through dense woods and steep hills. Inside, the old woman sat still, her eyes focused on the road ahead, though her thoughts wandered far from the journey at hand. She had traveled for days, and yet, there was no sense of urgency in her demeanor. She knew the journey would take time. It always did.
The child lay cradled in her arms, swaddled tightly in cloth, oblivious to the world outside. His tiny fingers gripped at the fabric, but it was the warmth in his eyes that made the old woman pause. He was special, this child. His presence was no accident. In his veins flowed the blood of more than one powerful legacy.
After seven days and eight nights of traveling through the rough terrain, the carriage finally came to a stop. The small, humble cottage in front of her stood on the outskirts of both the human and vampire territories—isolated, hidden from prying eyes. She had spent years here, far from the politics of the kingdoms, hidden in the shadows, learning the secrets that few knew. She had no need for grandeur, no need for company. Only solitude, and the child.
As the driver unhooked the horses and prepared to leave, the old woman cast a spell, subtly manipulating his mind. Without a word, he left, his thoughts clouded and directionless. When the last echoes of his footsteps faded into the distance, she carefully carried the child inside.
The home was small, with a rustic charm. Wooden floors creaked underfoot, and the scent of herbs filled the air. In the corner, a single bed was neatly made, and the room was adorned with the remnants of magical artifacts—items she had acquired over the years, some of which held unimaginable power. The woman gently placed the child in a cradle by the window, the soft light of the moon spilling in through the glass.
She turned toward the hearth and prepared a fire, the warm glow flickering in the darkness. The cottage was isolated enough that she could focus on her task without interruption, but she knew this moment would be brief. The child was not hers to keep forever.
She stood, facing the flames, her fingers brushing against the amulet she wore around her neck—a family heirloom passed down through generations. A faint smile appeared on her lips as memories of her sister, Khloe's mother, danced in her mind. The bond between them had been broken long ago, but the bloodline remained, undiluted, powerful.
In the flickering light, the woman's features began to shift. Her skin smoothed, her posture straightened, and in mere moments, the frailty of age had disappeared, revealing a much younger woman—Hazel. Her eyes gleamed with a sharpness that only power could provide, and her beauty seemed to radiate from within, glowing softly in the dim light of the room.
She gazed at the child, who had begun to stir in his cradle. His innocent eyes blinked up at her, and for a brief moment, a pang of something unrecognizable gripped her heart. But Hazel quickly shook it off. She had her role to play, just as Khloe had hers. The child's destiny, their destinies, were far too intertwined to allow sentiment to cloud her judgment.
For a long while, Hazel stood in silence, watching the baby as though trying to read something in his small, innocent face. The child had a powerful aura—almost like Khloe herself, only in a different way. She could feel the blood that ran through his veins was not just human, vampire, or witch, but something greater. Something dangerous. He had the power to change everything.
Her fingers brushed the child's cheek, and she whispered softly, "You have no idea, do you? What you are capable of…"
The child cooed in response, his tiny hand reaching up to grip Hazel's finger. Hazel's smile faltered for a moment, but only for a second. She couldn't afford weakness.
After a moment, she moved away, her mind set. She knew what had to be done. She could not allow the child to grow beyond his purpose.
"Lily…" Hazel called out softly, her voice carrying the weight of a long-lived plan.
The door to the small cottage creaked open, and a figure emerged from the shadows—a young woman named Lily, who had been living with Hazel for the past few years. She was quiet, with a calm demeanor that belied her own dark purpose. Hazel had chosen her specifically for this task.
"Hazel," Lily said with a respectful bow, her voice low. "What do you need?"
Hazel nodded toward the cradle. "Take the child. Prepare him. It is time for him to fulfill his role."
Lily's brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded, walking over to the cradle with a quiet determination. She gently picked up the child, cradling him as Hazel had done, and brought him to a small table set with ritualistic items. Candles were lit, and various ingredients, some known only to witches, were arranged carefully.
Hazel stood by the hearth, watching as Lily prepared the child. The ritual was one she knew well, and one that would ensure the child remained in the shadows. The world was not ready for his power—not yet. But the child's death would serve as a means to protect him from enemies who might seek to exploit his potential.
This was not a decision made lightly. But Hazel had no choice. The child was too dangerous, too precious, to live freely. His very existence could threaten the delicate balance that Hazel and others had worked so hard to establish.
A few hours passed as Lily completed the preparations. Hazel stepped forward when everything was ready. She could feel the weight of the ritual in the air—magic that had been built over centuries.
Hazel's fingers traced the child's forehead as she whispered the incantation, binding him in a powerful, magical sleep. He would not awaken for years. He would remain hidden, protected in the dark until it was time for him to fulfill the prophecy that tied him to Khloe.
But before she could complete the final steps, a sudden sensation gripped Hazel's chest. Her head snapped toward the door, sensing a presence that should not be here. She had not expected anyone to find her—least of all, the ones who sought to stop the prophecy.
"Impossible…" Hazel whispered under her breath, her heart quickening. The presence was too strong. Too familiar.
The door burst open, and a figure appeared in the doorway. A man, cloaked in shadow, with eyes that glowed with an unsettling intensity.
"Hazel," the man said, his voice low, but his power undeniable. "It seems you've been playing a game that you can't win."
Hazel's breath caught in her throat. She knew that voice. She knew that presence.
And it wasn't just anyone. It was someone who had been tracking her every move.
Her grip tightened on the amulet around her neck. "You should not have come," she said, her voice steady despite the rising fear within her.
The man stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the child.
"You cannot stop what's coming," he said, his tone foreboding. "The child will be ours."
Hazel's heart skipped a beat as the weight of his words settled over her like a shroud.
She couldn't let this happen. She had to protect him, no matter what the cost.
The man took another step forward, his dark eyes glowing brighter. Hazel's hand trembled as she reached for the spellbook nearby. She would fight—she would protect the child, even if it meant sacrificing herself.
But as she opened the book, a flash of light filled the room, and she realized, too late.