The wind howled outside the ancient ruin Linalee now called her temporary research base. Deep within the icy cavern—where the undead dragon had once lain—Linalee stood alone before a crumbling mural, her fingertips grazing a nearly-faded inscription. Ancient symbols shimmered with faint starlight, reacting to her mana.
A quiet hum pulsed through the stones. The pieces were coming together.
Her breath caught. "Seraphines."
She stepped back, heart racing as the meaning settled in her bones. A name not just a name, but a title—a role, a pattern—woven across multiple worlds.
"Heralds of Change… anchors… vessels of primordial will..."
She grabbed her notes, flipping pages until her quill scratched a hasty translation:
Seraphines are catalysts chosen by entities older than time, bearers of change, fated to shake worlds.
Their spark draws attention. And their fall often marks the breaking of something greater.
Linalee's hand trembled. "No wonder her fate is so tangled..."
If Arasha was one of these—one of the few "Seraphines" across time and planes—then no magic she wielded could sever or shield her from that destiny.
"Damn it…"
She rushed to her communication crystal, activating a secure link through layered arcane encryption. The crystal pulsed thrice before Sir Garran's weathered face appeared, lit by torchlight.
"Linalee? Is it urgent?"
She didn't waste time.
"I know what's wrong with Arasha's fate. She's a Seraphine. She's one of them—a herald. A tether for something older than we can imagine. The Primordials use them to shake up timelines, worlds… balance."
Garran's brow furrowed.
"Then that's why everything around her feels bigger. Like she's meant to shatter the norm."
"Exactly," Linalee said. "And if she realizes what she is, it might call attention from… them. The Primordials don't like it when their pieces stray. She might become a target. Or worse—an opportunity."
"Gods." Garran dragged a hand down his face. "What do I do?"
"Keep it to yourself. Watch her. Support her. But do not let her know—not until we understand what kind of Seraphine she is. There might still be a way to break the pattern without breaking her."
Garran nodded solemnly.
"You have my word."
The crystal dimmed. Linalee leaned back against the icy wall, exhaling a breath that curled like fog in the air. "Hang in there, Arasha. We'll figure this out."
****
The desk was piled high with scrolls and wax-sealed letters. Arasha, now dressed in her post-mission blues, rubbed at her temple as she read the tenth petition of the day—another noble requesting a knight escort to some opulent hunting retreat.
"Perhaps I should just assign them to the stable hands," she muttered.
A soft knock sounded at the door. It was a squire, polite and nervous.
"Commander, the squires have prepared supper in the mess hall. They… um… they were wondering if you might join them. Kane included."
Arasha blinked. "All of them?"
"Yes, Commander."
She sat back, gaze drifting toward the window. The sun had just dipped beneath the horizon, casting streaks of amber across the courtyard. The soft sounds of laughter echoed faintly from the mess hall.
She looked back at the untouched dinner tray on her desk. Cold soup. Dry bread.
Her lips twitched into the faintest smile.
"Tell them I'll be there shortly."
The squire bowed and left.
As she stood, Arasha glanced at the sword hanging above her desk. Her eyes softened.
"Even if I'm tired, even if I don't understand everything around me… if my presence gives them peace, even a little…" she whispered, "...then that's worth a warm meal and a shared laugh."
She reached for her cloak and headed to the mess hall—unaware of the storm quietly building around her fate, and the unwavering hearts determined to shield her from it.
****
The chamber was dimly lit by the crystalline glow of ancient ice embedded with threads of time-magic. Arcane circles hummed beneath Linalee's feet, pulsing with the rhythms of sacrifice and secrecy.
Linalee stood in the center, the sleeves of her deep azure robes rolled up to her elbows. Her breathing was steady, but her heart thundered in her chest. Before her, in a suspended sphere of spectral light, a strand of Arasha's fate floated—glimmering, beautiful, and terrifying. The resonance of it echoed in frequencies only mages could feel.
"A Seraphine… in this era…"
A murmur escaped her lips as she clenched the talisman of her mother's lineage—one of the last remaining relics capable of sealing high-weave magic beyond the reach of divine or primordial senses.
"They'll come for her eventually. Or worse, they'll push her into playing their game."
She had combed through all the ancient records—shattered texts, forbidden tomes, whispered names long erased from polite memory. The truth had become undeniable:
Where a Seraphine walks, worlds shatter. Timelines bend. Empires fall. Primordials meddle. And those closest to the Seraphines often suffer most.
And now Arasha—their Seraphine—was still unaware of the fate she bore.
The arcane circle flared to life as Linalee laid her hand on the floating thread of fate. Its vibrations rejected her at first—testing her resolve—but she poured herself in, her life force unraveling into delicate strands of golden-blue energy. Her memories, strength, vitality—all offered willingly.
She coughed. A fleck of blood hit the snow-dusted floor.
"Four years," she whispered. "That's all I can buy you, Arasha. Four years of peace—of unburdened choice."
A shadow stirred at the edge of the chamber. Sir Garran stepped into view, his face carved from stone, arms folded, lips pressed into a line that trembled at the edges.
"There has to be another way," he said, voice low but strained.
Linalee glanced at him, tired and smiling.
"There isn't. Not one that buys her time and keeps the Primordials blind to her presence. Not one that doesn't require someone to take the weight." She turned back to the glyph. "I'm the only one who can carry it. My bloodline was built to shape fate, to shield it if needed. This is what I was born to do."
"You'll die, Linalee."
"Not yet. I have four years," she said, gaze fixed firmly on the flickering weave. "And I'll spend them ensuring Arasha lives those years as herself, not as a puppet or martyr. If we're lucky… maybe she'll reshape her fate without ever knowing what it cost."
Sir Garran stepped forward but didn't touch her. He lowered his voice, rough with grief.
"She would never forgive herself if she knew."
Linalee chuckled softly. "Then don't tell her."
She turned to him, the arcane light bathing her face in hues of moonlit sorrow. "Promise me, Garran. Everything we know, and everything I'm about to do—keep it between us. Even if I falter. Even if she suspects. Even if I vanish before the fourth year ends."
Garran closed his eyes briefly. Then he gave a sharp nod.
"I promise."
The circle flared once more. The cloaking spell began, silent and slow, threading itself across the riftmarks in Arasha's fate. Layer by layer, it veiled her from the prying awareness of ancient eyes.
Linalee collapsed to her knees as the final layer locked in place. Frost kissed her lashes. Her skin had paled.
But her smile—her smile was triumphant.
"She's hidden now," she whispered. "Four years. Live them well, Arasha."
****
The chamber buzzed with quiet tension. Knights of the Order, seasoned and squire alike, stood in formation as Arasha finished reading the royal missive aloud. The words felt like a slap in the face—dressed in silk, perfumed with detachment.
"To the noble Scion Order, we request—nay, require—your esteemed presence in the southern region to resolve a rather inconvenient issue: a hydra has claimed dominion near Port Veirra. We trust this trifling matter is beneath your station, but your efficiency will be noted. Yours in gratitude, His Royal Majesty's Court."
A heavy silence followed, broken only by Sir Garran's restrained exhale.
"A trifling matter," he muttered, barely keeping his tone from dripping with contempt. "Seven heads, acid breath, the ability to regenerate, and it's parked itself in the kingdom's most important port. But yes, a trifling matter."
Arasha closed the scroll and sighed. "We can't refuse. If we don't act, the port falls. Supplies across the west will halt, and winter is approaching."
A murmur of agreement passed through the room. The knights knew their duty. They followed her, not the crown.
But before Arasha could speak further, Kane stepped forward, voice sharp and sure. "Then I'm going with you."
Her eyes immediately locked on him. "You're not."
"But—"
"No." Her tone was calm, but firm. "If I take you, I must take every squire. And this mission… it's too dangerous. You're not ready. None of you are."
Kane's hands clenched at his sides. "You're just being partial."
"Perhaps," she admitted, gaze unwavering. "But I'm also being fair. The Order can't afford to lose its next generation before they even become knights."
Kane opened his mouth to argue again—but Arasha cut him off with a final look. "Train. Grow. Be ready. That is your task now."
With that, she turned to give orders to the others. Kane stood frozen, frustration and dread swirling in his chest.
****
Kane had barely made it back to the training hall before the system's interface blinked to life before him, unbidden:
[System Error: Dimensional Interference Detected]
All Major World Events Halted: 4-Year Stasis Enforced
Projected Consequence: Upon Release of Stasis, Danger Level Will Increase Drastically (Est. +137%)
Note: Timeline Path Altered. Influence Source Unknown.
Please Prepare Accordingly.
Kane's breath hitched.
"Four years… Why?"
He gritted his teeth. The timeline had changed again—no, been tampered with. Something… or someone… had interfered. But this time, the system didn't recognize the source. That had never happened before.
"Is it… Arasha?" he thought, heart pounding. "Did something change her fate?"
His hands trembled as he dismissed the notification. If the world had truly paused its major shifts, that meant the storm wasn't gone—it was just waiting.
And when it came, it would be worse than anything they had faced before.
Kane looked toward the southern horizon, where Arasha had ridden off just hours before.
"I couldn't protect you then… but I will now. I have four years to grow. Four years to fight fate again."
His resolve hardened.
"This time, I won't let you face it alone."