The wind moved through the black pines like a low whisper, carrying the scent of snow across the high valley. Night had already settled over the mountains, heavy and watchful. Above the peaks, a pale moon drifted between slow clouds.
Inside the stone hall of Moonhold, the torches burned low.
Five figures stood in a half circle before a wide window that looked toward the forest. None spoke for a long moment. The silence stretched until it felt like a weight pressing against the walls.
At last, the oldest woman among them drew a breath.
"It has begun," she said quietly.
A younger man beside her frowned. "You are certain?"
She did not answer at once. Her pale eyes remained fixed on the distant mountains. Somewhere beyond those trees, a wolf howled—long and hollow.
"Yes," she murmured.
The sound faded into the dark.
Another voice broke the stillness. "The queen will not welcome this news."
"She must hear it," the woman replied.
A log cracked in the hearth behind them. Sparks jumped and died.
Outside, the wind sharpened.
Footsteps approached along the stone corridor. The door opened, and a guard stepped inside. His armor carried the frost of the night air.
"The queen is waiting," he said.
The seers exchanged glances. None of them looked eager.
They followed the guard through the winding passages of the fortress. Moonhold had stood for centuries, carved from the mountain itself. Its halls carried the quiet weight of old victories and older secrets.
At the end of the corridor stood a pair of tall doors.
The guard opened them.
Queen Seredwyn waited beside a long table covered in maps and letters. Her silver hair fell in a thick braid across one shoulder. Even in the dim firelight, her presence filled the room.
"You asked for an audience," she said.
The eldest seer stepped forward.
"We bring a warning, Your Majesty."
Seredwyn folded her hands calmly. "Then speak."
The woman hesitated only once.
"The child who will inherit your throne… will not be like the others."
The queen's gaze sharpened. "Explain."
"The boy will carry a divided spirit," the seer continued. "Half bound to this world. Half claimed by something older."
A faint crease appeared between the queen's brows.
"You claim my son will be cursed."
"No," the seer replied softly.
"Not cursed."
"Broken."
The room fell silent again.
For a moment, the queen said nothing. The fire crackled behind her, filling the space with shifting light.
"And the kingdom?" she asked at last.
The seer's voice dropped lower.
"When his time comes to rule, the throne will tremble."
Outside, another wolf howled. Closer this time.
Seredwyn turned toward the window, her expression unreadable.
"Prophecies are dangerous things," she said after a long pause.
"They plant fear before any truth has arrived."
"Perhaps," the seer said.
"But this one has already begun."
The queen slowly faced them again.
"What must be done?"
The answer came like a blade cutting through the quiet.
"Prepare the kingdom."
"For when the broken heir rises… nothing will remain unchanged."
The torches flickered.
Beyond the walls of Moonhold, the forest stirred as if the land itself had heard the words.
Far below the mountain, a lone wolf lifted its head toward the moon.
And howled.