Winter came gently to the high valley that Moon and Ciron called home. Snow drifted in soft spirals, coating the stones of their circle in quiet silver. Inside, the fire burned low.It was there, on a night when the wind sang like a lullaby, that Moon gave birth to her son.No thunder, no omen, only the soft cry of new life breaking the stillness.Ciron held the tiny child with hands that trembled. “He has your eyes,” he whispered.Moon smiled through tears. “And you're calm. We’ll call him Blood, so that we never forget what it cost to make peace.”The name sounded strange and sacred all at once, heavy with the promise of the line he carried: Liroid and Cirax, flame and storm.Word of the birth traveled faster than the wind. In Devon, Queen Irinrode woke from a dream of lilies turned red and knew her daughter had borne a child.She journeyed north through snow and danger until she stood again in the valley she had once feared to enter.Moon wept when she saw her. “Mother… you came.”

Spring crept softly across the high valley. The snows melted into silver streams that carried whispers down to the kingdoms below.Those whispers spoke of a child who could walk without sound, heal broken branches with a touch, and still the hearts of beasts with a glance.The mortals called him the Shadow-born.The spirits called him the Keeper of Assassins.Blood called himself simply his father’s student.He was fifteen when the first stranger arrived: a wounded soldier, pale and fevered, half-dead from the snows. Blood found him near the riverbank and brought him home. When Ciron laid a hand on the man’s chest, he felt the strange tremor of mortal war pulsing in his veins.“People below are fighting again,” Ciron said quietly. “For gold, for pride, for gods that stopped listening.”Moon’s eyes darkened. “The curse of men isn’t in their blood, it’s in their forgetting.”That night, when the soldier slept by the fire, Blood listened to the storm outside. “Father,” he said softly, “i

The winter markets of Spline City glittered as if nothing could touch them, yet beneath the marble streets something moved, slow, molten, patient.The people called her Payal, the Molten One, guardian and judge of the city’s flame-forges. Few believed she still walked among mortals; fewer still knew that every spark that lit a hearth was a fragment of her watching eye.From her temple deep below the city, Payal watched Blood and Lyra. She saw the quiet tenderness between them and the silver light that shimmered at his throat. And she smiled.“This is the one the shadows guard,” she murmured. “Let us see if his balance holds when love and duty burn together.”The false warOne dawn, horns blared across the city. Messengers cried that a warlord from the west marched toward Spline, demanding tribute and obedience. Panic spread like fire through the bazaars.Lyra ran to Blood. “They’re calling for defenders. You can’t go.”“I must,” he said, though uncertainty weighed on him. “If the worl

Weeks passed after the revelation in Spline City.The world around Blood and Lyra seemed gentler, as if even the wind knew to cradle what Lyra carried. The forge-lights burned low; the air shimmered with a faint warmth that came not from heat, but from promise.Lyra often pressed her hand to her belly, smiling as if she felt the pulse of another heart beating with her own. Blood would rest beside her, his fingers tracing the silver mark Payal had left upon his wrist.“This light,” he said softly, “it listens to the child.”Lyra looked up. “Do you think the gods will ever leave us alone?”“Perhaps not,” he replied. “But I think they’re learning how to bless without taking.”The return to the valleyAs winter faded into spring, Blood felt a pull stronger than any whisper from the gods, the pull of home.“We must tell my parents,” he said. “They should know before the child is born.”Lyra hesitated. “Will they welcome me? A woman of Spline, carrying a child touched by gods?”He smiled. “

The night of the birth came wrapped in starlight.The valley shone brighter than it ever had, the lilies opening even after dusk. A hush fell across the mountains, and the wind itself seemed to hold its breath.Then came the glow, three lights descending through the air like slow-falling comets.From them stepped the goddesses.Evilside arrived first, her gown woven of midnight. “I am not here for ceremony,” she announced, though her eyes softened at the sound of Lyra’s labored breath.Payal followed, molten gold and laughter. “And yet you came anyway. Admit it, sister, you’ve grown fond of these mortals.”Shil drifted last, pale and serene. “Fondness is another word for faith, and even you are learning it.”Evilside scowled lightly. “I am not your sister, and do not make me sentimental, Shil.”Payal chuckled. “Too late. You’re smiling already.”“I am grimacing.”“Of course you are,” Payal said sweetly.Ciron shook his head, whispering to Moon, “Even divine sisters bicker like mortals