Chapter 7

King Levarro stood beneath the great emblem of Luminosus, his white-and-gold robes catching the light of the ceremonial flames.

“My sons,” he began, looking toward Hectoro, Akilio, Finio, and Gino, “there is a part of our family's history that I have kept from the eyes of Avelia. I did not conceal it out of shame, nor did I do so because I doubted the strength of my kingdom.”

The entire hall fell silent.

“For many years, eight young ladies have lived beyond the knowledge of our people. They were protected, nurtured, and kept apart from the royal court until the time came for them to understand the weight of their heritage.”

Whispers stirred among the assembled kingdoms.

“Eight ladies?” murmured a High Gastan elder.

“Does the king speak of hidden heirs?” asked a Raterion noble.

King Levarro lifted his chin.

“They are my daughters.”

The words struck the hall like thunder.

Even the royal princes stood motionless.

Hectoro's eyes widened. Gino looked from one brother to another, searching their faces for an explanation. Akilio's jaw tightened, while Finio—still consumed by thoughts of Shaynna—felt the revelation collide with the terror already raging within him.

“My daughters,” Levarro repeated, “born of a legacy older than this gathering, entrusted to the protection of those who understood the sacred gifts they carried.”

The king's gaze moved across the bewildered delegates.

“They have now reached the age when their identities can no longer remain hidden. They must be presented before their kingdom, their people, and the realm whose future may one day depend upon them.”

He raised his hand toward the great doors.

“Let the eight daughters of Luminosus come forth!”

The doors began to open.

Golden light spilled across the marble floor, illuminating the faces of the assembled rulers. Every eye turned toward the entrance.

Then Lady Agartha appeared.

Behind her stood eight young women.

Shaynna was among them.

Her face was pale, her hands trembling. She had no idea why she had been brought to the palace, why the king claimed the women were his daughters, or why the entire realm was staring at her as though she were someone extraordinary.

She looked desperately into the crowd.

And there, beside Prince Akilio, stood Finio.

Their eyes met.

Finio's face transformed from panic into stunned disbelief.

“Shaynna…”

She took one uncertain step forward, silently pleading for him to explain what she could not understand herself.

But before he could reach her, King Levarro's voice rang through the hall.

“Tonight, Avelia shall know the daughters I have kept hidden for so long. Let their names and their gifts be revealed, for the age of their awakening has arrived!”

The eight maidens stood beneath the golden light, frightened and bewildered, while thousands watched them in astonishment.

Shaynna looked down at her hands.

Beneath her skin, a blue glow flickered once.

Then again.

She gasped.

Across the hall, Finio began pushing through the gathering crowd, desperate to reach her.

But the ceremonial light suddenly blazed brighter.

The ancient symbols beneath the marble floor awakened, one after another, surrounding the eight maidens in a radiant circle.

Shaynna felt the same terrible sensation that had seized her at the waterfall.

The air grew weightless.

The voices around her stretched into distant echoes.

“No,” she whispered. “Not again…”

She reached toward Finio.

He lunged forward.

“SHAYNNA!”

And as their fingertips nearly touched, a voice older than the kingdoms whispered through the light.

“The Sanggrellas have returned.”

The hall erupted in blinding blue radiance.

And no one—not even the king—could explain what was about to happen next.

Shaynna’s vision fractured into shards of blue. The marble beneath her feet dissolved into water, then into nothing. She heard Finio’s cry cut short, replaced by the hollow roar of rushing currents inside her own skull. Her fingers closed on empty air where his hand should have been. The light swallowed her whole.

She landed hard on wet stone. Cold spray slapped her face. When she lifted her head, the Falls of Hydranas roared above her again, but the moon hung in the wrong position and the sky burned with unfamiliar constellations. A single rune pulsed beneath her palms—the same rune that had taken her before. Only now it bled.

Behind her, seven other figures staggered from the mist. Jewell’s cloak smoked at the edges. A girl in Hydranas silver clutched her chest as if her heart fought to escape. None of them spoke. They simply stared at one another across the sudden circle of glowing marks that had replaced the ground.

Shaynna rose on shaking legs. The water around her ankles answered her movement, rising in thin ribbons that coiled around her wrists like living glass. She felt the pulse of something ancient inside her blood, something that recognized the other seven women even though their faces were unknown. The prophecy had not merely chosen them. It had gathered them.

A low wind swept across the falls, carrying the scent of charred cedar and salt. From the dark tree line, a figure stepped forward—hooded, tall, moving with the careful grace of someone who had once ruled these stones. The woman lowered her hood. Her eyes matched Shaynna’s exactly, though centuries older and rimmed with grief.

“You are the eighth,” the stranger said. “The one the prophecy forgot to bury.”