Morgana Chronveil awoke and settled by the window, her gaze drifting over the lush gardens of Drakethorne House. The morning air filled with birdsong, and small, glowing magic circles shimmered in every corner, each sending out gentle streams of water to nourish the vibrant plants.

  Servants moved carefully through the garden, pruning flowers and trimming branches to preserve its perfect beauty. The central fountain sent a shimmering veil into the air, giving the garden an ethereal glow.

  Sophia Chronveil stood beside her mother, shifting her weight nervously while Morgana sat calmly on a comfortable sofa. Sophia longed to ask her mother many questions, but she knew Morgana would only speak if and when she chose, so she remained silent.

  Mother and daughter gazed at the garden, their thoughts hidden from everyone else. Only they knew what stirred in their minds.

  Suddenly, the doors to Morgana’s chamber swung open. Three figures entered, their refined bearing and flawless features striking in their harmony. Their presence filled the room, and their urgent steps carried them quickly to Morgana, their eyes searching her for any sign of what had happened the previous day.

  "You might have knocked first. Who knows what you could have interrupted?" Morgana turned from the window and faced the three imposing figures as they strode toward her, their determination clear—they would not leave without answers.

  Nyra Blackheart, usually poised, realized their mistake. "Oh, Morgana, I am so sorry! We were so anxious to hear what happened yesterday that we forgot to knock." She nudged Ragnar, urging him to say something.

  Ragnar Drakethorne nodded in agreement with his wife, silently acknowledging how rude it was to enter without knocking.

  Shane Drakethorne composed himself and spoke. "We are sorry for barging in. Our worries got the better of us. Please, Duchess Morgana, tell us what happened yesterday. We need to know everything."

  Ragnar and Nyra both nodded at their son's words, their curiosity written plainly on their faces.

  Morgana did not mind their eagerness. She had regained much of her strength, thanks to her stay at Drakethorne House and the care of her daughter, Sophia, who had made sure she received plenty of restorative potions.

  Just as Morgana was about to speak, the door burst open and a figure rushed into the chamber. It was Sera Azurestorm, her blue hair uncombed and wild, her azure eyes darting around the room as she took in everyone present.

  Sera halted, catching her breath. She walked slowly to stand beside Shane Drakethorne.

  Shane Drakethorne glanced at his wife, noticing the exhaustion in her face and the tangled mess of her hair. It was clear she had not slept or even bothered to comb it. He sighed inwardly, worried about how much Sera was pushing herself, staying up all night with worry over their son and the turmoil of the previous day.

  Shane wanted to embrace his wife and offer comfort, but the moment was not right. Instead, he gently entwined his fingers with hers and met her gaze, hoping to reassure her.

  Ragnar and Nyra exchanged glances, then gave a deliberate cough to gently return everyone's attention to the matter at hand.

  Shane and Sera, momentarily flustered, composed themselves. Still holding hands, they turned to face Morgana, who watched them with a gentle gaze and a soft smile.

  "I apologize for coming in without knocking," Sera said, steadying herself.

  Morgana nodded and replied, "I believe your son is the prophesied one my late grandmother warned us about." Her gaze lingered on each of the four, and silence filled the room.

  Shock registered in the eyes of all four. Even Sophia, Morgana’s daughter, stared in disbelief—her mother had never mentioned this to her.

  Ragnar quickly regained his composure. "How could you decide so quickly that he is the prophesied one?" he asked.

  They had all heard of the prophecy. Most nobles had by now.

  Morgana said, "I think he is, but I am not certain. While meditating in my room, I could no longer see the fate of the prophesied one clearly. I was struck by a backlash. That is why I was so weak when I came to the banquet."

  Nyra interjected, skepticism in her voice. "How could a paragon be reduced to such a state by a backlash?" As a paragon herself, she knew such a thing should not have weakened Morgana so much.

  Nyra remembered how Morgana had looked—so weak, barely at sage rank, coughing up blood. The others were thinking the same thing.

  Feeling their disbelief, Morgana grew angry. "Why would I lie? I suffered the backlash the day before your banquet. Otherwise, I would have come as my usual self. I was barely able to attend, but my curiosity got the better of me. I had to see for myself if this child was the one."

  Morgana continued, "At first, I was in an even worse state. My aura had fallen to barely the upper grandmaster rank. I lost consciousness, and my daughter used every expensive potion she had to help me recover to sage rank."

  Sophia nodded. "I found her in her meditation room, unconscious. She usually returns around five in the evening, but that night she had not come out, not even by nine, when we usually eat dinner. So I went in and found her collapsed." Tears welled in Sophia's eyes as she remembered finding her mother so vulnerable.

  Shane, Ragnar, and Nyra—all paragons, with Shane newly ascended—felt a chill run through them as they imagined what kind of force could reduce a paragon to a mere sage, or worse, a grandmaster.

  Sera Azurestorm was still a sage rank, but could still imagine the powers needed to reduce paragon rank to grandmaster rank. She felt a shudder down her spine.

  Morgana’s voice trembled. "After I recovered to sage rank, I had to come. With what little strength I had regained, and with my daughter's help, I forced open a teleportation portal to the banquet hall. But when I held your son's hand, that same power returned—darker, more terrifying than before." Morgana's fingers shook as she remembered the words: ‘Go back.’

  Shane, eager for every detail, asked, "What did you see when you held Alex’s hand? What did you see in his fate?"

  Morgana took a deep breath. "I could not see your son's fate lines as I can see yours now. When I tried to look deeper by holding his hands, I was pulled into a pitch-black void that felt endless and suffocating. As I tried to move forward, my body froze and my knees buckled. Then an ancient voice echoed, commanding me to go back. That sound tore through me, and I lost consciousness. I remember nothing after that." Morgana began to tremble, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

  Nyra hurried to Morgana’s side, channeling calming magic and handing her a cup of water.

  Morgana steadied herself as she sipped the water.

  After a moment, Morgana continued, "When I meditated on the fate lines of the prophesied one, they were scattered, as if someone had interfered. When I tried to get closer, I was struck by a backlash, as if some power wanted to protect what little remained."

  Morgana took a breath. "The power I sensed then and the force I felt while holding your son's hands were the same."

  Shane asked urgently, "Do you mean those scattered fate lines are my son's?"

  Morgana nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, I think the prophecy is about your son. This morning, as soon as I woke, I tried to meditate and look at those fate lines again, but they were gone, as if they had never existed. It is as though the prophesied one has been erased."

  Sera, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. "No, my son is alive. He was with me all morning. I just came here after putting him to sleep."

  Shane squeezed his wife's hand gently, trying to reassure her that their son was safe.

  Morgana said, "I do not know where those fate lines went. In that space, I can see the fate lines of many people I know. Fate lines only vanish when someone dies. Maybe the prophesied one was not your son, but someone else who died. But the prophesied one is not meant to die so easily."

  Morgana wished she could ask her mother, who was over a hundred years old and had secluded herself in her meditation room five years ago, telling everyone not to enter until she returned. All Morgana could do was wait for her mother to come back. She sighed, accepting the situation for now.

  Ragnar, who had listened quietly, finally spoke. "Let us end this discussion for now. We do not know who the prophesied one is, or who caused Morgana to lose consciousness when she tried to look into Alex’s fate." With that, he left the chamber, deciding there was no point in going further. He headed to his training room, his red eyes burning with restless energy.

  Sera and Shane left soon after, making their way to their son’s room, which had become their own as well, since they now slept there together.

  Nyra remained behind to talk with Morgana. Over time, they had become friends. Both women were past their fifties, sharing similar worldviews and experiences.