Alistair POV
The glass vial burns cold against my palm as I push deeper into the Seer's sanctum.
The place always smells like dust, incense, and old mistakes—mostly mine.
The Elder Seer doesn't look up when I enter. He never does. It's infuriating.
"Drop it," he rasps, motioning vaguely to the stone table.
I set the vial down harder than I intend.
The crimson inside catches the lantern light, glinting with that faint silver threading beneath the surface.
His brows tighten.
"Whose blood?". As if he doesn't already know.
"Run it," I say.
He sighs like I'm a child asking the same forbidden question twice.
But he uncorks the vial anyway, dipping a strip of runic paper through it.
The symbols flare—white, then silver, then a violent, pulsing blue.
The Seer recoils.
Ah.
So I'm not overreacting.
He drops the paper as if it bit him.
"Alistair… where did you get this?"
"That's not important."
"It is," he snaps. "Because this—this shouldn't exist."
My jaw ticks. "The seal is breaking."
"That is not a seal breaking," he says, voice thin with fear I've never heard from him before. "That is a seal bleeding through."
The distinction matters. And I hate that it does.
The Seer presses shaking fingers to the glowing runes.
They spark violently, rejecting his touch.
"This blood—" He inhales sharply. "It's waking."
My chest tightens.
Waking.
Not reacting. Not flaring. Waking.
"Tell me what it means." My voice comes out lower than intended. "Now."
The Seer's milky eyes lift to mine, and for once, he looks old.
Human.
Breakable.
"If the seal fully wakes," he says quietly, "the prophecy doesn't activate."
A beat.
"It unravels."
My pulse stutters. "Meaning?"
He swallows.
"Meaning she doesn't become the weapon."
A pause.
"She becomes the event."
Ice pours through my spine.
No. No, no, no—
The Seer steps back as if bracing for impact. "You cannot let her power surface, Alistair. Once it crosses the threshold, even the Binding Houses won't be able to—"
"Stop." My voice cracks like a blade drawn from stone. "I'm not here for warnings. I'm here for solutions."
"There aren't any."
I almost laugh. A sharp, humorless sound.
"There are always solutions," I say. "Or I make one."
The Seer shakes his head.
"You cannot protect her from this."
"I can," I growl. "I will."
His expression tightens.
"And when she learns what you've kept from her?"
I go still.
Because the truth is a fault line under everything I am. Under everything she is becoming.
"I don't care if she hates me," I say finally. "It's better than her dying."
"It might be worse," he murmurs.
I don't answer.
Because I've already turned toward the door.
Already made the decision.
The night air hits me like a slap as I leave the sanctum, the city unfolding in all its crooked lights below.
Her blood is waking.
Her seal is breaking.
And the prophecy—the one that ends kingdoms, worlds, bloodlines—
Is shifting.
Changing its target.
Her.
I clench my fists.
Good.
Let it come.
Let the whole damn world burn for her.
I'll hold the line alone if I have to.
Even if she never forgives me.