POV: Sera
The throne room erupts into chaos the moment the wounded guard delivers his message.
Mutants surge forward, shouting in grinding, clicking voices. Questions overlap, demands clash. The word war echoes through the chamber like a death knell. But Kael'thor doesn't move. He stands perfectly still, one hand still extended where it touched my face, his four eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes everything else fade away.
"My King," an elderly mutant steps forward—silver-skinned, scarred from ancient battles. "The humans threaten war over a single Offering? This is—"
"Calculated," Kael'thor interrupts coldly, finally turning away from me. The loss of his attention feels like stepping into shadow. "They know we don't want war. They're banking on our hesitation."
"We should send her back," a beautiful female mutant says, her emerald skin glinting in the bioluminescent light. Her voice is smooth, practiced, dangerous. "Appease them. One human is worth avoiding bloodshed."
The moment the words leave her mouth, the temperature in the throne room drops.
Kael'thor's eyes flash so bright they're almost white, and his markings—those ancient Xar'ethian symbols—flare across his entire body like he's burning from the inside out.
"No," he says, and it's the quietest I've ever heard him speak. Which makes it infinitely more terrifying.
The beautiful mutant—something in her expression suggests she holds significant power, status—takes a step back.
"She is not an Offering," Kael'thor announces, his voice carrying weight that makes the stone walls themselves seem to vibrate. "She is my guest. She is under my personal protection. Anyone who suggests otherwise will answer to me directly."
He pauses, letting his gaze sweep across the entire court. Every mutant present lowers their eyes.
"And anyone who harms her," Kael'thor continues, "will wish they had never been born."
The silence that follows is absolute.
Kael'thor turns back to me, and his expression softens slightly. "You're to remain in the royal chambers. No one enters without my permission. No one leaves without my permission. You are safe."
Safe. The word should comfort me. Instead, it crystallizes something I've been avoiding:
I'm captive. Just with better accommodations and softer words.
"I understand," I say carefully.
The beautiful female mutant watches me with barely concealed hatred. I can see her desire now—to be the King's choice, to hold his attention, to be the one he protects. And I've just become the obstacle between her and that want.
Before I can process the weight of that, two figures appear from the shadows at the back of the throne room. They move like ghosts, like they've been watching the entire time.
One is wrapped in living darkness—midnight-blue skin that seems to absorb light, three silver eyes glowing in an otherwise invisible face. He's lean and dangerous, wearing his predatory beauty like armor.
The other is massive—crimson-red skin crisscrossed with white battle scars, four arms, golden eyes that burn with ancient warrior's fire. He moves like an earthquake waiting to happen.
"Vexen," Kael'thor says to the shadow-walker, "I need you to gather intelligence on this Ashford settlement. Find out exactly what they want. Why they're threatening war for a single human."
Vexen's silver eyes slide toward me, and there's something knowing in his expression—like he's analyzing me, calculating my value. "I'll need to know everything about her," he says smoothly. "Background, family structure, political leverage."
"Later," Kael'thor says, but his tone suggests not by you and not alone.
Then he turns to the scarred one. "Draeven, the guard chambers are breached. Tighten security. I want sentries doubled on all entry points."
Draeven's golden eyes flick toward me, assessing, then back to Kael'thor. "You're claiming her."
It's not a question.
"Yes," Kael'thor says simply.
"Fully?" Draeven asks, and there's something significant in the word that I don't understand.
"Not yet," Kael'thor replies, and I feel heat rise to my face at whatever that means. "But she is not to be approached. Not by anyone."
The two mutants exchange a glance that communicates something I can't quite read. Then Vexen grins—sharp, dangerous, intrigued—and vanishes into shadow. Draeven nods and leaves with the wounded guard.
The throne room slowly empties, mutants departing in clusters, still whispering. The beautiful female mutant lingers for a moment, her emerald eyes boring into me with pure venom, before she disappears down a corridor.
Finally, it's just Kael'thor and me.
"You're angry," he observes.
"I'm confused," I correct. "You're keeping me here. For my safety, you said, but also... because you want to. Because you don't want her—" I gesture vaguely toward where the beautiful mutant disappeared, "—or anyone else to have me."
"Yes," Kael'thor says, no denial, no softening. He approaches slowly, giving me space but also making it clear I have nowhere to go. "Is that wrong?"
"I don't know," I admit. "I was supposed to die today. Instead, I'm standing in a throne room being claimed by the King of monsters."
"Not claimed," Kael'thor says, and there's something tender in his expression. "Protected. There's a difference."
"Is there?" I challenge. "Because from where I'm standing, both feel like cages."
Something flickers in his four eyes—pain, maybe. Or understanding. "You want to leave."
"I want to understand what I am," I say fiercely. "I want to know why I can do this." My golden light flares brighter as I speak, ancient symbols appearing on my skin. "I want to know what I am to you beyond a symbol of power or a prize to keep from your court."
Kael'thor steps closer, and this close, I can see the texture of his obsidian skin, the way the silver veins pulse with his heartbeat. "You're everything," he says quietly. "That's what frightens me. You're everything I didn't know I needed."
My breath catches.
"Come," Kael'thor says, extending his hand. "There's someone you need to meet. Someone who can explain what's happening to you."
I hesitate. Taking his hand means accepting his protection, accepting my captivity, accepting whatever bond is forming between us whether I understand it or not.
I take his hand anyway.
His touch is warm, careful, and the moment our skin connects, something shifts. My golden light doesn't just glow—it explodes outward, brighter than ever before. The symbols on my skin multiply, crawling across every inch of my body, and they're no longer just gold.
They're moving. Growing. Transforming into something more complex, more powerful.
Kael'thor's eyes widen in shock. "That's... Sera, that's not—"
The pain hits me like a physical force.
I scream, and it's not a human sound. It echoes through the throne room, through the entire Citadel, and I can feel it—my power reaching out beyond these walls, calling to something ancient that's been sleeping beneath the Crimson Waste.
Something that's recognizing its match.
"Guards!" Kael'thor shouts, catching me as my knees buckle. "Get Zhal'kara! Now!"
But I'm not falling because I'm weak.
I'm falling because I'm transforming.
The golden light burns hotter, and beneath my skin, I can feel something breaking open. Not my body—something deeper. Something that was locked away, dormant, waiting for the right moment to awaken.
Through the pain, through the burning, I see.
I see myself—not as I am, but as I was meant to be. Not human. Not just a mutant. Something other. Something between species. Something that shouldn't exist but does.
Something royal.
"What is she?" whispers a guard.
"I don't know," Kael'thor says, and for the first time, he sounds uncertain. Afraid.
The light builds, and builds, and builds until it fills the entire throne room. Until I can't see anything but gold. Until I can't hear anything but the sound of reality bending.
And in that moment of infinite brightness, I hear a voice.
Not a mutant voice. Not a human voice. Something older. Something that speaks in pure power and ancient memory.
Finally. Finally, you've awakened. The bond is forming. The treaty is beginning. The new world order starts now.
The light fades.
I'm on my knees in Kael'thor's arms, gasping, burning, transformed.
And something has fundamentally changed.
The symbols on my skin aren't just glowing anymore—they're permanent. Tattoos of pure power, written in a language I somehow understand but can't speak.
And worst of all, I can feel it: a connection extending from my body through the Citadel, down into the Crimson Waste, reaching across the entire planet.
A connection that ties me to something far larger than one King, one court, one world.
Kael'thor's hands shake as he holds me. "Sera," he whispers desperately, "what are you?"
Before I can answer, Zhal'kara bursts into the throne room—the healer I saw in my visions. She takes one look at me and her entire face goes pale.
"Oh gods," she breathes. "It's not possible. We thought the bloodlines were extinct."
"What?" Kael'thor demands. "What is she?"
Zhal'kara meets my eyes, and her expression is a mixture of awe and terror.
"She's not an Empath Conduit," the healer says slowly. "She's something far more dangerous. She's a Catalyst. A being whose power doesn't just perceive desires—it manifests them into reality. The last one of her kind was a queen who ruled when our two species lived in peace. Before the war. Before everything fell apart."
The throne room erupts into whispers.
And I realize, with absolute horror and absolute certainty:
I'm not just claimed by the King.
I'm the reason the entire world has been waiting.