Chapter 3 Whispers of the Abyss

The night was endless.

Seraphina trudged through the dense forest, her body weak, her breath ragged. The undergrowth tugged at her gown, branches clawing at her skin, but she pressed on. There was no time for pain. No time for rest.

The child in her arms-her son-slept soundly, despite the horror that had just unfolded. His small form was warm against her chest, his tiny fingers twitching in his sleep. If not for the unnatural display of power she had just witnessed, he would seem like any other newborn.

But he was not.

The Executioner had been erased-not slain, not wounded, but devoured by the darkness her son had unleashed. What was this power? Was it truly a curse? Or something... far worse?

Seraphina's heart pounded.

She had heard the legends. The old texts spoke of those marked by the abyss, those who wielded a power beyond mortal comprehension. Most had been erased from history, hunted by the Inquisition, their names stricken from all records.

But her son-he was living proof that the curse had never vanished.

And if the Inquisition had come for him at birth... they must have known.

They knew what he was. What he could become.

Which meant they would never stop hunting him.

---

The Hunter in the Trees

The wind carried whispers. The scent of fire and blood still lingered, but something else stirred in the air-something far more dangerous.

Seraphina stopped suddenly, pressing her back against a thick oak. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her instincts screaming a warning.

She was not alone.

Somewhere in the darkness, someone was watching.

A snap of a twig. A shift in the shadows.

Her fingers tightened around the dagger she had taken from the midwife's corpse. She was no warrior like her husband, but she would fight to her last breath if it meant keeping her child safe.

The leaves rustled above.

And then-a figure dropped from the branches.

Seraphina spun, dagger raised-only for her wrist to be caught in an iron grip.

She gasped. The man before her was cloaked in black, his face concealed beneath a hood. His grip was strong, yet he made no move to harm her.

"Easy," he murmured. His voice was deep, steady-but laced with something unreadable.

Seraphina's pulse raced. "Who are you?"

The man tilted his head slightly, his hood casting a shadow over his features. Then, slowly, he released her wrist.

"You can call me Ravian."

The name meant nothing to her, but the way he spoke... he knew who she was.

And he had been waiting for her.

---

The Hidden Refuge

Ravian led Seraphina deeper into the forest. Though every instinct told her to be wary, she had no choice. The Inquisition was searching for her, and she was too weak to keep running blindly.

After what felt like an eternity, they arrived at the entrance of a hidden cavern. It was well-concealed, covered in thick vines, but Ravian moved through it effortlessly.

Inside, the air was cool, the walls lined with torches that flickered with an eerie blue flame.

Seraphina clutched her child closer. "Where are we?"

Ravian knelt by the fire pit in the center of the cave, pulling back his hood. For the first time, she saw his face-sharp features, piercing silver eyes, and a jagged scar running across his jaw.

"A sanctuary," he answered. "For those the world has forsaken."

Her breath caught. "You mean..."

Ravian nodded. "The Inquisition isn't the only force that knows about the cursed bloodline. There are others who wish to see it survive."

Seraphina felt a mix of relief and fear. "Why? What do you want with my son?"

Ravian's gaze flickered toward the sleeping child. For a moment, something unreadable crossed his expression-reverence, fear, or perhaps both.

"He is more than just a cursed child," Ravian murmured. "He is the last of his kind."

Seraphina stiffened.

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

Ravian hesitated. Then, he stood, looking toward the mouth of the cave. The wind howled outside, carrying with it the distant cries of the Inquisition's search parties.

After a long silence, he spoke.

"There was a prophecy," he said at last. "A child born under the blood moon, marked by the abyss, whose power could shatter the world or remake it."

His silver eyes met hers.

"Your son," Ravian said quietly, "is the Abyssborn."

The words sent a chill down Seraphina's spine.

The Abyssborn.

A name spoken only in the darkest of myths. A being prophesied to bring either salvation... or destruction.

And now, that being was lying in her arms, sleeping peacefully.

Seraphina swallowed hard. "If the prophecy is true... then the Inquisition won't stop until they've erased him from existence."

Ravian's expression hardened. "That's why we must prepare him. If he is to survive, he must grow stronger. He must learn to control his power before it consumes him."

Seraphina held her son tighter. "He's just a baby."

"For now," Ravian agreed. "But time moves swiftly. And the gods are already watching."

A sudden gust of wind blew through the cave, causing the torches to flicker.

The baby stirred in Seraphina's arms, his tiny fingers curling, his black-and-crimson eyes fluttering open.

And for the briefest moment-just before closing them again-his lips curved into something almost like a smile.

The world was shifting.

The Abyssborn had awakened.

And nothing would ever be the same.