Rain crashed against the palace windows as servants rushed through the corridors.

King Elias moved like a man possessed.

His royal robes dragged behind him, but he did not stop. Guards bowed and stepped aside as he stormed toward the queen’s chambers.

From inside the room came cries of pain.

Then silence.

Elias’s heart nearly stopped.

He pushed the doors open.

The royal physician stood near the bed, his face unreadable. Midwives lowered their heads. Candles flickered wildly in the storm wind.

Queen Helena lay exhausted, sweat upon her brow.

And in her arms was a child wrapped in gold cloth.

Elias stepped closer with trembling hands.

“Well?” he whispered.

No one answered.

The queen slowly lifted the cloth.

The king stared.

A girl.

For a moment, the world around him vanished.

Another daughter.

Another year of whispers.

Another season of nobles questioning the throne.

Another wound.

Queen Helena watched the pain spread across his face.

“She is healthy,” the queen said softly. “She is beautiful.”

But Elias could not speak.

The physician cleared his throat.

“Your Majesty, the child was born under strange signs.”

Elias looked up sharply.

“What signs?”

The old man pointed toward the window.

“The thunder struck the palace tower the moment she breathed.”

Another servant fell to his knees.

“And the temple bells rang by themselves.”

The room grew cold.

Even the candles seemed weaker.

Queen Helena tightened her hold on the infant.

“She is only a baby.”

The physician lowered his gaze.

“In the old prophecies, a princess born in thunder would either unite kingdoms… or burn them to ash.”

Elias stared at the child again.

Her tiny fingers curled around the queen’s hand.

She opened her eyes.

They were not blue like her sisters.

Not brown like the king.

They were silver.

A gasp spread through the chamber.

Queen Helena kissed the child’s forehead.

“She needs a name.”

Elias remained silent.

Far away, thunder rolled again.

At that same moment, in the guest wing of the palace, King Darius stood at his balcony staring into the storm.

A servant approached carefully.

“Your Majesty, the child has been born.”

Darius turned.

“Well?”

“A daughter.”

To his own surprise, King Darius smiled.

“A blessing.”

But the servant swallowed nervously.

“They say she has silver eyes.”

The smile faded.

Darius knew the prophecy too.

Across the hall, King Malric sat alone in darkness, listening to every rumor that moved through the palace.

A daughter born in thunder.

Silver eyes.

A child tied to fate.

For the first time in years, something stirred inside him.

Hope.

Back in the queen’s chamber, Elias finally found his voice.

“What is her name?” Helena asked again.

The king looked down at the infant.

Outside, lightning split the sky.

“Seraphina,” he said quietly.

The child blinked once.

And every candle in the room went out.