Darkness swallowed the chamber.

Servants screamed.

One of the midwives dropped to her knees in terror. Another fumbled for flint to relight the candles, but her shaking hands could barely hold it.

Queen Helena clutched the child to her chest.

“Stay back!” she cried.

King Elias stood frozen.

No wind had entered the room.

No hand had touched the flames.

Yet every candle had died at the same moment.

Then, as suddenly as they vanished, one candle reignited by itself.

Then another.

And another.

Within seconds, the room glowed once more.

No one moved.

The physician crossed himself and whispered a prayer.

Elias stepped forward slowly.

“Give me the child.”

Helena’s eyes hardened.

“She is not a curse.”

“I said, give me the child.”

The queen hesitated, then gently placed baby Seraphina into the king’s arms.

She was warm.

Small.

Silent.

The silver-eyed infant stared at him without fear.

For a strange moment, Elias felt something he had not expected.

Love.

Pure and sudden.

Then the chamber doors burst open.

A royal guard rushed in, breathless.

“Your Majesty! Forgive me, but you must come at once.”

Elias frowned. “What now?”

“The eastern tower has collapsed.”

Gasps filled the room.

“That tower stood for two hundred years,” the physician whispered.

The guard swallowed.

“It was struck by lightning.”

King Elias looked down at the child in his arms.

Thunder birth.

Dead flames.

Fallen tower.

Fear began to creep into his heart.

---

By dawn, rumors had spread through every hallway of the palace.

The princess was cursed.

The princess was blessed.

The princess was born from prophecy.

No two whispers were the same.

King Darius heard them all while sharpening a sword in the guest courtyard.

“A dangerous child,” one noble murmured nearby.

“Or a powerful one,” another replied.

Darius said nothing.

But inside, his thoughts were turning.

If the girl truly carried fate, then one day she could become valuable... or deadly.

Across the palace gardens, King Malric stood watching birds gather on a stone fountain.

He had never believed in prophecies.

Yet before sunrise, a white raven had landed on his window.

An omen in northern tradition.

The sign of change.

For the first time in many years, Malric smiled.

---

That evening, the three kings met again in the grand hall.

No music played now.

No wine was poured.

Only silence.

King Elias looked tired beyond measure.

“My daughter remains in the nursery,” he said. “No one enters without my command.”

Darius leaned back in his chair.

“You fear your own child?”

“I fear what follows her.”

Malric’s voice was calm.

“Or perhaps you fear what she may become.”

Elias slammed a fist onto the table.

“She is an infant!”

“Then why lock the doors?” Malric asked.

The room fell tense.

Darius finally spoke.

“The kingdoms will hear these rumors soon. If people believe prophecy has returned, unrest may begin.”

Elias rubbed his temples.

“What do you suggest?”

Darius’s eyes narrowed.

“Hide the signs. Raise her quietly.”

Malric shook his head.

“Secrets grow teeth.”

Elias looked between them.

Then a servant rushed in, pale as bone.

“Your Majesty…”

“What is it now?” Elias snapped.

The servant trembled.

“The royal nursery guards… they are asleep.”

“Asleep?”

“They cannot be awakened.”

All three kings rose at once.

The servant’s next words froze the hall.

“And the princess is gone.”