Chapter 122: The Blood Seer
The stillness was an illusion.
Isla stood at the edge of the tower, wind threading through her hair as if trying to steal the moment from her. Below, the valley trembled in silence, as though holding its breath. The rift had closed, but not destroyed and Maedor… he had tasted proximity.
Behind her, Brienne lay beneath thick woolen blankets, unconscious but stable. Lucia stood at her side, weaving protective runes in silver ink across her skin. Damian hadn’t moved from Isla’s side, his hand a fierce presence at her lower back, his warmth steadying the tremor in her bones.
“We bought time,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough. “But not peace.”
She nodded, eyes fixed on the dark treeline. The mist had receded, but it clung to the world like a bruise. “I felt him… not just outside the veil, but in me. Like he was watching from beneath my skin.”
Damian tensed. “He won’t touch you. Or her.”
The words came like an oath. She turned to him, their eyes locking, and in his gaze, she saw not only fury, but fear.
“I need to understand why,” she said softly. “Why me? Why the child? What did Brienne mean when she said I was once the door?”
He hesitated. “There’s something I haven’t told you. Something Raven revealed before she left the Inner Circle.”
Isla’s stomach twisted. “What is it?”
Damian drew her away from the tower’s edge, back into the stone chamber, now lit with soft flame. Shadows danced along the walls, whispering ancient truths.
“She told me our child… isn't just the convergence of Sombrosi and Veyra,” he said slowly. “There’s a third lineage hidden in the baby’s blood… your blood”
Isla froze.
“My father’s side?”
He nodded. “There were rumors of a hidden bloodline, descendants of the Umbravox.”
Her knees buckled, and she gripped the table. “The dead-tongued.”
He nodded again, solemn. “They were thought extinct. But Raven believes Maedor marked you not just for the blood you carry, but because our child is something that hasn’t walked this world in a thousand years. A triad soul.”
A silence fell between them like a blade.
She whispered, “Is that why I hear him? Because I share the Umbravox gift?”
“No,” Damian said, stepping closer. “You hear him because he’s afraid of you. He wants to corrupt the blood before it awakens. But you’ve already chosen differently.”
His hand lifted to her face. She leaned into his touch, her skin searing at the warmth. For all the chaos, all the fear, this was where she remembered who she was. She wasn’t a door, nor a vessel. She was just Isla.
She rose on her toes, kissed him, slow, trembling, but insistent. He responded instantly, pulling her into him as if he could shield her with his body. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her other hand pressed against his chest, feeling the thunder of his heart.
They broke apart, breathless.
“I don’t want to waste another night,” she whispered.
“There are no guarantees we’ll have more,” he said hoarsely.
“Then give me this one.”
His lips crashed into hers again, this time fiercer, hungrier. They moved together in sync, desperation woven between every touch, every gasp. The world outside fell away as they found solace in each other, under ancient stone, surrounded by ghosts of prophecy and echoes of war, they claimed something unspoken: a love not just born of fate, but forged in resistance. The pleasure was mesmerizing as she felt him grow inside her with every thrust. She decided to take on this act of love with determination and take all the pleasure and passion she could withstand. She straddled him and made sure he exploded and surpassed way beyond his usual peek, hearing him moan was one of her favourite sounds and it would definitely be engraved in her memory forever.
Later, as they lay tangled beneath thick furs in the high chamber, Damian traced a line down her spine.
“When I met you,” he murmured, “I didn’t believe the world could be saved.”
She looked up, eyes heavy with sleep and memory. “And now?”
He stared at the ceiling. “Now I think the world will burn… but maybe it’s worth fighting for what rises from the ashes.”
Isla was about to answer when a knock echoed from the stairwell.
Lucia’s voice followed: “There’s someone at the gates. Alone. Doesn’t seem human nor werewolf.”
Isla sat upright. Damian was already dressing, sword in hand.
They made their way down through the torch-lit stairwell, the fortress unnaturally quiet. Outside the gates, under the flickering torches, stood a cloaked figure with glowing, serpentine eyes, amber and rimmed in obsidian.
Not Veyra.
Not Sombrosi.
and not Fallen.
Lucia whispered, “That’s a Blood Seer.”
Isla’s heart dropped.
“I thought they were exiled,” Damian muttered. “I thought they sided with does who lurk in the shadows. Thus, Maedor.”
The cloaked figure raised a hand and pulled back her hood.
She was young, barely older than Isla, with silver hair braided into serpentine coils and a jagged red mark down her jaw.
“I come alone,” she said, voice unnaturally calm. “I bring no threat.”
Isla stepped forward. “Then why are you here?”
The girl’s eyes met hers and for a moment, she looked afraid. “Because Maedor has not been working alone. There is another.”
“Who?” Damian demanded.
The Seer didn’t blink.
“The Veiled Queen has awakened. And she wants the child for herself.”