A primordial

A primordial
Astrid POV

I scoffed, folding my arms even though my pulse hammered in my throat. “What daughter? You’ve definitely got the wrong girl.”

Slowly—almost tauntingly—he turned.

My breath caught. Half of his face was cloaked in shadow, the other half revealed… burned. Jagged scars melted across his cheek, twisting down to his jaw. But his eyes—those eyes—burned with an intensity that rooted me to the spot.

“Yes,” he said, his voice thick with dark amusement. “Daughter. Isn’t it time you were happy? After all these years… finally meeting your father.”

I stood frozen, words caught in my throat. My lips parted, but nothing came.

He descended the steps of his throne with slow, deliberate steps, the sound echoing through the cavernous dark. Each one made my chest tighten more, like I was being trapped in a cage with every movement.

Finally, he stopped right before me. My head barely reached his chest, his presence towering, suffocating. A rough hand lifted my chin, forcing me to look up into those scarred features.

I swallowed hard. “F-Father?” The word felt foreign on my tongue, strange and heavy.

He smirked, letting go as he turned his back on me again, gesturing to the empty throne behind him. “Your mother thought she was clever. Thought I’d never find you. So she ran—gave you to some stranger to keep you away from me. Forgetting I am not a mere mortal like those tiny humans” His voice dropped to a growl. “She really thought she could erase me.”

My chest tightened. My mind flashed back—the burning house, the woman’s screams, the blood on her legs, the child ripped away.

The burn on his face.

The chaos.

The betrayal.

It wasn’t just some random vision. It was him. My eyes widened as it all pieced together, every horrifying fragment snapping into place.

“No…” I whispered, shaking my head as I stumbled backward, palms damp, stomach churning. “No. No, it can’t be you.”

His gaze snapped to me, sharp, unyielding. “There is no running, Astrid. You are mine. By blood. By fate. Nothing changes that.”

The shadows surged forward like fire, engulfing me. I gasped—then jolted awake.

My room.

My sheets tangled around me, damp with sweat. My chest heaved, lungs aching like I’d been choking on smoke.

The truth seared into me with terrifying clarity.

My father… my biological father… was alive.

Across the room, Dove was already dressed for class, hair tied back, sliding her books into her bag. She glanced at me with a grin. “Well, seems like someone had a good sleep, snoozing that long.”

I just sat there, trembling, still clutching my sheets. My lips parted, my voice a whisper of disbelief.

“It’s my father,” I said, meeting her eyes. “My biological father.”

I sat on the edge of my bed, Dove staring at me like I’d just spoken another language.

“Wait, what?” she blinked fast. “Father? The figure?”

I nodded, fingers trembling as I shoved back the duvet and rushed to the shower. The water did little to wash away the weight in my chest. Father. The word kept echoing, foreign and heavy, like it didn’t belong to me yet clung to my skin. By the time I dressed and tied my hair back, Dove was still watching me, lips parted in shock.

“We’re going to class,” I said, grabbing my bag. “But after that—we’re talking about this. With all of them.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t argue.

\~~~

Class blurred. I couldn’t even remember what subject Professor Williams was on. My notes looked like scribbles from someone drunk on caffeine and fear. I caught Jason’s eyes once, then Killian’s, but I shook my head. Not yet. Not here.

Finally—mercifully—the bell rang.

I walked out with Dove, my legs unsteady, and by the time we reached the library, my pulse had climbed into my throat. The others were already there—Jason leaning back in his chair like he owned the place, Killian flipping a dagger restlessly, Elsie and Odin whispering in the corner until they noticed me.

The tension broke when Dove and Elsie appeared with a heavy book, its spine cracked with age. They set it down on the long wooden table, dust dancing in the air.

“I called Professor Sera and the Headmaster,” Odin said, standing. His voice carried in the silent library, too loud for how fragile I felt. “They’ll be here any moment.”

My heart skipped, throat tightening. My secret wasn’t mine anymore. This wasn’t just me and my nightmares, me and Dove whispering in the dorm. This was bigger. Real.

I lowered myself into a chair, gripping the edge of the table, trying to hold steady when inside I felt like breaking apart.

Father.
The figure. The throne. His burned face. His voice.

And the way he said it—my daughter.

Dove sat beside me, brushing my hand with hers under the table, a silent anchor. The room quieted, everyone waiting for the professors, but I knew once I opened my mouth, there would be no turning back.

Because the truth wasn’t just mine anymore. It belonged to all of us.

The library doors creaked open. Headmaster Donovan walked in, robes sweeping behind him, and beside him Professor Sera with that sharp, unblinking stare that always made my skin crawl. The air shifted; even Jason and Killian straightened in their seats.

“All right,” the Headmaster said, his voice low but carrying, “we were told there was something urgent.”

Every gaze fell on me. My throat tightened. But I forced myself to stand, palms damp as I braced them against the table.

“I have… answers,” I said. My voice shook, but the silence in the library held it steady. “Or at least… pieces of them.”

Sera tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she could see the storm raging inside me. “Go on, Astrid.”

So I told them.

I told them about the spring, the vision that wasn’t just water but doorways. About the house burning, the woman screaming not to take her child. About the cloaked figure I’d seen in the hallways, in my dreams, in the throne room of shadow and flame. I told them how he turned to me at last, his face half-burned, and called me daughter.

The word landed like a spell in the room.

Professor Sera’s jaw slackened for the first time in my life. She turned slowly to the Headmaster, disbelief written in every line of her face. “So it’s your father they’ve been searching for all these years…” she whispered. “We thought he had been destroyed.”

My head snapped up. “Wait—what?”

Dove didn’t waste a breath. She flipped open the massive tome she’d carried in, pages crinkling as though alive with their own dread. She laid it flat in front of me, stabbing a painted sigil with her finger. “He’s not just some man, Astrid. He’s a Primordial.”

The word hung in the air like thunder.

I blinked. “A what?”

Sera stepped forward, her tone grave. “Not a god, not in the sense mortals worship. The Primordials were older. First-born entities—beings made before wolves, witches, vampires, even the fae. They embodied raw creation: fire, shadow, storm, blood. Your father…” She hesitated, then her gaze hardened. “Your father was one of them. Shadow and Fire.”

Donovan’s voice cut in, brittle with memory. “He was banished for his destruction. His thirst for dominion nearly shattered the balance of realms. We thought him gone forever.”

My knees weakened. I sank back into my chair, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Elsie spoke softly, her voice gentler than the weight of the words: “That’s why you see him. Why he reaches through visions. It’s not just wolf, witch, vampire in you, Astrid. You carry something older. A divine spark… his spark.”

Jason frowned, arms crossing. “So she’s not just rare. She’s… impossible.”

Killian set his dagger down with a sharp clink. His eyes flicked to me, intense. “It explains everything—your visions, slipping into dimensions, prophetic dreams. Abilities that don’t belong to any mortal bloodline.”

Sera nodded once. “You are not merely a tribid. You are the living bridge between this world and the Primordial one.”

“Your whole family is just…..” Archie added and all eyes on him.

“yeah, I mean her sister Nyx, the one of shadows. You all get my point.” He added and I sighed.

“yeah, right…”

The room tilted. My breath hitched. Bridge. Blood. Daughter.

And then Donovan added the final blow. “He has been watching you because your awakening means his chance to return.”

The library went silent. My chest hollowed.

“To the world,” Sera continued grimly, “you are both threat and salvation.”

Dove’s hand touched mine under the table, grounding me, but even she couldn’t soften what came next.

“To him,” Sera’s eyes met mine, piercing, unyielding, “you are heir, blood, and the key to finishing what he started.”

Damon, who had been quiet at the far end with his nose in a book, finally dropped it onto the table with a groan. “Here we go again.”

The heaviness cracked for just a heartbeat, but the dread remained, settling deep in my bones. Because now I knew.

The cloaked figure wasn’t just haunting me.

He was my father. And he was coming.

“And my mom?” I asked no one in particular.

“A witch, deceased.”