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"I missed you too," she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder. When she pulled back to look at me, her own eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I asked Aunt Nadine when you were coming back every day."

My chest tightened with remorse. "I'm so sorry I was away so long. I'm so sorry, Kiraz."

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her small hands touching my face where faint marks from the battle remained.

"I'm better now that I'm with you," I said truthfully, settling into the cottage's main room with her on my lap, unwilling to let her go. "Tell me everything. Tell me about your days, your dreams, what you've been learning."

For the next hour, I let myself be nothing but a mother listening to her daughter.

Kiraz told me about the fox kit she'd been caring for, the flowers she'd learned to grow with Iris, the stories Nadine told her about the old gods.

I drank in every word, every expression, trying to memorize this moment after weeks of separation.

It was only when she began talking about her "new magic" that my maternal contentment shifted back to concern.

"I have something to show you, Mama," Kiraz said, climbing down from my lap with sudden excitement. "Something new."

She held out her small hand, palm up, and my breath caught. Tiny shadows danced across her skin, intertwining with the more familiar golden light she had inherited from me. The shadows moved with purpose, forming intricate patterns before dissolving back into her natural light.

"When did this start?" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

"A few weeks ago," she said, watching the shadows with fascination rather than fear. "Aunt Nadine says I'm special. That not many people have both kinds of magic."

My heart clenched. "Did it frighten you when it first happened?"

She shook her head. "No, it felt... right. Like it was always supposed to be there." She looked up at me with curious eyes. "Is that why you were away? Because of magic like this?"

How to explain without revealing too much? "Partly," I said carefully. "There are people who don't understand that different kinds of magic can work together peacefully."

"Like light and shadow?" she asked with a child's direct logic.

"Exactly like that."

From the doorway, Iris cleared her throat gently. She had been quietly preparing tea, giving us privacy for our reunion, but now her expression was concerned.

"Ada," she said softly, "there's something else. Someone else with shadow essence just arrived in the village. Kiraz has been... aware of them."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "Aware how?"

Kiraz looked between us, picking up on the adult tension. "The shadows feel... familiar," she said with uncertainty. "Like they're calling to mine."

The binding between Hakan and me pulsed, and I realized with growing horror that Kiraz might be sensing him through whatever connection their shared shadow essence created.

"Kiraz," I said, my voice carefully controlled, "we need to play a special game while we're here, all right?"

Her eyes—so much like mine in color, but with Hakan's intensity—regarded me with intelligent curiosity. "What kind of game?"

"A pretend game. While we're here, you need to call me 'Ada' instead of 'Mama.' And we'll pretend that Aunt Nadine is your mother."

She frowned, not with confusion but with disapproval of the deception. "Why?"

How to explain politics and danger and five years of complicated history to a child, even one as precocious as Kiraz? "Because it's not safe right now," I said. "It's like hide and seek, but with our real names and who we are."

Kiraz considered this with the gravity of a much older soul. "Is he one of the people we're hiding from?" she asked. "The one with the familiar shadows?"

"Yes," I answered, my tone soft. "He doesn't know we're playing the game. So we have to be very careful and very good at pretending."

"Grown-up games are strange," she said with a sigh, as if this was simply one more incomprehensible adult behavior to tolerate. "But I'm good at pretending."

"Perfect," I said, and kissed her forehead. "You're so good at this game already."

After Kiraz had gone to nap—the excitement of our reunion and the strain of using her dual magic finally catching up with her—Nadine and I sat in her kitchen, speaking in low voices over tea.

"Her powers have grown stronger since you left," Nadine said quietly. "Both the light and the shadow. And Ada... she's been sensing things. Connections that I can barely understand."

"What kind of connections?"

"She knew you were coming before I received your message. She's been restless for days, saying her 'other magic' was pulling her toward something." Nadine's expression grew serious. "When the shadow lord arrived, she felt it immediately. She asked me why the shadows felt like 'family.'"

My blood ran cold. "What did you tell her?"

"That some people have natural affinities for certain magics. But Ada..." Nadine leaned forward. "I think you need to know what she might be. What the old texts say about children who carry both essences."

She told me then about the ancient prophecy, about the bridge between realms, about balance incarnate. All of it whispered carefully, away from little ears that might carry dangerous knowledge.

"There's an old prophecy," Nadine said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"One that speaks of shadow and light joining in blood, healing the ancient divide.

'When shadow and light join in blood, the ancient divide shall heal.

Two courts become one throne, when enemies become lovers, when hatred turns to something deeper. '"

My breath caught. "That sounds like..."

"Like you and Hakan," she confirmed. "But there's more. 'The child of both worlds shall lead the new age, bearing the mark of twilight upon their brow.'" Nadine paused, her expression growing thoughtful. "Ada, what if Kiraz isn't the only child of both worlds?"

"What do you mean?"

"The texts mention another—a son born centuries ago to a shadow lord and light lady during the last great war.

He would be grown now, around four hundred years old.

" She looked toward the room where Kiraz slept.

"The prophecy speaks of two children of twilight finding each other across time.

When they unite, the peace will be permanent. "

I stared at her. "You're saying Kiraz is destined to..."

"To find him," Nadine finished gently. "To complete what their parents began. The prophecy suggests that only when both children of shadow and light come together can the divide truly heal forever."

"The prophecy is simple," Nadine continued.

"'When shadow and light join in blood, the ancient divide shall heal.

Two courts become one throne, when enemies become lovers, when hatred turns to something deeper.

The child of both worlds shall lead the new age, bearing the mark of twilight upon their brow. '"

I nodded, remembering fragments from old texts.

"But here's what's important, Ada," Nadine said, leaning forward.

"There were two such children born across time.

One during the last great war—a son. And now Kiraz.

The prophecy speaks of both children of twilight finding each other.

When they unite, the peace will be permanent, not just temporary. "

I stared at her. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Nothing definitive," she replied carefully.

"But the oldest texts from before the division speak of balance restored through a child of both worlds.

A bridge between realms that were never meant to be separated.

" She looked toward the room where Kiraz slept.

"Her dual nature isn't just unusual, Ada. It might be prophesied."

"If she's discovered," I said when Nadine finished, "if either court learns what she is..."

"They'll try to use her," Nadine confirmed grimly. "Or eliminate her as a threat to the established order."

"Then we keep her secret," I said fiercely. "Whatever it takes."

We were interrupted by Melo's return, her expression grim as she entered the cottage.

"I found him," she said without preamble. "Sarp. He's alive, but barely. He managed to track our scent trail to the village outskirts before collapsing."

Relief and concern warred in her voice. "I've brought him to your healing house Nadine. He needs immediate attention."

I looked toward the bedroom where Kiraz slept peacefully. "I should stay with her."

"No," Nadine said, already reaching for her healing supplies. "Iris can stay with Kiraz. If Sarp is as badly injured as Melo says, I'll need your light magic to help stabilize him."

"But what if Kiraz wakes?" I asked, torn between my daughter's needs and my friends' safety.

"I'll handle it," Iris assured me. "She'll be safe here. The cottage has protective wards, and she knows to stay inside if she wakes."

Reluctantly, I agreed. But as we prepared to leave, I made a silent vow—after this, no more separation. Whatever came next, I would find a way to keep my daughter close and safe.

When we returned to the healing house, I found Sarp barely conscious on a makeshift bed Melo had prepared. His usually impeccable appearance was marred by dirt, blood, and what appeared to be golden burns across half his face.

"You absolute fool," Melo whispered, her voice breaking as she knelt beside him. Her human form trembled with an emotion I'd never seen her display. "You reckless, stubborn, magnificent fool."

Despite his injuries, a ghost of Sarp's familiar smirk appeared. "Miss me?" he murmured weakly. "I told you... I always keep my promises."

Then his eyes rolled back, unconsciousness claiming him as Nadine rushed forward, already calling for fresh bandages and healing herbs.

I stood between the two wounded men—one who had sacrificed himself to save me, one who had apparently fought through hell to return to Melo.

Both of them broken because of a conflict that stretched back centuries, to the very gods Ak Ana and Kara Iye whose powers now flowed through my daughter's veins.

Kiraz—a child of both shadow and light, embodying the very balance that ancient prophecy had foretold, though she had no idea of her true heritage. The balance that Midas had corrupted, that Hakan and I were now attempting to restore.

If she was discovered, if Erlik learned of her existence, she would become a target—or worse, an instrument in his quest for power.

What would Hakan do if he knew? Would he keep her secret, protect her from his father's ambitions?

Or would duty to the shadow realm outweigh the bond of blood he didn't even know existed?

I gazed at Hakan's face, now peaceful in a healing sleep, our binding humming between us with the melody of silent song. So much power in this room—shadow and light, life and death, past and future—all hanging in precarious balance.

When I looked between Hakan and thought of Kiraz sleeping safely at the cottage, I felt the weight of my deception pressed over my chest as a physical burden.

Five years of lies. Five years of keeping father and daughter apart.

All to protect them both, I told myself, but sometimes in the darkest hours of night, I wondered who I was really protecting.

What I did know with bone-deep certainty was that I would burn both realms to ash before I let anyone harm my child—be it Erlik, another Shadow Lord, or even her unknowing father who lay broken because he had chosen to save me.