Celena, Gilga, and Nyx Born
Life, Birth
2216
In the year 2216 BCE, three infants drew their first breaths under skies that had not yet turned to ash: three souls destined to either save humanity or watch it crumble into forgotten dust.
The ancient prophecy had been carved into the Temple of the First Stars millennia before any living starsinger could remember, its words worn smooth by countless fingers tracing the grooves, seeking meaning and hope, or fearing for the worst. It spoke of a time when the gods would abandon mankind and monsters would walk again:
When fire swallows sun and winter conquers spring,
Three shall rise from scattered kingdoms:
The snake-mother who commands what others fear;
The star-daughter who hears what silence sings;
The death-bringer who guards what mercy frees.
Together they shall forge the final sanctuary—
—or witness the end of all.
Celena arrived first, born to a starsinger and a star nymph beneath a shower of falling stars. Silver eyes blinked open, reflecting celestial light, a child caught between heaven and earth, marked by prophecy but seemingly powerless to fulfill it. Her mother departed before dawn, returning to the heavens, leaving only whispers of cosmic purpose and a daughter who could not yet hear the songs that would one day pour through her.
Gilga, daughter of King Ioannis of Amalthea, entered the world clutching her twin brother's ankle, already fighting for her throne. Outside her window, unnoticed by the midwives celebrating the birth of royal twins, a serpent coiled around the empty cradle that had been prepared—the first sign of her unnatural bond with creatures others feared. The snake remained there for three days, guarding the space meant for the child who would become its mistress, before slithering away into legend.
And deep in the brutal mountains of Nyxian, a girl-child too small to survive was laid upon stone to die.
The custom was ancient. The weak did not deserve breath. But a great bear, drawn by cries too faint for human ears, carried her into his cave. Fed her. Kept her warm through the winter. She would be named Nyxios—the death-bringer, the abandoned infant who would grow to save thousands, the small warrior whom even giants would learn to fear.
Three shall rise from scattered kingdoms:
The snake-mother who commands what others fear;
The star-daughter who hears what silence sings;
The death-bringer who guards what mercy frees.
Together they shall forge the final sanctuary—
—or witness the end of all.
The stars had spoken. Three threads of fate were spun.
Sixteen years would pass before the prophecy's true weight would fall upon their shoulders, before volcanic winter would force their paths to converge, before the world would discover whether three extraordinary women could stand against the fury of awakened gods. Sixteen years of preparation, of growth, of becoming. Sixteen years before fire would swallow the sun, before winter would conquer spring, before everything the ancient prophecy had warned would come to pass.
On that night in 2216 BCE, under clear skies, three infants breathed.
Three destinies began.
And the countdown to humanity's last hope—or its final extinction—had begun.
Three destinies began.
And the countdown to humanity's last hope—or its final extinction—had begun.
Copyright © 2025 by Kingsley Wilde
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