Prologue 1-Serena
I read the email twelve times before I let myself breathe.
Not skim. Not glance.
Read.
Every word. Every line.
Every impossible, ridiculous, insane claim sitting there in my inbox like it belonged.
Asgarheim Runevald Institute.
I whisper it under my breath, testing the shape of it, like it might dissolve if I say it too loud.
It doesn’t.
Neither does the sender’s address.
Neither does the crest embedded at the top of the message—a silver rune I swear I’ve seen before.
In dreams, maybe.
Or in the margins of books I was never supposed to understand.
Or in the shadows.
My fingers hover over my trackpad, then pull back like it might bite me.
This has to be a scam.
Right?
That’s what normal people would think.
That’s what I should think.
But normal people don’t see things that aren’t there.
Normal people don’t hear whispers in empty rooms.
Don’t catch glimpses of figures standing just behind someone—only for them to vanish when you blink.
They don’t wake up with the taste of smoke in their mouth after dreaming of places that feel more real than waking life.
Normal people aren’t called cursed.
Or worse—gifted.
I press my lips together, my gaze dragging back to the screen.
We are aware of your abilities.
You have been observed.
You have been chosen.
A bitter laugh slips out of me, thin and shaky.
