The Choice of the Lost Heir  

The stillness after Damien's final words hung on the air, thick and oppressive. Avery knelt alongside Lucas, who sat staring at his brother's unmoving figure, his face etched with sadness and astonishment. Shadows hung over them, and the room was littered with the remains of a struggle, but everything felt unsettling, like the quiet before a storm.

A flutter of activity in the corner of her eye drew Avery out of her misery. An elderly woman in a darkish cloak appeared in the doorway, her face veiled behind a cowl and her stance unchanging. Something about her felt eternal, as if she had stepped out of any other technology completely. Lucas followed her gaze, his frame tensing as the girl moved forward, her footsteps strangely hushed.

"You," she said, her voice a mix of tenderness and strength, laced with both knowledge and caution. Her unwavering look pierced into Avery, as if she were carrying an ancient and heavy burden. "you're the only they foretold."