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Chapter Text

            Azar paced back and forth in the large, spacious chamber overlooking Azarath. The room was a masterpiece of elegance—wide open windows framed the glowing skyline, lush carpets lined the floor with patterns that rivaled even the finest tapestries found in any dimenstion, and silk drapes fluttered gently, so finely woven they looked handspun by the gods themselves.

“Has anything changed?” Azar asked, doing her best to sound calm and composed—regal, as a leader should be. On the outside, she was the picture of serenity and grace.  Inwardly, her hands trembled.

One of the four seers seated cross-legged on the ornate carpet looked up and spoke, “Nothing, Regina. All remains the same. In every vision, the end does not change. When the child reaches the age of twelve, Azarath is destroyed.”

Azar’s voice remained steady. “And Earth?”

Another seer met her gaze. Her turquoise eyes were large and unblinking. “The same fate as before. Destruction will less than a decade after Azarath’s.”

Azar inhaled quietly. “Who else knows?”

“Only you, Regina,” a third seer answered gently.

Azar inclined her head in gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered, bowing to them before turning to leave.

Once outside the temple, she stood at the balcony and gazed out over the gleaming city—her home. Its towers shimmered in the eternal twilight, its streets filled with peace and laughter. So many lives. So much beauty.  She stifled a sob.

All she had wanted was to protect a child—a child—who had been forced to carry a burden no soul should have to bear. She hadn’t meant to doom them all.

Azar closed her eyes, breathing in deeply through her nose and exhaling slowly.  It was time.  She could no longer carry this alone.  She had to summon the Elders.

“I say we cast her out,” Elder Alec said, slamming his palm against the table. “Send her back to Earth. Make her their problem.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Azar replied, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Her voice was calm and cool—the picture of control. “That’s out of the question.”

“But the demon growing inside her—”

“We don’t know what the babe will look like,” Elder Alba interrupted, her tone sharp.

“Take a look at Trigon’s other children!” Alec snapped back.  “They’re carbon copies of their father.”

“This one may be different,” Elder Cicero interjected. “This is the first time we’ve ever managed to get one of Trigon’s brides away from him.”

“And now Azarath will be destroyed!” Alec shouted, rising to his feet.

“And Earth?” Hadriana added quietly from her seat.

“How sure are you that the portal will be opened?” Alba asked, eyes narrowing at Azar.

“The number of futures our seers have seen is nearing infinity,” Azar said, her voice tight. “They have not rested. I’m considering telling them to stop. It’s no use. He’s coming—no matter what we do.”

“So we’re doomed!” Alec barked, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “You’ve doomed us all!”

Azar raised a hand, her voice commanding. “We need resolutions, not accusations.”

“You say the child opens the portal no matter what,” Hadriana said, tapping a finger against her lips. “What if we prepare the babe for the father’s coming?”

The room fell into contemplative silence.

“That… could work,” Cicero said slowly. “Do we know why the child chooses to open the portal?”

“Other than the fact it’s a demon?” Alec sneered.

“If you have nothing useful to contribute, you can leave,” Azar said coldly, fixing him with a glare. Alec’s mouth snapped shut.  “We don’t know the exact reason,” Azar continued. “Hadriana—what did you have in mind?”

“Well, every child of Trigon draws their power from emotions—namely their own. Because Trigon thrives on chaos and strife, he does everything in his power to amplify their emotions, make them volatile. Dangerous.”

“We know how Trigon works,” Alec muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Again,” Alba said without looking at him, “you’re welcome to leave.”

Hadriana went on. “So, we stifle the child’s emotion from birth. Mask the feelings, teach restraint. If Trigon uses emotion to reach his children—what if he simply isn’t able to reach this one because?”  Every one stared at Hadriana.  “Make it so there’s absolutely no emotion for Trigon to latch onto.”

“A him?” Cicero asked, raising a brow.  “You’re certain the child will be a him.”

“No daughter of Trigon has ever survived a full gestation period,” Alba explained. “And the two girls that have been born only lasted five minutes outside of the womb.  This will most likely be a boy.”

As the conversation turned to logistics, Azar fell silent, turning over Hadriana’s idea in her mind.  “Hadriana’s idea could work,” she said finally.

“How?” Cicero asked.  “It’s not easy to stifle an infant’s emotions.  And, we don’t want this child to rely too heavily on magic.  Who knows how that will turn out.”

Alec then spoke, surprisingly thoughtful. “It’s important for infants to see emotions on their mother’s face. That’s how they learn express them—especially anger and sadness.”

“So we separate the baby from the mother when he’s born?” Cicero asked, uncertain.

“Absolutely not,” Azar said sharply. “Arella has been through too much. I won’t take that from her. I refuse.”

“Well… what do we do then?” Alec asked.

A beat of silence fell as they all considered.

“We can try full-faced white masks,” Alec offered.

“And scare the child to death?” Alba scoffed. “What is wrong with you?”

“It won’t scare him if it’s all he knows for the first two years,” Alec simply stated.

“That could work,” Hadriana said. “And if we keep him separate from other children, we can prevent emotional mirroring, he won’t absorb their energy.”

“That’s good,” Azar said, pacing as a plan began forming. “We make sure the child forms no emotional attachments to anything or anyone.”

“That means we’re going to have to separate mother and child,” Cicero said cautiously.

Azar turned to him, firm. “No. Let her at least breastfeed the babe. Let her have that. She’s earned that much.”

“She’ll have to wear a mask,” Alba said.

Azar nodded. “I can live with that.”

“We’ll also need to teach the child to protect himself,” Hadriana added. “Sir Xander can train him—he’s mastered every form of martial art and weaponry we know.”

“We teach the child meditation, emotional control, deep self-awareness,” Azar said, her voice gaining momentum. “We hone his gifts. We mold him. And maybe—just maybe—instead of being Trigon’s pawn, the child becomes the weapon that defeats him.”

The elders looked at one another thoughtfully. They slowly nodded in agreement.  “One can hope,” Hadriana said softly.

Sensing the meeting had reached its end, Azar straightened.  “I believe we’re agreed. We’ll expand on the details later. You are dismissed.”

The elders rose and bowed respectfully before filing out.

Azar remained where she stood, the flickering light of the chamber casting shadows across her face.  Finally, she turned and began the long walk to the main temple.  To Arella.

This would be a difficult conversation.

Chapter Text

            Azar found Arella and Terry reclined in the palace library.

Ever since her arrival, Terry had been Arella’s constant companion—a shadow, really. Not in love with her, no, just… enamored… shocked… a little perturbed.  Terry had grown up on Azarath hearing mostly wildly inaccurate stories about Earth. He once believed all earthlings had at least two heads, three eyes, and four toes per leg, among other absurdities. The first time Arella took her shoes off, he’d stared at her feet for a full hour. Then he’d gotten down on the floor and counted her toes like a curious scientist.

For a while, Arella had avoided him like the plague—and honestly, Azar hadn’t blamed her. But after several therapy-like sessions Arella had grown comfortable enough to be alone with him.  Azar was relieved the girl had made at least one friend.

Both teens looked up as she entered.

“What is going on in here?” she asked, eyeing the two of them lounging in beanbag chairs. Arella’s rounded stomach made her position look uncomfortable. In truth, Arella shouldn’t be walking around at all, being she looked ready to burst.  And if anyone still questioned the child’s lineage, all they had to do was ask how far along Arella was.  She was thirteen weeks pregnant, but her body bore the weight and shape of someone nine months in.  The baby was growing beyond rapidly.

“Terry’s quizzing me on future perfect tense for Azarathian verbs,” Arella said brightly, grinning at her.

Azar smiled. She was constantly surprised by the girl’s intellect. Given the right tools and support, Arella soaked up knowledge like a sponge. In just eight weeks, she’d learned nearly 80% of Azarath’s primary language.  “That’s very kind of him,” Azar said with a warm smile. “Terry, may I speak with Arella alone?”

Terry nodded quickly, scrambled to his feet, and all but skipped out of the room.

Arella moved to stand, but Azar raised a hand. “No, no, child. Stay put. These old bones still work well enough to get down here.” She settled slowly into the adjacent beanbag with a soft groan. “Though I admit, I’ll regret this when I try to get up again.”

“I didn’t think you were that old,” Arella said curiously.

Azar smirked. “And yet Terry insists I’m nearly two hundred.”

Arella tilted her head. “Aren’t you?”

“Technically,” Azar said with a sideways glance, “but who keeps count after age 50?”  They both broke into giggles, the tension briefly dissolving.

Then Arella’s smile faded. “Azar… did I offend you?”

Azar blinked. “What?  Where did that question come from?”

“You haven’t really spoken to me in two weeks,” Arella said quietly, eyes glistening. “If I did something wrong…”

“Oh, honey, no.” Azar’s expression softened as she leaned forward and gently cupped Arella’s face in her hands.

“It feels like you’re avoiding me.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing at all.”  She sighed, brushing her thumbs across Arella’s cheeks. “There’s something I need to tell you. But not here. Somewhere more private.”  Azar shifted, glancing down at the awkward beanbag beneath her.  “This chair is deeply offensive to my joints,” she muttered with a faint smile. “I am not as young as I used to be.  I may not see myself as old, but I am definitely not as young as I used to be.”

            Arella sat on her bed, arms wrapped tightly around her belly, lips parted in silent horror. Her hands trembled where they rested—protective, desperate.  “Azar… are you sure?” she asked, her voice small and fragile.

Azar nodded solemnly from where she stood a few feet away. “I am absolutely sure.”

“And the only way to survive is to keep the baby away from me?” Arella asked, blinking back tears. “I won’t get to hold my baby?”

“Child,” Azar rushed forward, kneeling before her, gently gathering Arella’s hands in her own. “You’ll still be able to breastfeed him. We would never take that from you.”

“But only if I’m wearing a full-faced mask,” Arella whispered, tears finally slipping free. “So even though I can see him, he won’t ever see me.”

Azar’s grip tightened, her voice low and aching. “You’ll be able to watch his growth from afar. You’ll know he’s safe. He’ll feel your presence, even if he doesn’t understand it.”

Arella let out a choked sob, her shoulders shaking. “And when he’s older? What then?”

“When he has enough emotional control,” Azar said softly, “you’ll be allowed to meet him face to face.”

Arella stared at her. “And how long will that take?” she cried. “A year? Five years? His whole life?”

“I do not know, sweetie,” Azar admitted, sitting beside her on the bed. Her voice cracked with shared sorrow. She gently rubbed circles on Arella’s back, her hand warm and steady. “No one knows. This has never been done before.”

Arella turned to her, anguish etched into every line of her face. “So there’s a chance,” she said bitterly, “that I’ll never get to hold my son without a mask. That I’ll never hear him laugh or feel his skin against mine.”  Her voice broke. “Because by the time he’s ready… we’ll all be dead.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Azar tried reassuring her, hoping doubt couldn’t be heard in her voice.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Arella whispered. Her arms tightened around her belly again as if shielding the child inside from the conversation. “I didn’t ask for this,” she repeated, voice rising. “I didn’t want this!”  And then she broke.  She leaned into Azar’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably as the older woman held her close, rocking her gently, humming a quiet, wordless tune.

Azar rested her chin atop Arella’s head, tears burning behind her own eyes.  “I know, child,” she whispered. “I know.”

            A couple of hours later, after the tears had dried and a nap had been taken—curled up against Azar’s side—Arella stirred. Blinking groggily, she looked up at Azar’s kind face.  A thought had just occurred to her.  “You referred to my baby as a ‘he.’ What makes you think it’s a boy?” she asked curiously.

Azar smiled gently. “Just an educated guess. Trigon has only ever fathered sons.”

Arella nodded slowly, seeming to accept the answer. Azar didn’t add the rest—that no daughter of Trigon’s had ever survived pregnancy. That wasn’t a burden Arella needed to carry. Not now.

After a moment of silence, Arella shifted away and sat up. “Sorry for crying all over you… and then falling asleep on you,” she said, cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.

“It’s fine, child,” Azar replied. “I only wish I could do more.”

Arella gave her a small, grateful nod and swung her legs off the bed, preparing to stand.  Before she made it one step, she doubled over with a sharp cry. “Aahhh!”

Azar shot to her feet. “Child, what is it?”

“I don’t know!” Arella gasped, her voice thick with sudden pain and panic.  “It’s my stomach!”

Then came the sensation—warm, unexpected.  Arella looked down in shock.  Liquid pooled around her feet.  “I think I just… peed?” she said, thoroughly confused until realization struck both women at once.  “Oh my!” Arella breathed, wide-eyed.

Her water had just broke.

Chapter Text

Azar and the elders waited in a long, echoing corridor outside the birthing chamber. The heavy door at the end of the hall did little to muffle the screams coming from within.

They had been standing there for hours.  Fifteen, to be exact.

Azar’s hands were clasped in front of her, her knuckles white, the tips of her fingers ice-cold. Arella's voice rose again, raw and ragged with pain. The sound sent a chill straight through Azar’s bones.  Her outwardly calm demeanor was beginning to crack, giving way to the worry she felt inside.

Arella’s screams resounded again.  It sounds like she’s being torn apart, Azar thought.

“She sounds like she’s dying in there,” Cicero muttered, nervously biting his thumb.

Even Alec, who had been leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, now looked visibly shaken.

There had been births on Azarath before—not many, but enough. Their people weren’t celibate, only cautious. Most deliveries were peaceful. Gentle. Labor never lasted longer than two hours. Even the most difficult ones had never sounded like… this.

But this was different.  Arella’s cries were full of pain and suffering.  And it wasn’t joyful anticipation being felt in the atmosphere.

The door creaked open at last, and a healer stepped out, her robes soaked with blood from shoulder to waist. The shrieking behind her pierced even louder into the hallway, as if her presence alone had momentarily broken the seal.

Azar moved quickly toward her, but froze mid-step.  There was so much blood.  The healer’s gloves were drenched in it, her arms streaked red to the elbow. Her face, though calm, was drawn and pale.  “What is happening in there?” Azar asked, her voice tight with alarm.

“No time to explain,” the healer answered briskly. “We need to start a transfusion immediately, but it’s too late to request extra blood bags from the city bank.  It would take too long to get here.  What are your blood types?”

Azar blinked, heart racing. “She’s human.”

“None of us are compatible,” Hadriana pointed out quietly, stepping forward. “Her blood’s too different.”

“Not entirely,” the healer said. “In preparation for this birth I studied Earthling biology.  Their blood vessels mirror ours almost perfectly.  On Earth, the universal donor type is O-negative. It’s chemically very similar to our S blood type. Are any of you type S?”

There was a tense pause.  Then Alec stepped forward.  “I am,” he stated.

The elders whipped their heads around, staring at him.  “What?” Alba said sharply to him. “Alec? Really?  You’re offering?”

He didn’t answer. His jaw was set, expression unreadable.

Alba looked to Azar, clearly unsettled. “Do we really want to put this girl’s life in Alec’s hands?”

“We don’t have a choice,” the healer cut in before Azar could speak. “She won’t make it without the blood. We’re losing her.”

Azar hesitated for only a second.  In that second, she imagined Arella’s face. Her strength. Her tears. Her hope.  “Go,” she ordered.

Alec gave a curt nod and followed the healer without a word. The door closed behind him with a heavy, final thud.

For a long moment, no one spoke, and the screaming, though muffled, didn’t stop.

Azar gripped the edge of a nearby column for support and whispered a prayer under her breath.  Please, let her survive this.  Let both children live.

Another hour passed, and Azar had stopped pretending she was worried. Her patience—and her heart—had been worn thin by the screams, the waiting, the not knowing. But then, at last, the room fell silent.  A moment later, the unmistakable cries of a newborn came through.

She didn’t even knock.

Azar and the three elders rushed into Azar’s personal chambers, which had been converted into a makeshift birthing room. Inside, the scent of blood and herbs lingered in the air, but it was Arella who commanded attention.  She was sitting upright in the bed via multiple pillows, hair matted with sweat, eyes heavy with exhaustion and love.  She held a small bundle in her arms.  Her entire body curled protectively around the tiny life she’d brought into the world.

“I know…” Arella began softly, her voice hoarse. “I know you said not to look at her without a mask, but… I just wanted to see her. Just once. Before…”  Her voice trailed off.

Azar approached slowly. “Her?” she repeated, casting a questioning glance at the nearest healer.

The healer nodded while continuing to clean. “Yes. She gave birth to a girl.”

Azar blinked, stunned. “And she… she looks normal?”

“No red skin? Horns?  Multiple eyes?” Alba asked in surprise.

“She’s a perfectly healthy, normal baby,” the healer confirmed

Azar exhaled. It felt like the air in the room became lighter with that revelation.  Suddenly, everyone could breathe.

She stepped closer to the bed, her eyes on the tiny bundle nestled in Arella’s arms. The child had stopped crying. She was sleeping soundly now, little fists curled near her face.  “Please don’t take her from me yet,” Arella said, her voice breaking.

Azar placed a gentle hand on her arm. “We won’t,” she said with a soft smile. “Not tonight. Have you thought of a name?”

Arella blinked as if the thought had only just occurred. “I—I haven’t even thought of one. I was so caught up in everything else…”

“That’s alright,” Azar said. “You’ll have time.”

Arella looked down at her daughter again, her expression softening as she brushed a fingertip along the baby's tiny cheek.

Behind them, Alec—now patched up from the earlier blood transfusion—stepped forward quietly. He stared at the infant, something unreadable crossing his face. “This may change things,” he muttered to Azar. “We should talk privately.”

Azar gave him a nod but didn’t move yet.

A healer approached Arella and gently reached for the baby.  “No,” Arella said quickly, clutching her child closer.

“I was just going to place her in the crib,” the healer said gently. “You need rest.”

Azar placed a hand on Arella’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Arella. No one is taking her from you. Not tonight.”

Arella hesitated, then slowly handed her daughter over. The healer placed the baby in the small, crystal-framed crib beside the bed.  “I’ll wake you when it’s time to breastfeed,” she said softly.  “But you do need to rest.”

Arella nodded and slowly eased down onto the side of the massive bed—the side untouched by blood and pain. (Azar’s bed was larger than any Arella had ever seen. It was soft, warm, and impossibly comfortable.) For the first time in days, her body stopped aching.

Minutes later, the room was silent again.  Everyone had left, leaving Arella alone with her daughter.  She lay there, eyes fixed on the tiny form in the crib beside her. Her daughter.

Arella didn’t know much about babies—but she knew beauty when she saw it. The child’s hair was deep black, darker than Arella’s own. Darker than the skies above Azarath. It reminded her of something primal. Something sacred and artistic.  Feathers and wings. A raven, maybe? “Yeah,” she spoke softly.  “I like that.”  She smiled.    “Goodnight, my precious Raven,” Arella whispered.

And then, finally, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

            Azar and the four elders stood on the palace balcony, their eyes cast toward the night sky. Above them, the stars shimmered like frost scattered across velvet, while twin moons bathed the world below in silver light.

“Well,” Cicero said, breaking the long silence, “this is… unexpected.”

“Strange,” Alec murmured, still staring into the distance. “I always knew what childbirth was like… in theory. But seeing it unfold with my own eyes…”

“Was it beautiful?” Cicero asked.

“No,” Alec replied immediately, face scrunching in disgust. “It was horrifying. There was blood everywhere. And other fluids. And the screaming—she was in so much pain. Then when they pulled the baby out, it looked like… I don’t know what it looked like. It was covered in some icky, sticky substance. I didn’t even realize it was a baby until they cleaned her off.”

Cicero winced. “Sounds… intense. Did you vomit?”

“Three times,” Alec said without shame. “Not my proudest moment. There was a child giving birth to another child, and there I was, dry-heaving in the corner like I was the one being torn apart. I’m still ashamed.”

“My husband vomited the first time he was in the birthing chamber with me,” Hadriana said with a knowing smile.

That earned a chuckle from Alba. “He didn’t faint too, did he?”

“He nearly did,” Hadriana replied.

“But back to the matter at hand,” Alba said, sobering. “A girl?”

“It is… unprecedented,” Cicero agreed, folding his arms.

“Perhaps the seers were wrong,” Hadriana offered. “They have been before.”

“We may not need to take any precautions,” Alec said. “A daughter of Trigon has never survived infancy. None have lived past the first six weeks.”

Azar’s eyes narrowed. “I am certainly not telling Arella that.”

“I’m not saying you should,” Alec clarified. “I’m saying we wait. If the girl survives six weeks, we begin the weaning process. Slowly, carefully. If she makes it to a year, we begin training.”

“But her emotions—” Hadriana began.

“Trigon can’t use a baby to open a portal,” Alba cut in. “She’s too young. Too weak. By the way Alec,” she added, glancing at him with a raised brow, “your opinion seems to have shifted drastically since this morning. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you use Arella’s name.”

Alec exhaled. “Watching a sixteen-year-old girl go through sixteen hours of labor changes you.” He blinked slowly, eyes wide. “I feel so sorry for my wife.”  The group laughed quietly, the tension thinning just a little.

Azar didn’t join in.  She stood apart from them now, her gaze fixed on the twin moons. They cast long shadows across the gardens, soft and eerie. Her mind wasn’t on Alec or his queasy confessions.  A daughter of Trigon, she thought.  It changed everything.  This child—this girl—was an anomaly.  A deviation from fate.  And perhaps the chance they’d been looking for.  Things will definitely get interesting, Azar thought to herself.

Chapter Text

Raven spent the first six weeks of her life cradled in her mother’s arms.

After that, the bond between mother and daughter was carefully and systematically severed. By her first birthday, Raven no longer recognized Arella as her mother. She had become just another face in a life full of strangers.

For the next two years, Raven was surrounded by adults who wore expressionless white, full-faced masks. Her world was silent, sterile, and vapid. Her powers didn’t manifest until her third birthday and suppression runes drawn onto her body in to lessen the pressure on her mind. By the time she turned five, the masks were gone, and her emotions were fully suppressed with outside help. When she turned seven, her runes were slowly removed as she learned to suppress her own emotions while blocking out others. As long as she wasn’t startled, Raven was perfectly controlled and no longer detonated objects around the room.

On her ninth birthday, Raven was finally allowed to meet her mother face-to-face. To Raven, this was a simple meeting with a stranger.

To Arella, it was the day she had been waiting for her entire life. She stood at the steps of the temple, hands clasped tightly in front of her, looking—really looking—at her daughter for the first time in almost nine years.

Raven came to a stop before her, standing stiffly, in her cute little leotard, cape, and boots. Her chin-length violet, once black, hair framed her delicate face with wide, vibrant purple eyes. Her cheeks were still round with youth, and Arella thought she was the most adorable child she had ever seen. And Arella didn’t even like kids. But this one? This one was hers. And just looking at her filled Arella’s heart so full she thought it might burst.

“Hi,” Arella greeted softly, blinking back tears.

Raven gave no response. Not even a nod. Just a single blink.

Azar stood behind Raven. “Raven,” she said, “there is a festival happening in the square right now. Why don’t you attend with your mother?”

Raven nodded once and began obediently walking down the temple steps without a word. Arella followed close behind, doing her best not to let her emotions spill over. Every inch of her longed to reach out, take Raven’s hand and feel the warmth of that tiny palm pressed into hers. But she didn’t dare. Not yet.  Instead, they walked through the busy square in silence, surrounded by music, food stalls, dancers, and the sounds of celebration. Brightly colored ribbons twisted overhead, strung between carved stone lanterns. Musicians played flutes and drums that echoed off the temple walls. Children darted between booths, laughing, their faces painted with shimmering celestial patterns.

Arella tried to watch everything at once, but her gaze kept sliding back to Raven. Her daughter moved through the chaos like a ghost—silent and untouched by it. She didn’t appear frightened or curious. Just… distant.  The place was overwhelming, full of vigor—everything their relationship was not.  “Um…how is your training?” Arella asked gently, trying to bridge the gap.

“My training is going well,” Raven replied, her voice stiff and proper. “My tutors say I am progressing faster than others in my age group.”

“That’s wonderful,” Arella said, smiling warmly, hoping for a flicker of warmth in return.

“Azar finds my performance acceptable. She says my control is excellent and is to be commended.”

“I’m so glad,” Arella gazed happily at her daughter, though she didn’t know what to make of her daughter’s clipped tone.

Another pause. Long and quiet.

Arella tried not to take Raven’s obvious disinterest in her, personal. She reminded herself that Raven didn’t know her. Raven hadn’t been raised to love her, or even like her. But knowing that didn’t stop the ache Arella felt in her soul. She wanted so badly to connect, to pull her daughter back from the void she’d been dropped into.

Then, surprisingly, Raven spoke again. “Arella—I mean, Mother,” she said stiffly. “Azar says you are not from here. She says you are from a planet in a different dimension. Earth.”

“That’s right,” Arella said. “I was born in a city called Gotham—Gotham City.”

“What was it like?” Raven asked, not sounding particularly interested; however, she did seem to be trying. “Does it resemble Azarath?”

Arella laughed softly. “No. No, not even a little.  There are so many differences. Uh… Gotham is… dreary. Dangerous. There’s a lot of crime. People are angry. Afraid.”

“Gotham has no peacekeepers?”

“They do. We have a lot of names for them—police, cops, sheriffs, deputies.  But in Gotham, a lot of them are dirty.”

Raven frowned and her button nose scrunched just so—her first outward show of emotion. “They do not bathe?”

Arella bit back a laugh. “No, dirty in another way. Corrupt.  They pretend to protect people while secretly helping criminals.”

“Someone should do something about that.”

Arella nodded in agreement.

“Are these… ‘dirty’ cops why you came to Azarath?” Raven asked.

“Oh wow,” Arella sighed heavily, not expecting the topic to come up. “That’s… a long, complicated story. I’m not sure you’re quite… old enough, yet.”

“Lord Alec says I am very mature for my age,” Raven replied. “He says I comprehend many things other children cannot.”

“I know,” Arella said softly. “But still… maybe another time.”

Raven shrugged, unfazed by the answer. Then she stopped suddenly, pressing a small hand to her forehead.

“Are you alright?” Arella asked, alarmed.

“Everyone’s emotions and thoughts… they’re very loud. I’m getting a headache.”

Arella scanned the crowded square, then pointed toward a distant hill. “There’s a quiet place up there. Would you like to go there?”

“Please.”

They climbed the hill in silence. Once they reached top, they sat side by side, overlooking the glowing city as twilight set in and stars began to appear. Lanterns below cast a soft golden glow over the crowd. Music still floated faintly up to them, sounding soft, dreamlike, far away.

“Is this better?” Arella asked.

“Yes. Much better. Thank you.”

More silence. But it felt, easier, less strained.

Raven tilted her head to the sky. “Does Earth also have two moons?”

“No,” Arella replied. “Just one.”

“It must be very dark there.”

Arella smiled. “Not always. Earth has a lot light sources—streetlamps, buildings, cars. The old cities glow at night, like fireflies.”

“Did you attend festivals there?”

“No,” Arella said. “But I went to a carnival once.”

“A what?”

“A carnival,” Arella smiled.  Raven just stared blankly.  So, for the next two hours Arella described carnivals and amusement parks—cotton candy, roller coasters, Ferris wheels, games with prizes, the feeling of wind in your hair, the taste of popcorn, and the shrieks of laughter in the air.

Raven listened in silence, absorbing every word like a student with a new lesson. She didn’t smile. But she did ask questions as her eyes had slightly widened in fascination.

“Did you ride the roller coaster?”

“Once,” Arella said. “I was terrified. I screamed the whole time.”

“Did you win a prize?”

“A tiny stuffed rabbit. I lost it a week later,” she paused. “I really miss the cotton candy,” Arella added at last.

“Cotton candy?”

“It’s sugar,” she explained, “fluffy and multicolored. It looks like a cloud and melts on your tongue.”

Raven was quiet for a long moment. Then she picked a small purple flower from the grass and studied it closely. “This flower feels happy,” she said. “Someone laughed here.” 

It was a random, out of the blue statement, catching Arella completely off guard.  She blinked. “You can feel that from a flower?”

Raven nodded. “Emotions cling to things. Not forever. But long enough.”

Arella watched her carefully. “What do you feel from me?”

Raven didn’t answer. She looked down at the flower, then let it go. The wind carried it away.  “Maybe one day,” Raven said instead, “I’ll be able to try cotton candy.”

“Maybe,” Arella replied, smiling at her daughter. “I really hope so.”

The two sat in a comfortable silence before Raven broke it.  “What else does Earth have that Azarath does not?” Raven asked almost shyly.

Arella smiled brightly.  “Let me tell you about airplanes.”

Chapter Text

            Two weeks after the festival, Raven moved into her mother’s apartments, which were also located in the temple. It was uncomfortable and awkward at first—two strangers trying to live as family. But after a few months, Arella and Raven settled into a quiet rhythm.

Each morning, Raven would wake up, drink a cup of tea, and have breakfast with her mother. (Sometimes Azar joined them.) Afterward, Raven would leave to train or study with her tutors. She would return midday for lunch, spend the afternoon training, then come home for dinner. Most evenings ended with Arella handing her a book and a fresh cup of tea.

One morning during breakfast, Raven set her cup down and asked, “Where are you getting these books?”

Arella blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“These books aren’t in any of the libraries in Azarath.”

“Oh,” Arella said casually. “Azar sometimes opens a portal to Earth. We visit a bookstore.”

A detached “Okay” was all Arella received in response.

By the time Raven was ten, they had begun acting more like a mother and daughter—if a little unorthodox. Raven remained composed and private, still mentally far beyond her years, but there were signs of trust blooming between them.

One night, Arella grew thirsty and wandered into the kitchen for water. As she passed the balcony, she paused—Raven stood there, staring quietly into the distance.  Without a word, Arella made two cups of tea and joined her outside. They sat in silence until the sun rose. It became their ritual, once a week or so. No talking. Just tea and the dawn.  It was the first time the two truly connected.

At age eleven, everything changed for Raven.

One morning at breakfast, when Azar had chosen to join them, Raven startled both women with a question they had hoped never to answer.  “Who’s my father?”

Azar froze. Arella choked on her water.

“Why are you suddenly interested in your father, Raven?” Azar asked carefully.

Arella stared at her plate, picking at her food.

Raven shrugged, but there was a sharpness in her voice. “I’m just trying to understand why I am the way I am. I’ve gained better control over my powers, but I’m still not allowed to go to school with the other children my age. And my powers—they’re different from everyone else’s.”

“Raven, you are an empath too,” Azar offered gently.

“Yeah,” Raven said, “but Arell—I mean, my mom—isn’t. She’s human. She has no powers. So I must’ve inherited mine from my father. But no one will tell me who he is.”  Her tone sharpened with every word, her breathing uneven. “I train all the time. When I leave the temple, I have to cover my face so no one will recognize me. I have no friends,” she scoffed.  “I’m not even allowed to be around children my age. I just want to understand—who is he? Why is everything about him treated like some shameful secret? I can sense both of your emotions.  You’re both very apprehensive right now.  I know you’re hiding something from me. What is it?”  She finished her tirade breathless, her hands clenched in her lap.

Both women were stunned. Raven had never shown this much emotion before.  She’d never raised her voice (or spoke louder than usual in her case), never asked questions like these. And yet, she hadn’t broken a single object. She hadn’t lost control.  Azar, though surprised, couldn’t help but be impressed. “Raven—” she began.

“No,” Arella interrupted quietly. Her voice was trembling. “Let me tell her.”

Azar nodded slowly, then rose and left the two alone.

After a long stretch of silence, Arella finally spoke.

She told Raven everything.  She told her about her life in Gotham—how she never knew her parents, how friends she trusted had betrayed her, and how Raven was conceived. Nothing was spared. No lies were told. There was no softening of the truth.

When Arella finished, Raven sat in still silence, staring down at her plate. Then she looked up, her voice low.  “I’m a monster,” Raven said in horror.

“No, honey,” Arella said quickly, reaching across the table to grasp her daughter’s hands. “You’re not.”

“I’m destined to destroy Azarath... and Earth.” A single tear rolled down Raven’s cheek.

Arella didn’t want to believe it—but she couldn’t deny the fear that lingered in her own heart.  “Raven,” she said gently. “I know what the seers have said. I know what Azar believes. But I need you to hear me, really hear me. Your future is not set in stone.”

Raven’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you honestly believe I’m not destined to destroy planets?” Her tone was sharp, like a blade.

Arella hesitated.  She didn’t know what to believe.  “I don’t know, Raven” she admitted. “But I can tell you what I do know.”  She took a breath. “Everyone thought I would give birth to a boy. The odds were overwhelming as Trigon had only ever sired sons. But then—there you were. Not a boy, not what anyone expected. A beautiful baby girl.”  She gave Raven’s hands a soft squeeze. “And no daughter of Trigon’s has ever survived infancy. Not one. But you? You’re almost twelve. You’ve made it farther than anyone believed possible. You’ve defied every prophecy, every elder, every assumption they had.”

Arella’s voice steadied as it came out stronger now. “You are proof that nothing is guaranteed. Nothing is written in stone. I don’t know what will happen to Azarath or Earth. But I do know this: you are an anomaly, Raven. A miracle. You’ve surprised everyone at every turn.”  She leaned closer, her eyes full of quiet conviction. “You’re special. And not because of what’s in your blood, but because of who you are and what you do.”

Arella caressed Raven’s small hands with her thumbs. “Never give up hope. Azarathian scholars believe there are infinite universes… an infinite number of outcomes the seers could never predict. So maybe, just maybe, you're not the destroyer they fear. Maybe you’re the one who breaks the cycle.”

She gave her daughter a sad, brave smile. “You are not what your father wants you to be. It may not always feel like you have a choice, but you do. And when that moment comes, I hope you choose… hope.”

Chapter Text

At age twelve, while the elders and Arella clenched their teeth and bit their nails awaiting the inevitable, Raven was learning about portals—how to open them, how to close them, and more importantly, how not to lose control.  She had already perfected teleportation. It came to her easily. Azar said she was a natural.

Portals were another story.  They were unstable and dangerous. Under no circumstances was she allowed to practice on her own. Azar was the only other person on Azarath who could create them, and she insisted on being present every time Raven trained. If Azar wasn’t around, Raven was not to attempt a portal. Ever.

One week before her thirteenth birthday, things seemed… calm. The elders and Arella had begun to relax, daring to hope that maybe—just maybe—the seers had been wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time.

That evening, Azar joined Arella and Raven for dinner. Afterward, the two adults began talking about something Raven had no interest in. She excused herself and went up to her room to read, hoping to give them space.  The book didn’t hold her attention for long.

Bored, restless, and feeling more than a little confident, Raven sat cross-legged on the floor and began to do the one thing she absolutely wasn’t supposed to do.  She began drawing symbols across the floor, prepping a portal spell.  She had been practicing for a year and had never lost control. I don’t understand why Azar is so strict about it.  I’m fine.  I know what I’m doing. And tonight, she’d prove it.

Raven rubbed her hands together, took a breath, and chanted. Her goal was simple: create a portal larger than any she’d ever attempted. Within minutes, she had done it—a swirling vortex of black and violet light spun before her.

She grinned. Pride swelled in her chest.  I did it!

Now to close it.

She focused her energy, muttered the command under her breath. Nothing happened.

She tried again. Still nothing.

The portal remained open.  Worse, it was growing larger.

Panic set in.  “Azarath Metrion Zinthos,” she whispered. Louder. “Azarath Metrion Zinthos!”  The portal only pulsed and widened. Raven sensed something stirring on the other side.

Raven’s breath caught.  Something’s coming through.  Something… evil.

Raven stared into the pitch blackness.  Suddenly, four glowing red eyes blinked back at her from the other side of the portal, unblinking, focused on her.  She screamed shattering everything in her room.

“Raven!” she heard her mother call from downstairs.

Frozen in fear, Raven could only back away slowly as a massive, clawed red arm emerged from the swirling darkness.  Then another hand appeared.

Azar and Arella burst into the room, breathless. They stopped dead at the sight of the figure rising from the center of Raven’s floor.  A monstrous being—towering, red-skinned, cruel and grinning—was pulling itself through the portal.

“Raven, what did you do?” Arella cried, panic rising in her voice.

“I’m sorry, Mom!” Raven sobbed. “I’m sorry!”

The being’s massive torso was now fully through, its glowing eyes locked onto Raven as if nothing else existed.   Azar and Arella were shouting her name, calling her to come to them—but Raven stood rooted in place, tears streaking her cheeks.  The creature smiled—a horrible, grotesque smile.  “Thank you, daughter,” it said.

Raven’s eyes widened in horror. Her knees buckled.  No. No, no, no.  Her little body shook as realization fell on her.  She looked to her mother, silently begging for forgiveness, and Arella, through the sheer terror on her own face, slowly nodded.

The creature’s laugh filled the room, low and rumbling. It echoed through the halls, through the city, through her.

Trigon.

Raven slapped her hands over her ears, trying to shut it out. But she could still hear it. She could feel it.

And then the screams began—the voices of the Azarathians. Their fear hit her like a tidal wave. It crashed through her mind, stabbed into her chest. It was too much.  She doubled over, clutching her head, gasping from the pain.

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t think.

She was going to pass out.

            Arella and Azar stood frozen, staring up at Trigon in horror.  Then Arella’s eyes flicked to the corner of the room.  She saw Raven, curled up and trembling, her small body pressed against the wall.  “Raven!” Arella screamed. “Raven!”  But her voice was drowned out by Trigon’s thunderous, vicious laughter.

She tried to move, to reach her, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. Panic surged in her chest. Please, she begged mentally. Look at me.

Trigon's gaze dropped, his glowing red eyes locking onto Raven. They began to pulse with power.

Arella listened to Azar chant a prayer behind her.  “Raven,” Arella spoke through her tears.  This was it.  This was the end.

Arella finally caught Raven’s terrified stare.  Her breath caught in her throat. With trembling hands, Arella raised them and signed, I love you.

Raven’s wide, tear-filled eyes met her mother’s—and slowly, she signed back, Mom.

And then…

It took Raven nearly an hour to coax herself out of the corner.

The screams of the Azarathians had long since stopped, replaced by a chilling silence that seemed to stretch forever. Her limbs trembled as she finally stood and stepped forward, surveying the damage around her.

What she saw was a nightmare.

The temple—the home she had shared with her mother—was in ruins. Actually, no building stood intact. The once luminous city of Azarath was now gray and lifeless, blanketed in ash that drifted from the sky. Smoke curled from cracks in the earth, and the air reeked of scorched stone and sorrow. 

With no stairs left inside her home, Raven floated to the ground and began to walk through the wreckage.  Tears streamed down her face in torrents as she looked around.  This is my fault.  Each sob came out as a hiccup, ragged and desperate. Bodies littered the streets—young and old, side by side. No one had survived Trigon’s wrath. 

She froze when she came upon statues she’s never seen before.  They weren’t statues.  They were Azarathians that had been petrified..  Eyes wide, mouths frozen mid-scream, their features locked in agony. It was as if they'd been turned to stone in the final moments of terror. Some still clutched each other, some reached out as if trying to flee.

Raven covered her mouth as she fought nausea.  She looked around at the destruction.  What did I do?

“They were always destined to die,” a deep voice echoed in her mind.

“No,” she whispered, covering her ears.

“I’m right here,” the voice replied, closer now—behind her.

She spun around.

The towering red figure now stood before her, easily seven feet tall, with four burning eyes and curved horns crowning his head. His mouth curled into a sadistic smile.  Even though he had shrunk himself down from his true size, the power emanating from him was suffocating.

My father, Trigon, she thought bitterly.

He took a slow step toward her, his gaze appraising. She shook—whether from fear, rage, or shock, she couldn’t tell. It was most likely all three.

She stared at him, unable to reconcile this grotesque, monstrous being with the concept of parent.

He tilted his head as his four eyes scanned. “There’s something different about you,” he mused. “No daughter of mine has ever survived infancy. What makes you so special?”  He leaned in, studying her.

Without hesitation, Raven threw a punch with all her strength.  It did nothing.  Well, that wasn’t true.  Pain did shoot up her arm.  She staggered back, cradling her hand that was most likely broken as she glared at her father disdainfully.

Trigon merely threw his head back and laughed, a cruel sound that echoed across the ruined city. “You’re a fighter. That’s what makes you different. Not even your half-brothers would dare to look me in the eye.”  He smiled wider, disturbingly pleased. “I like that. Come with me, and I will make you the most powerful being in the universe.”  He turned away, confident.

“No.”  The word was soft, but it carried power.

He froze.  He hadn’t heard that word in centuries.  Only one other had dared say it to him.  He turned back slowly, studying Raven again. So strong-willed, just like her mother—the only other one who had ever dared to tell him, “No.” 

Under any other circumstance, he would’ve laughed. But time was not on his side.  Constantine and the Zataras had placed so many wards around Earth, his armies couldn’t penetrate them. His powers were limited. He couldn’t break through.

But she could.  She was human enough to blend in. He needed her… compliant.

In a flash of red light, he reappeared right in front of her. Before she could react, his massive hand shot out and grabbed her arm.  He squeezed.

She bit her lip, refusing to scream, but the sickening crunch echoed through the ruins.  The scream left Raven’s mouth involuntarily.

It was only when Trigon heard her scream that he released her. “You won’t ever say ‘no’ to me again,” he growled. “When I give you a command, it is not a suggestion. It is law. There is no debate, no other options.  You do what I tell you to do.”

Raven held her injured arm to her chest, her eyes wide with pain and fear. She didn’t speak, but she did nod.

Satisfied, Trigon turned and began walking toward a swirling portal that had opened behind him.  He didn’t need to look back.  He sensed her following.

Raven followed her father, silently forcing her tears to stop, breathing through the searing pain in her shattered arm. She would obey—for now. She would learn from him, play his game, do his bidding.  But when the time came, she would kill him.  She would make sure he never did to another world what he had done to Azarath.  She would protect Earth, her mother’s world, no matter the cost.  Trigon’s days were numbered.

And Raven would be the one to end them.