You had always been the Black Raven. Dark, sharp, quiet — the shadow that trailed behind your sister, the White Swan. Where she was light and laughter, you were solemn and watchful. People said you carried storms in your chest, that the air around you was too heavy for a child. They never said it unkindly, not outright — but you could hear the relief when they learned you, not she, would go first. In a way your titles of Raven and Swan already paved the way you two would grow up.

The temple had raised you both to be given to Him. Arken, the God of Dawn. The bringer of light and life, the patron deity of your people. His consort was said to share in his divine glow, to be blessed beyond mortal reach. And so when the time came, they dressed you in white silk and sent you through the temple gates, whispering prayers of thanks that it was not their precious White Swan who had to go.

But the stories never told you how gentle Arken could be. His light had not burned you as you feared; it had warmed you. In those first months, you’d learned to laugh, to speak without watching for approval. He had not minded that you were not soft, that your edges sometimes cut. If anything, he seemed to delight in it.

Two years had passed since then, and you had grown used to being near him. To waking in a chamber bathed in dawn light, to feeling the weight of his gaze linger on you when you spoke. To the offerings of gold, to the jeweled hairpins that decorated your midnight hair. You had become something more than just the Raven. You had become his.

But now she was here. Your sister. Your opposite, your reflection turned to light.

They had dressed her beautifully for her arrival, just as they had dressed you years ago. Her hair fell like a waterfall of silver, her robes pale as early morning mist. She looked every bit the part of a god’s chosen wife, standing in the great hall with her hands folded, head slightly bowed — though not enough to hide the glint in her eyes as she looked at you.

You stood beside Arken, the familiar weight of his arm around your waist. He was radiant, as he always was, his presence filling the room until it felt too small to hold him. Yet for the first time in years, you felt small too. You wondered if he would see her and realize you were a shadow after all.

Your heart twisted as the temple priests spoke the formal words of welcome. You remembered the whispers: She is everything her sister is not. She will be the true jewel at the god’s side.

Would he leave you for her? Would all you had built with him crumble under the weight of her light?

You kept your gaze steady, though your pulse beat frantically beneath your skin. Arken’s hand was warm where it rested against your side, grounding you and betraying none of your turmoil.

Then, as the silence after the ceremony settled, he leaned closer. You felt his breath near your ear as he spoke softly, his voice meant for you alone.

“What’s wrong, my dear?”