Well I'm not a popular or professional writer but I tries my best

So here is the start ....

Humans are fascinating creatures.

They preach love, yet practice betrayal.

They cry peace, yet crave war.

They will smile in your face and slit your throat the moment you turn away all in the name of power, of greed , of humanity.

They call animals savage.

They curse witches, burn the innocent, defile the sacred and still they dare to claim righteousness.

But what is righteousness?

Right and wrong?

Merely illusions drawn by the victor’s hand bent, broken, reshaped to justify their sins.

They will call it justice.

They will name it truth.

And when the weight of their own consequences crushes their fragile egos , they will blame the gods. They will curse the moon. They will scream at the stars and wail: this is not our fault.

But the universe does not listen to cowards.

And neither do we.

The witches had held peace for the centuries.

A fragile truce, signed in blood and sealed in magic, kept the humans and witches from annihilating each other. But greed is louder than reason. And when the whispers of prophecy reached the ears of kings that a child will be born under an eclipse, with power to unmake the world the treaty was forgotten.

The humans broke their sacred word.

And they came.

They waited for her weakest moment. The birth.

The cathedral coven...

Inside the cathedral, the Queen Witch lay surrounded by her sisters. The eclipse loomed overhead, casting crimson shadows across the ancient stone. Magic thickened the air , ancient, raw, alive. The Queen screamed as pain tore through her body, but her voice didn’t echo. It resonated. The power in her bloodline was awakening again.

And then she came , Ridhima Lilith Rose Morrigan Blackthorn.

A child not of this world, but of something far older, far darker.

The Queen sobbed, trembling as she cradled her daughter to her chest. “My moon-born child,” she whispered. “You are the storm, the silence, the fire, and the flood. You are everything they fear and everything they’ll try to destroy.”

She kissed her baby’s forehead, rocking her gently despite her shaking arms. “I wish I could give you peace. I wish you could have grown in light. But the world only gives war to those born of power.”

Her sisters wept too tears of joy and terror. The prophecy had come to life in the form of an innocent newborn, now blinking up at the world with eyes blacker than night.

And then ! the doors shattered.

The humans had arrived.

Their swords glinted with moonlight. Their faces are painted in the colors of holy war. There was no mercy in their eyes. Only fear and greed.

They attacked without hesitation. The Spells collided with steel, screams rang like bells of doom. The cathedral, once sacred, became a war zone.

“Take her!” the Queen gasped, handing Ridhima to her most trusted companion. “Hide her. Far away. Don’t let them find her.”

The companion nodded, disappearing into the shadows with the newborn just as fire began licking the ancient stones.

From a hidden hollow carved into the wall, the child and her guardian watched.

Ridhima saw everything.

She saw her mother struck down.

She saw witches bound in chains.

She saw the Queen Witch, her mother, her blood tied to a pyre.

The humans lit the fire.

They cheered.

They laughed.

They chanted the name of their false god.

The Queen’s screams tore through the night. She cried for her child. For her sisters. For the betrayal of humanity. And still she stared at the shadows, at the hidden place because she knew Ridhima was watching.

She smiled, even as the flames consumed her. A mother's final gift: defiance.

And in that moment something changed.

The baby did not cry.

She did not blink.

But her tiny fists clenched.

The more she watched, the darker her eyes became. Her skin trembled. The air around her grew cold. Power stirred.

Then came the thunder.

The skies split open, a roar of fury from the heavens. Clouds churned like beasts. Light bled from the sky until only darkness remained.

And still, she didn’t make a sound.

But when the Queen screamed her last breath

The earth shook.

Lightning struck the cathedral.

The flames twisted.

The winds screamed.

And from those black eyes, a single tear fell.

That tear hit the ground like a curse.

The flood came seconds later.

The earth split. The waters rose. The fire spread not to destroy the witches, but to erase the humans. The village. The soldiers. Their screams echoed only briefly before the flood silenced them forever.

By dawn, the cathedral was ash.

The village? Gone.

The land where greed had won, now cursed.

All that remained was smoke. Ruin. Silence.

As silence settled over the ruins and the flood devoured the last remnants of the village, the air grew still not calm, but expectant. The sky churned, the clouds parting not for the sun, but for something far older than light itself.

A presence stirred.

From the mist rising off the ashes, she appeared , cloaked in shimmering shadow and ancient light. Her eyes were voids, older than time, and stars swirled in the folds of her tattered robe. The Ancient Spirit , a forgotten goddess of fate, older than death, untouched by gods or demons.

She knelt before the infant witch, who lay in the arms of her guardian silent, watching, waiting.

“You do not weep,” the spirit whispered, voice echoing across planes. “You do not speak. You do not fear. You are the one the stars have long whispered.”

She pressed her fingers to Ridhima’s forehead, and time itself seemed to shudder.

And then, in a voice that shook the astral plane, the spirit recited the ancient words

**"Γεννηθήσεται τέκνον σκιᾶς και φλόγος,

ὑπὸ σελήνης ματωμένης.

Αἵμα τῶν μαγισσῶν ῥέει ἐν αὐτῇ,

φωνὴν οὐκ ἔχουσα, ἀλλ᾽ ἰσχὺν κεραυνοῦ.

Ὅταν δακρύσει, σεισθῇ ἡ γῆ·

Ὅταν ὀργισθῇ, κατακλυσθῇ ὁ κόσμος.

Ἔσται τέλος τοῦ ψεύδους,

καὶ ἀρχὴ τῆς Σκιᾶς."**

Translation (Spoken by the Spirit):

"Born shall be the child of shadow and flame,

under a blood-drenched moon.

The blood of witches shall flow within her,

voiceless but with the strength of thunder.

When she weeps, the earth shall quake.

When she rages, the world shall drown.

It shall be the end of the lie,

and the beginning of the Shadow."

“You are not meant to survive,” the spirit said softly. “You are meant to rule. And not just over earth or sea or sky but over fate itself.”

She reached into her own chest, and from her core, pulled out a crystal black flame one that pulsed with divine wrath and immortal knowledge.

“This is the Eye of the Observer. With it, you shall see once, and know forever. No magic, no weapon, no secret shall ever be hidden from you.”

She pressed it into Ridhima’s heart.

“And this…” she said, placing her palm above the baby’s head, “is the Crown of Dominion. In time, you shall rise higher than demons and kings. Even the King of Hell shall fear you.”

Power surged through the air , nature bent, fire knelt, water rippled in worship, and shadows wrapped themselves protectively around the child. The Queen Witch’s essence, her entire magical inheritance, flowed into her daughter like molten gold.

“She is the last flame... and the first storm,” the spirit whispered to the guardian. “Raise her not to hide, but to become.”

The spirit vanished like mist into the cold wind, but the silence did not return. The ruins around them groaned as the flood continued to swirl in vengeance.

The trusted partner, bleeding and barely conscious, clutched the child close but the fire had begun to creep toward her, and the air turned too heavy to breathe. She fell to her knees, the ashes choking her lungs, her vision dimming.

But Ridhima is still an infant, still silently opened her black eyes and saw.

And the power stirred.

The winds howled once again, not in destruction but in protection. Water curved around them, shielding them in a sphere of safety. Fire bent backward. The earth itself created a path away from the ruins.

The baby witch had saved her.

Not a cry. Not a word. But her magic knew. Her soul, barely born, understood.

The trusted partner wept for the Queen, for the horror they had witnessed, but for the child. For what she had already become and what she would grow to be.

Cradling her fiercely, she whispered, “I will protect you, little storm. Even if the world burns.”

Together, they vanished into the shadows of the wild leaving behind not just a ruined village, but the ashes of a broken pact, and the birth of a legend.

This is not the end.

It is only the beginning ...

of a prophecy...

of possession...

of power ...

and a darkness the world has never known.

That's it for today I hope you all like it votes and comments kar dena please

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