The forest stood hushed, as though the trees themselves held their breath for her return.
Seraphina stumbled through the underbrush, the fabric of her cloak torn, bloodied at the hem. The golden thread that once lined her sleeves had frayed, muddied by earth and ash. Her breathing was ragged. She didn't know how long she had been running—only that she had run from the truth, from trust shattered like stained glass.
"Don't stop now," whispered a voice at the edge of her thoughts.
It wasn't Lucien's.
It wasn't Kael's.
It was her own.
Her body throbbed, but her spirit burned. If betrayal was a wound, then she'd carry it like a scar carved into steel. Not weakness—proof that she had survived.
She collapsed against the bark of an ancient tree, its trunk gnarled and warm beneath her palms. The moonlight filtered through the branches, painting pale streaks across her face.
And then, she felt it.
A shift.
A presence.
"Thought you'd make it farther," a voice drawled behind her. Velvet-smooth and venom-laced.
Seraphina spun, magic instinctively flaring in her palms.
Out of the shadows stepped a figure cloaked in night. Hair the color of a raven's wing, eyes like cracked onyx. And behind him—another. Taller, leaner, his silver hair cascading down like starlight, his expression unreadable. Two men. Two fates.
One vicious. One… delicate.
She remembered them from the ruins. The bond etched in blood. The mirror sigils carved into their wrists.
"Who are you?" she asked, teeth clenched.
"Depends who's asking," said the first with a smirk. He moved like a predator—elegant, dangerous, hungry.
"I'm asking," Seraphina replied, raising her chin. "And I've had enough of riddles."
The one with silver hair stepped forward. "We were sent to retrieve you, Seraphina Vale. The marked heart. The storm singer. You've been chosen."
Her breath caught.
"Chosen by who?"
The dark-haired one chuckled. "By the ones who remember what the old blood means. By the Circle Beneath. You were never just a girl with a gift. You are the last flare of a dying fire."
The Circle Beneath. The name echoed like thunder in her bones. Her mother had whispered it once, long ago, when fever and magic danced behind her eyes.
"Why now?"
"Because the boy you trusted has already betrayed you," said the dark one. "And the war is closer than you think."
Lucien.
Seraphina's fists curled. Rage flared, but it was the grief beneath it that almost shattered her knees.
"How do you know about Lucien?"
The dark one stepped closer. "We know everything about the blood that runs through you. We watched from afar. We waited. Now it's time for you to stop waiting."
The silver-haired one bowed slightly. "You can call me Dareth. He is Vael."
Vael's smirk never faded. "And we're your only way out."
Seraphina studied them. Two halves of something ancient. Dareth's eyes were soft, searching, like he'd carry her burdens if she let him. Vael's were cruel—like he'd burn the world for her… or watch her burn.
"I'm not going anywhere with strangers," she said.
Vael shrugged. "Suit yourself. But the king's men are tracking your scent as we speak. You've got maybe ten minutes before they drag you back to that golden prison."
Seraphina's pulse spiked. The palace. Lucien. Lies, betrayal, illusion.
She took a step back. The wind shifted. And from far behind the trees—howls.
"Warg hounds," Dareth murmured. "The kind they only release when they want something brought back alive. Or half-alive."
Panic surged. But Seraphina swallowed it whole.
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
Vael grinned. "Everything you haven't been allowed to be."
Dareth extended his hand, palm up. "Come with us. We'll protect you. But more than that—we'll give you the truth."
Seraphina looked between them. Between mercy and madness. Kindness and chaos.
Lucien had chosen his throne. His secrets.
Now she would choose hers.
She stepped forward.
Not toward Dareth.
But between them.
"I walk beside no one," she said. "Not until I understand what I am."
The hounds were getting closer. Branches snapped. The forest held its breath again.
Vael chuckled. "You're going to be so much fun."
The three of them turned just as the first shadow leapt from the trees. Dareth raised a wall of moonlight. Vael's blade—black and breathless—hummed from its sheath. Seraphina didn't summon magic.
She was magic.
And as the first hound lunged toward her, she raised her hand and screamed—not in fear, but fury.
Fire burst from her fingers, so white-hot it lit the woods in celestial flame. The hound disintegrated midair.
Vael blinked.
Dareth exhaled, "She's awakening."
But Seraphina? She just stood there, flames licking her palms, her eyes gold-lit.
This wasn't the end.
This was the rebirth.