Chapter 9: The Hidden Door Between Worlds
The manor was no longer safe.
Damien didn't explain.
He didn't have to.
After the attack, he packed a single bag, summoned his driver, and told Aria to follow him through a door at the back of the west wing she hadn't noticed before.
"What is this?" she asked as they descended a narrow staircase lit only by blue torches.
"A way out," he said. "One that no court magic can trace."
"I thought you said I wasn't leaving without you."
"You're not," he replied. "I'm taking you somewhere they can't follow."
"Who are they, Damien?"
He paused.
Then: "The Hollow Court."
She stopped walking. "That's the name I saw in the journal."
He turned to face her. "Then you already know. They were the ones who tried to harness your magic a thousand years ago. They're not aligned with any realm now—not Earth, not Faerondel. They exist between."
"And they want me alive?"
Damien's jaw tightened. "Alive enough to use. Not alive enough to defy."
At the bottom of the stairs was an iron door. Covered in runes. Stained with old magic.
L
Damien placed his hand against it.
The door hissed and opened.
On the other side… wasn't a hallway.
It was a forest.
Dark. Fog-drenched. Moonlit.
The trees swayed like they were listening.
"Where are we?" she breathed.
Damien stepped through and held out his hand. "The Forgotten Realm. A sanctuary sealed by oath and blood. Only those with ancient rights can enter."
She hesitated.
Then took his hand.
His grip was firm.
Familiar.
Safe.
They walked in silence for what felt like hours.
No cars. No phones. No noise.
Just the sounds of magic moving through trees.
Eventually, they reached a clearing where an abandoned temple rose from a bed of moss and cracked stone.
Damien led her inside.
Candles lit by unseen hands.
A fire roared in the hearth.
A bed sat in the corner, beside shelves lined with books older than memory.
"This was your retreat," Damien said quietly. "In your former life. When ruling was too much."
She touched the carved symbols on the walls.
They pulsed faintly beneath her fingers.
"Feels like it remembers me," she said.
"It does."
Later, after she had changed into the loose tunic and leggings he'd left folded for her, she stepped out onto the stone balcony overlooking the silver lake behind the temple.
Damien stood there already.
Arms folded.
Staring at the water like it held answers he couldn't bear to ask.
She moved beside him.
"I saw her again," Aria said.
Damien looked at her. "In the mirror?"
"No. In a dream this time. She was standing in the same place I am now. But she looked… tired. Like something was breaking her."
"She was at the end then."
Aria nodded. "She said, 'Tell him I forgive him.'"
Damien flinched.
She hadn't expected that.
"What happened?" she whispered. "At the end?"
He exhaled sharply, staring back at the lake.
"She chose to unbind the fire. To stop the war. But unbinding meant losing herself. Her soul scattered—her memories sealed. And me…"
"You stayed behind," Aria guessed.
"I watched the world forget her," Damien said. "And I swore I wouldn't."
The wind shifted.
Aria turned to face him fully. "Why did you never try to bring me back?"
His throat worked as he swallowed. "Because it would've been selfish. You died saving the world. I thought… maybe you were free."
"And now?"
"Now you're here again. And I'm still not ready."
"Ready for what?" she asked softly.
Damien looked at her like she was the only truth left in the world.
"To lose you a second time."
Neither moved.
The firelight from inside flickered across his face—gold over silver, shadow over storm.
And then, without meaning to, she reached up and touched his cheek.
His breath caught.
His hand rose—tentative, trembling—and cupped the side of her face.
Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.
He leaned closer.
Closer still.
Their lips were a breath apart.
"Damien," she whispered.
But the name broke something.
In her.
In him.
He pulled away like she'd burned him.
"I can't," he said, voice raw.
Aria blinked. "Why?"
"Because if I kiss you now, it won't be just you I'm touching. It'll be her. And that's not fair."
"You think I don't know that?" Aria asked. "I don't even know who I am yet. I'm pieces of a life I can't remember, and a girl who never asked to be reborn into this mess."
He turned away.
But she grabbed his hand.
Held it tight.
"I don't want to be her," Aria said. "Not entirely. I want to be me. With you. Now. Not before. Not someday."
He looked at her.
And for a moment, the air between them felt like a thread stretched taut—one pull away from snapping.
Then he squeezed her hand back.
And whispered, "Then let's survive long enough to figure out who we are."
The moon rose higher.
The lake shimmered like silver glass.
And somewhere in the trees, a shadow watched them.
Eyes gleaming.
Waiting.