It began with a whisper. Not a sound, exactly, more like a sensation brushing against the inside of Seraphina's skull, like someone breathing her name into a wound she'd forgotten she had.She was alone in her room when it hit her. One moment she was reaching for the velvet curtain cord, and the next, the walls dissolved, The present shattered and she fell backward into the past.
It smelled like blood and ash.Screams echoed through stone corridors, warped by magic and smoke. Fire roared from above, eating through beams and books and ancient sigils she'd etched into the ceiling herself. Seraphina, no, Belladore, was limping down a hallway, cradling a dying girl in her arms. Her apprentice. Her friend. Her sister in the Craft, the girl's name was Ilyra.The name returned like a slap. She could feel Ilyra's breath grow shallow against her shoulder.
Ahead, the eastern wall pulsed with wards. Too strong to break alone. They needed Lucien or someone, Then she heard him.
Footsteps in the smoke. A voice. Familiar. Strained.
"Belladore!"
She turned.
There he was. Younger. Rougher. His uniform torn, blade sheathed in blood and light.
"Help me," she begged. "Please, she's.."
He grabbed her hand.
"There's no time."
"Then take her"
"No. You."
And then, he kissed her.
Hard, Desperate.
A second later, she was shoved through a collapsing door of flame.
She hit the ground.
Rolled.
Came up coughing in the grass outside the burning compound.
Alone.
Ilyra was still inside.
Lucien was still inside.
And the fire did not stop.
Seraphina jerked awake, heart thundering in her chest. The room spun. Her hands were shaking. Sweat dripped down her spine.
But something else was burning now.
Memory. Full. Clear. Undeniable.
Lucien hadn't betrayed her. He had saved her.
And still, He'd left Ilyra behind.
She stood on the terrace an hour later, watching the sky bruise into twilight. She didn't hear him approach, But she felt him.
"Riven," she said without turning.
His voice was quiet. "You remembered."
"Yes."
He stepped beside her, arms crossed. "And?"
"And it changes everything. And nothing."
He didn't respond.
But she could feel the tension roll off him.
"You don't trust him," she said.
"I don't need to trust him," Riven answered. "I remember who he was. And I saw what it did to you when he left."
Seraphina turned to face him. "You're not angry at him. You're angry because I might still care." His jaw tightened.
"I died for you, Bells. I stayed behind when I could have run. I fought the Council for you. And now,"
He broke off. "You chose him. Again."
She stepped closer, voice low. "I didn't choose anyone. I'm not done remembering yet."
Their eyes met, past and present tangled in the air between them.
Then Riven leaned down, slowly, like the moment might break if he moved too fast.
But her hand landed softly on his chest.
She didn't push him away, She didn't pull him closer.
"I need time," she whispered.
Riven stepped back like she'd slapped him.
He nodded once, jaw set, and turned to leave.
But as he walked down the path, he stopped, Turned back.
"There's something else," he said. "Someone's watching the house."
Her blood ran cold. "Who?"
Riven looked at the sky. "Someone I thought died years ago. Someone Council born."
"What do they want?"
His gaze found hers again.
"You."
Lucien was waiting for her when she returned to the library. He stood at the window, hands behind his back. No coat. No wine. Just shadow and silence.
"You remembered," he said without looking at her.
"How did you know?"
"I felt it. Like a crack in the world."
She crossed the room, heart pounding. "You pushed me out."
He nodded.
"You kissed me."
Another nod.
"You left Ilyra."
His shoulders stiffened. "She was already gone."
"You don't know that."
He turned then, eyes hollow. "I do. I felt her heart stop before I reached you."
Silence.
"I thought you hated me," she said.
"I thought I deserved it"
And then, so softly she barely heard:
"I've spent three lives dreaming of you. Wishing I'd done it differently."
She stepped forward.
He met her halfway.
They stood inches apart, and this time , she was the one who reached.
Her fingers brushed the side of his face, thumb grazing the scar at his temple.
A relic from that night. A piece of her past, carved into him.
"You're not the same man," she said.
"No," he whispered. "But I still want the same thing."
Her lips parted. "Which is?"
His hand found her waist, hesitant but real. "You," he said. "Just… you."
Their kiss wasn't frantic.
It was slow, Broken, Human.
It tasted like grief and fire and second chances no one deserved.
Magic flickered around them, low and warm, wrapping them in gold.
But just as her heart began to rise,
The candle shattered. The room plunged into darkness.
And through the crack in the window, a voice slipped through like a blade.
"How sweet. But love won't save you, Belladore."
They spun.
Lucien was already drawing power from his ring. Seraphina's magic surged to her fingertips.
But the window only held shadows, And eyes.
Bright, unnatural amber eyes.
Watching, Smiling.
Gone.