The town of Valmoura shimmered like a jewel carved into the mountainside. Known for its cascading crystal terraces and fireglass lanterns that glowed even at noon, it was a place where pilgrims came to forget sorrow, or to lose themselves in quiet pleasures.
To the innkeeper at The Lantern's Rest, the two who entered at dusk were unlike any she'd ever seen.
The man was tall, regal—his black hair kissed by dusk, his eyes like moonlit glass. And the woman… the woman was unreal. Silver-haired, eyes like twilight flame, with a grace no mortal blood could carry.
"They must be moonbound," the innkeeper whispered to herself, hands trembling as she passed them the room key.
Lucien barely noticed. He had scanned the town gates for magical surveillance, his senses brushing for Witch Tower sigils or whispering scry wards. After a moment of silent assessment, he turned to Selene, voice low and firm.
"Wait here. Let me check the wardposts before we move further in. There's too much silence—it could mean a trap."
Selene nodded and leaned casually against the side of the worn gate wall, arms folded.
Lucien moved into the shadows with preternatural grace.
The moment he vanished, a flicker of lightning burst high above her head. A thunderbird—nearly invisible to most senses—dove low through the clouds and released a single letter, sealed with crimson wax. It drifted into Selene's palm with no sound at all.
She felt its magic immediately. Stealth-crafted. Designed to slip past passive barriers—only the most alert or paranoid mage would even notice it.
The handwriting was sharp, fluid, unrecognizable:
You are only a cauldron to him.He never devoured you because he is not ready.He could have gone with you to your father's palace to save his kingdom—If he truly loved you.He only wanted your heart to leave home—So he could keep you near when he needed you.
If you ever need help,This letter bears a seal. Break it,And I will come.
No signature. No name. But the rune at the bottom shimmered with dormant, coiled power.
Selene read it once, then twice. Something inside her curled tight.
Lucien returned minutes later, and they continued through the gate in silence.
Now, the fire in their rented room flickered low. The shutters were sealed against the mountain winds, and night had fully fallen outside. Valmoura was quiet, but Selene's mind was anything but.
Lucien sat near the window, sharpening a short dagger with ritual focus.
She stood from the edge of the bed.
"I want to ask you something."
He looked up. "Ask."
"You've said before that I 'changed everything.' That my magic broke your curse. What does that mean, Lucien? What am I to you?"
Lucien's expression didn't falter—but his sharpening stopped.
"You are the one the seal was designed to wait for. Someone with your blood. Your affinity. You're not ordinary, Selene."
She stepped closer. "But beyond that. Why me? Why have you stayed with me?"
"You're more than the key," he said slowly. "You're the only one who could understand what it means to burn without dying."
"And when we first met," she pressed, voice lower now, "you said you were supposed to kill me… but didn't. Why?"
Lucien hesitated.
"Because fate intervened," he answered finally.
"That's not good enough."
Silence stretched. Then her voice dropped into something raw:
"If the Witch Tower wanted my bloodline, my magic—aren't you even a little interested in it too?"
Lucien met her eyes. "I am."
She flinched.
"And if one day," she asked, barely above a whisper, "if claiming my blood—my magic—could restore your empire… your power… your people… what choice would you make?"
Lucien didn't answer.
His silence cracked something.
Selene stepped back, blinking fast. She turned away—and her hand brushed the scroll hidden in her cloak. The one with the seal.
She didn't think. She simply acted.
A silver shimmer erupted as the crimson rune activated, bathing her body in red and gold.
"Selene!" Lucien shouted, lunging forward—but too late.
She vanished in a burst of magic, the scent of fire and starlight lingering in her place.
Lucien stood frozen.
Alone again.
And somewhere far from Valmoura, a different door opened—and a shadowed figure waited with open arms.