The soft shimmer of moonlight filtered through the broken cathedral windows, casting fractured shadows on the cracked stone floor. Elara stood in the center of the ruined sanctuary, heart thudding in her chest as the ancient symbols beneath her feet pulsed with quiet light.
She shouldn't be here. Not alone. Not without training.
But the whispers had grown louder each night. And last night, she'd dreamed of him again—his voice calling her name, echoing with pain and longing from behind the veil of memory.
She traced her fingers over the cracked altar, and the cold sent a jolt up her arm. The spellbook hovered open beside her, its pages turning on their own, stopping on a sigil she'd never seen before. One drawn in blood and sealed with fire.
"To awaken what was once lost, offer the truth you fear."
Elara's breath caught.
Offer the truth?
She closed her eyes. Flashes of the night at the lake surfaced—her scream, the glow in her palms, the boy with silver eyes vanishing into mist.
She hadn't told anyone.
Not Damien. Not Lucien.
Especially not Lucien.
But something deep inside warned her: the seal would break soon—with or without her.
Suddenly, the air shifted.
The sound of footsteps echoed behind her.
She spun around—but saw no one.
"Elara," a voice whispered. "You're not ready."
She froze. That voice—
She turned again and this time, he was there.
Lucien stood at the edge of the circle, eyes glowing faintly under his hood. "You shouldn't have come here alone."
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, her voice trembling. "About the seal. About me."
His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Instead, he stepped forward and crossed the glowing sigils, which should've burned any other being who dared.
But not him.
"Because once you remember who you were," he said quietly, "there's no going back."
And with a single gesture, he placed his hand over hers, pressing both against the altar.
The seal flared with blinding light—and cracked.