They moved fast.
Yona appeared in the doorway before Seraphina could call for her. Liora was already behind her with travel provisions. Both women had been listening outside the door.
"Horses are being readied," Yona said. Her usual calm had cracked slightly. "But my lady, you're not prepared for this trial. We haven't finished reviewing the ancestral texts. We don't know what the Flame of Sacrifice will require."
"I know." Seraphina grabbed her riding cloak, fingers working the clasp. "But we're out of time. The window closes at sunset. If I miss it, we wait another lunar cycle while demons slaughter civilians and Alaric returns with whatever legal trap he's been building."
Liora handed her a leather satchel. "Water and provisions. The trial duration is unknown. You may need to remain at Whitehall longer than expected before returning."
Through the bond, she felt Caelan's grim determination. He didn't know what waited at Whitehall.
Neither of them did.
Maybe that ignorance was a mercy. Or cowardice.
Five hours at a hard pace through warded territory. Safe from demons at least. Not much talk between them, just hoofbeats and the occasional brush of their knees when the horses shifted close.
Each touch sent warmth through the bond. His presence had become so natural she forgot sometimes that months ago they'd been strangers. The bond felt steady, like it would always be there.
She told herself that. Wasn't sure she believed it.
The landscape shifted as they approached Whitehall. Rolling hills gave way to ancient forest, trees so old their trunks were wider than houses. Heavier here, the air thick with old magic that made her fire-scars itch.
"There." She pointed ahead where stone ruins rose from the forest floor.
Whitehall Sanctum had been a fortress once. Before her family fell. Before House D'Lorien absorbed Celestine holdings and let this place rot into legend. The outer walls were intact, overgrown with vines that pulsed faintly with residual ward magic. The main entrance gaped open.
Deeper, she knew. Underground. Where her mother's bloodline had locked away secrets too dangerous for daylight.
They dismounted. Caelan's hand went to his sword hilt, wind magic circling them in protective patterns.
"The wards recognize me." Seraphina placed her palm against the stone archway. Her fire-scars flared bright gold, responding to magic that had waited decades for her touch. "They'll let me through. But you—"
"I'm coming with you." His tone left no room for argument.
"The blood-lock stops outsiders."
"Works both ways. I felt it at Crystalline Hollow." His jaw set, that stubborn line she'd come to know. "The bond gives me access where I shouldn't have it. You're not facing this alone."
Through their connection, she felt his conviction. And underneath that, the same unease she carried.
Neither of them knew what waited below.
The stairs descended into darkness. Carved from living rock, each step worn smooth by generations of Celestine bloodline bearers who'd come here to prove themselves worthy. How many had failed? How many had never returned?
Colder as they went deeper. Seraphina's breath misted. The fire-scars on her arms provided the only warmth against stone that held winter in its bones even now, in summer.
At the bottom, a chamber opened before them.
A temple carved from obsidian. Pillars rose toward a ceiling lost in shadow. At the center stood a circular platform ringed with carved flames. Above it, suspended in midair by nothing she could see, burned a single flame.
White-gold. Ancient.
Her fire-scars blazed so bright they lit the entire chamber. The flame responded, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat.
"Beautiful," Caelan breathed.
Then the voice came.
It filled the space around them, crawling across her skin like static before a storm.
Celestine bloodline recognized. Flamebearer acknowledged. Third trial begins.
The platform beneath the flame began to glow with runic script. Words in a language Seraphina's blood understood even if her mind couldn't translate.
To claim the Flame of Sacrifice, payment is required. Approach.
Forward, before she could change her mind. Caelan moved with her, their hands finding each other.
The flame pulsed once. Twice.
First offering. Blood given freely. Both must give.
A stone altar rose from the floor between them and the flame. On its surface sat a ceremonial blade and an empty chalice.
Not a drop. Not symbolic. Real blood, enough to weaken.
She picked up the blade. The edge gleamed sharp and hungry.
"Together," Caelan said quietly.
Her palm first. Deep enough that blood welled fast and thick, the pain biting sharp but she didn't flinch, just held her hand over the chalice and let it flow, warm and slick between her fingers.
Caelan took the blade next. Cut his own palm without hesitation, added his blood to hers.
The chalice filled slowly, dark red mixing and swirling. By the time it was done both their hands were slick with blood and Seraphina felt dizzy, her throat clicking when she swallowed.
The chalice lifted on its own, drawn toward the flame. The blood inside began to burn, white-gold light consuming it completely.
First offering accepted.
She pressed her cut palm against her cloak, trying to slow the bleeding. Caelan did the same. His lightheadedness matched hers through the bond. They'd weakened themselves. Made themselves vulnerable in this place.
Too late for doubts.
The flame pulsed again.
Second offering. Memory of pain. Share what you hide.
The air shifted.
No warning. Just suddenly she wasn't standing in the temple anymore.
Back in the cell beneath the court. Her first timeline. Stone walls. Chains. Evelyne standing there with that smile.
"You're not the only one carrying his future." Evelyne's hand on her pregnant belly. "My child will be Alaric's rightful heir. Mine will live. Yours will burn."
The devastation hit fresh. Raw as the first time, maybe worse because now she knew how it ended. Her cousin. The woman she'd loved like a sister, carrying her husband's child while smiling as Seraphina went to die.
"Goodbye, cousin."
The exact second she understood she'd been betrayed by everyone. That the child in her womb would die with her. That she'd never mattered.
Then Caelan was there too, not just observing but living it with her, feeling her heartbreak as his own through the bond that connected them so deeply now there were no walls left between them.
The scene shifted without warning.
A battlefield. Bodies everywhere, the stench of blood and shit and fear. Caelan younger, screaming orders as his men fell around him one by one. Watching them die while he lived, guilt so heavy it crushed his chest until he couldn't breathe.
She felt his helplessness. His rage at being too slow, too weak to save them.
Back in the temple again. Both breathing hard. Tears on her face. His jaw clenched so tight she heard his teeth grind.
Second offering accepted. No barriers remain between you.
Seraphina wanted to collapse. Wanted to close her eyes against the images still burning in her mind like afterimages of fire.
The flame wasn't done.
Third offering. Truth spoken aloud. What you fear most.
"No," she whispered.
The flame waited. Patient as stone.
Caelan spoke first, his voice raw and scraped. "I'm afraid I'll fail you when you need me most. That I'll be too late. That I'll watch you die and be powerless to stop it."
The words hung in the air. Witnessed by old magic. Made real by speaking them where the dead could hear.
Seraphina's throat closed. She didn't want to say it. Didn't want to give voice to the fear that lived in her chest like a second heartbeat.
The flame demanded truth.
"I'm afraid you'll realize I'm not worth dying for." Her voice broke on the last word. "That one day you'll see what everyone else saw. That I'm not enough."
His immediate denial hit her through the bond. His pain at hearing her say it.
The words were out. Exposed. No taking them back.
Third offering accepted. Hearts revealed. Vulnerability complete.
Stripped bare now. Bleeding, traumatized, emotionally exposed in ways they'd never been before, not even in bed, not even when the bond had first formed between them.
This hurt in ways steel never could.
The flame wasn't satisfied.
Fourth offering. Power surrendered. Magic given to fuel sacred fire.
Her fire-scars burned hotter, the sensation crawling up her arms like living things. The flame was demanding a piece of her magic. Permanent.
She looked at Caelan and saw the same understanding in his eyes.
"How much?" she asked.
Enough to matter. Enough to cost.
Closer to the altar. Both palms flat against the stone, rough and cold under her hands. Her fire magic rose, responding to her will.
She pushed it toward the flame. Not all of it. Just enough that it hurt, felt like tearing a piece of herself away, like losing a limb she'd had her whole life.
The fire that left her hands was bright gold. It flowed into the flame above, making it burn brighter, and when she stepped back she felt hollow. Weaker. Like she'd lost something she'd never fully recover, and maybe she hadn't, maybe this was permanent and she'd just crippled herself for a cosmic trial that might not even work.
Caelan moved forward next. His wind magic spiraled around him, then streamed toward the flame. Green-silver light joining the gold in patterns that reminded her of storm clouds.
When he stepped back she felt his exhaustion through the bond, bone-deep and aching.
Fourth offering accepted. Strength diminished. Sacrifice made real.
Both weakened now. Physically, emotionally, magically. Everything they'd given had cost them something they couldn't get back.
Surely that was enough. Surely they'd proven themselves.
The flame pulsed again.
Fifth offering. Time given. Years of mortal life.
Seraphina's blood went cold. "What?"
To claim this power, you must pay with the currency most precious. Time you will never recover. Years you will not live.
"How many?" Caelan asked, his voice flat and careful.
Ten from each. Freely given or the trial ends.
Twenty years total. A decade each. They'd die younger, would never know exactly when those lost years would catch up to them, just that their ending had come closer, that they'd traded time for power and couldn't undo it.
She looked at Caelan. His calculation came through the bond, immediate and certain.
He'd give it without hesitation.
The realization hurt worse than any cut.
"Yes," she said. "We give it."
"Confirmed," Caelan added.
The flame blazed white-hot. Something shifted in the air around them, not visible, not tangible, but Seraphina felt it in her bones like the first touch of winter, a coldness settling deep, a weight she hadn't carried before pressing down on her shoulders.
Ten years. Gone. Just like that.
She reached for Caelan's hand. He gripped hers tight, his palm rough with calluses against her skin.
Fifth offering accepted. Mortality shortened. Price paid.
The flame settled. Returned to its normal white-gold glow, almost gentle now.
Seraphina's legs shook. Blood loss. Magical depletion. The weight of what they'd just sacrificed pressing down on her until she could barely stand.
Done. They'd passed the trial. Given everything asked.
The flame pulsed gently.
Verification complete. Bond confirmed as genuine and powerful. Sacrifices accepted.
Relief flooded through her like warm water. They'd done it.
Now begins the true trial.
The relief vanished. Cold dread settled in her bones, heavier than before.
Her breath stopped. "I don't understand."
Those were not the trial. Those were verification. Proof that what you claim to possess is real.
The flame pulsed brighter, and suddenly visions flooded through her mind without warning, without mercy.
The realm. Demon forces massing at borders like a tide of shadow. Villages burning, the smoke rising in pillars that blotted out the sun. Thousands dying because the Flamebearer awakening remained incomplete, because she hadn't finished what her bloodline demanded. The cosmic anchor missing. Reality fracturing at the seams, cracks spreading through the fabric of the world itself.
All of it preventable. If she completed the trials. If she claimed the flame.
If she paid the price.
The soulfire bond. Forged in desperation, maintained through need. It anchors you to mortal concerns when cosmic duty demands transcendence.
"No." The word came out strangled, barely audible.
Sacrifice the bond. Complete the awakening. Save the realm.
She felt Caelan's sudden understanding through their connection. His sharp intake of breath. The way his hand tightened on hers until it hurt.
Nowhere to strike. No enemy to fight. No way out except through.
Just a choice that would destroy them both.
Or keep the bond. Keep your love. Let thousands die while demons feast on their despair.
The visions intensified, became more specific, more real. She saw civilians fleeing demon forces, their faces twisted with terror. Children separated from parents, screaming. Entire villages consumed by darkness while she stood safe behind wards, doing nothing. And at the center of it all, the knowledge that she could have stopped it.
If she'd been willing to give him up.
After they'd already bled together. Shared their trauma in ways that left no secrets between them. Exposed their deepest fears where the dead could witness. Weakened their magic permanently. Given up years of their lives they'd never get back.
After they'd proven their bond was real through five devastating sacrifices that had cost them everything.
Now the flame wanted it all.
"Do it." Caelan's voice cut through her spiraling horror, sharp and final. "Take the bond. Complete the awakening."
She whirled to face him. Her hands trembled. "You can't mean that."
"Those people need you." His expression was set, that terrible nobility written across his features that made her want to hit him. "The realm needs you. What we have..." His voice cracked. "What we have doesn't matter if everyone else dies."
Through the bond she felt his anguish, the way saying those words was killing him from the inside out.
He meant them. He'd sacrifice their connection, their love, everything they'd built together, to save people he'd never met and never would.
Because that's what heroes did.
And Seraphina realized with sudden, cold clarity that she wasn't a hero.
"No." Her hands curled into fists. "Absolutely not."