The forest seemed to shift the moment Mae followed Lucien beyond the ruins. The trees stood taller here, older somehow. Their trunks were wrapped in silver-veined moss, and their branches tangled like clasped hands overhead, weaving a canopy that filtered moonlight into strands.
Mae kept her glowing palm close to her chest, still reeling from what she'd seen in the mirror. The sigil—etched in gold and pulsing faintly—felt like it was part of her now, not something she could wash away or deny.
Tinkles rode quietly on her shoulder, his long tail flicking against her back every few steps. He hadn't made a sound since they left, but Mae felt his awareness sharpen. He was watching. Listening.
"So," she said, breaking the silence, "are you going to tell me where we're going?"
Lucien glanced at her over his shoulder, his features half-shadowed. "Someplace safe. For now."
"That's not ominous at all."
He didn't respond. Instead, he knelt near the roots of a massive tree and pressed his hand against the bark. The wood groaned faintly, and a seam opened in the ground—a narrow spiral staircase, descending into darkness.
Mae hesitated. "You're kidding."
Lucien stepped inside, already vanishing into the dark. "Come if you want answers."
Mae looked at Tinkles. He gave a short chirp and leapt from her shoulder, bounding into the tunnel.
She sighed. "Of course."
The stairs were stone, worn smooth by time. As she descended, glowing runes flickered along the walls, lighting their path. The air grew cooler, still, filled with the scent of damp earth and old fire.
At the bottom, the tunnel opened into a vast subterranean chamber lit by floating orbs of light. Crystals jutted from the walls like frozen lightning. In the center, a shallow pool reflected the ceiling, which was carved with constellations that didn't belong to Earth.
"This," Lucien said, "is the Hollow Vault."
Mae turned slowly, taking it all in. "What is this place?"
"One of the last intact sanctums of the Old Flame," he replied. "Your ancestors helped build it—before the Collapse."
Mae stepped closer to the pool. The surface shimmered, revealing flickers of images beneath: cloaked figures wielding glowing blades, creatures with wings made of smoke, temples carved into mountainsides.
She turned to Lucien. "You said I'm not just human. That I'm a hybrid. But I've lived here my whole life. No one ever told me."
"They wouldn't have," Lucien said. "It was hidden from you. Locked away in your blood until it was time."
"And that time is now?"
He nodded. "The Flame is stirring again. The seals are breaking. People like you—descendants of the original guardians—are waking up. Slowly, but surely."
Mae looked down at her glowing palm. "What does it mean? This mark?"
"It's called a Flame Sigil," Lucien said. "It only appears to those who've been chosen. Or remembered."
Mae frowned. "Remembered?"
"You died once before, Mae. A long time ago."
Her breath caught.
Lucien continued. "You lived as a warrior. A guardian of the Flame. When the Collapse happened, many of the old souls scattered—reborn into new lives, new bodies. Most never remember. But you…" He stepped closer. "You've begun to."
A strange calm settled over her. Not because it made sense—it didn't—but because deep down, it didn't feel foreign. It felt right.
"And you?" she asked. "What are you?"
Lucien touched the pendant at his neck again. It shimmered, revealing the curled body of a small golden dragon for just a moment before vanishing into metal again.
"I'm one of the Keepers," he said. "Our task is to guide the reborn. Help them remember."
Mae nodded slowly, then looked toward the wall, where her sigil had begun to glow in sync with one carved into the stone.
"Why now?" she asked. "Why is this happening?"
Lucien looked up toward the ceiling, where a star had begun to blink. "Because the seal is weakening. And something old is waking up. Something that remembers the Flame… and wants to consume it."
Mae didn't ask what "it" was. Her body already knew.
Suddenly, the pool darkened.
Lucien turned sharply.
From the center of the chamber, the water began to churn. Shadows coalesced, rising into a shape—a twisted figure cloaked in smoke. No face. Just a void.
Tinkles hissed and leapt to Mae's shoulder.
Lucien stepped between them, eyes glowing. "Stay behind me."
The shadow let out a whisper—not a word, but a feeling: hunger.
Lucien raised his hand, and a beam of light shot from his palm, striking the figure. It shrieked silently, twisting before vanishing back into the water.
Mae stared, heart racing. "What was that?"
"A memory fragment," Lucien said, lowering his arm. "Not fully alive. But dangerous."
Mae's knees felt weak. "That thing was inside me?"
"No," Lucien said. "But it came because of you. The more you awaken, the more they'll come. You carry the light now, Mae. And the dark notices light."
She looked at her hand again, still glowing softly.
Tinkles meowed, curling around her neck protectively.
Lucien met her gaze. "This isn't a dream. It's a remembering."
Mae exhaled. "So what do we do now?"
He smiled faintly. "Now we begin."