The wind was colder in the mountains. Celeste sat silently beside Lucien in the sleek black car as it wound its way through jagged roads and shadowed valleys. Every turn felt like a descent into something unknown, something ancient. The trees leaned closer here. Older. Watching.
Neither of them had spoken much since the Keeper's flame had vanished.
Celeste's thoughts swirled like a storm. Flameblood. She kept repeating it in her mind, like if she said it enough, it would make sense. But nothing made sense anymore. Not the mark glowing on her wrist. Not the power that pulsed beneath her skin like liquid fire. And certainly not the way Lucien kept looking at her when he thought she wasn't watching.
"You are awfully quiet," he said finally, voice low but steady. "For someone who just found out the world wants to devour her."
Celeste didn't look at him. "Is that what I am now? A prize to be hunted?"
"No," he said. "You are the reason they are coming."
She turned sharply. "Why?"
Lucien's knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. "Because you are more than you were supposed to be."
"That's not an answer."
He glanced at her then, eyes darker than the night outside. "The truth never comes in a single sentence, Celeste. But I promise you this. If they come for you, they will have to go through me."
There it was again. That dangerous promise threaded with something gentler. Something terrifying.
She looked back out the window, heart slamming against her ribs. "You keep saying that. Why?"
Lucien didn't answer.
The silence between them thickened, not with anger, but with something else. Something unspoken, coiled between their shared breaths. When his hand brushed hers on the gearshift, she didn't pull away.
After another half hour, the road gave way to a narrow forest path. Lucien parked at the edge. "We walk from here."
Celeste followed him under ancient boughs. Each step echoed in the damp earth like the ticking of a clock she could not see. Her wrist ached again, the mark glowing faintly.
"How do you know she'll help me?" Celeste asked.
Lucien paused. "Because she is one of the last who remembers what the Flameblood truly were."
"Is she like me?"
"No." He looked back at her, eyes unreadable. "She is something else entirely."
They reached a clearing. In the center stood a small, crumbling chapel wrapped in ivy and silence. Moonlight struck its broken bell tower like silver paint. Celeste stared at it, feeling something stir inside her chest. Recognition. Or maybe warning.
Lucien moved ahead and pushed the wooden doors open. "Stay close to me. She does not enjoy surprises."
Celeste followed him into the chapel. The air inside was thick with incense and time. Candles flickered along the walls, though no one had lit them. At the far end, where an altar should have stood, sat a woman in a crimson cloak.
She did not rise when they entered.
"You are late," she said, voice like wind through dry leaves.
Lucien bowed slightly. "Forgive me, Sister Seraphine. We had... complications."
Her eyes opened. They were entirely white. Celeste's breath caught.
The woman's gaze turned to her. "So this is the flame."
Celeste straightened. "My name is Celeste."
Seraphine's lips twitched. "Names are for the living. What burns in you is older than language."
Lucien stepped forward. "She needs guidance. Control. The Keeper said."
"I do not care what the Keeper said." Seraphine rose slowly. Her cloak shimmered, revealing symbols etched into her skin like glowing tattoos. "I care what the flame says."
Celeste shivered.
Seraphine came closer, eyes scanning her like she could see through skin and soul. Then she raised a hand. "Let me see it."
Celeste hesitated, then lifted her wrist. The soulbound mark pulsed like a heartbeat.
Seraphine touched it with two fingers. Instantly, Celeste's knees buckled.
Images exploded in her mind. Fire. A gate made of bone and black stone. Screams swallowed by wind. A man with golden eyes and a crown of smoke.
She gasped and staggered back, but Lucien caught her. His arms wrapped tightly around her as Seraphine stepped away.
"You are what they feared," the woman murmured. "The gate is weakening. And she is its key."
Lucien's jaw clenched. "Then we need to prepare her. Now."
Seraphine looked between them. "She is untrained. Fragile. If I help her, she must listen to everything I say."
"I will," Celeste said before Lucien could speak.
Seraphine's smile returned. "We shall see."
She turned and walked toward the back of the chapel. "Come. You may rest tonight. Training begins at dawn."
Celeste took a shaky breath and turned to Lucien. "That was not what I expected."
He nodded. "She never is."
They followed Seraphine deeper into the chapel, where the stone walls felt warmer, more alive. Seraphine opened a carved door revealing a small room filled with books, candles, and a single bed draped in red fabric.
"This is yours," she said to Celeste. "Do not wander."
When the door shut, Celeste collapsed onto the bed. She stared at her wrist. The mark was still glowing.
Lucien leaned against the wall. "You did well."
She looked up at him. "I saw things. I don't understand what they meant."
"You will," he said quietly. "In time."
She exhaled. "Why are you really helping me, Lucien?"
His expression changed, shadows softening. "Because when I saw you in that hospital, something in me shifted. And I think... I was meant to find you."
Her heart stuttered. "You sound like fate."
He took a step closer. "Maybe it is."
Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, the distance between them vanished. His hand lifted like he meant to touch her face.
But Seraphine's voice rang from the hall. "No sleeping in each other's arms, children."
Lucien stepped back immediately, face hardening again. "Rest, Celeste."
He slipped out the door, leaving her heart pounding and her thoughts in chaos.
Celeste lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
She was Flameblood.
She was hunted.
And if Seraphine was right...
She was the key to the gate of Hell.