The forest burned in her dream.
Twisted trees groaned as flame licked their limbs, smoke curling like grasping hands. Celeste stood in the center of it all, untouched, glowing from the inside out. A figure stepped through the fire shadowed, but familiar. Not Lucien. Taller. Older.
Golden eyes.
"You were never meant to sleep so long," the man whispered, voice both ancient and kind. "The gate is weakening. They will come through soon."
Celeste tried to speak, but her lips wouldn't move. He raised his hand and pressed it to her forehead. Heat pulsed through her.
"Remember your name. Your real one."
Flame erupted behind him. The vision fractured.
She gasped awake.
The chapel's stone ceiling greeted her, serene and indifferent to the terror clawing at her ribs. Sweat clung to her skin despite the cold. Her wrist throbbed with heat where the soulbound mark burned against her pulse.
A knock. Then a voice.
"Get up, Flameblood."
Seraphine.
Celeste groaned and pushed off the mattress. Her limbs ached. Her heart did too, but she had learned not to expect rest.
---
The clearing outside the chapel was still veiled in early light. Mist coiled over the grass like a living thing, and birdsong echoed faintly from the surrounding woods. Seraphine stood at the center, barefoot on stone, robes swirling like ink in water. She didn't smile.
"Magic," the priestess said, "is not fireballs and flying. Magic is survival. You've survived this far. Let's see if you deserve to continue."
She motioned, and the ground around them shuddered.
From the mist emerged three figures constructs, made of ember and ash. Celeste instinctively stepped back. The figures crackled with heat, hollow-eyed and stalking forward like wolves.
"No weapon?" she asked.
Seraphine gave a single nod. "Use the fire. Or be consumed by it."
The constructs lunged.
Celeste reacted without thinking. She raised her hand and flame burst from her palm, not wild this time, but focused. One of the figures ignited, falling apart in a shower of sparks.
The second came from behind. She ducked, rolled, and let the fire gather at her fingertips. It surged outward with her breath, knocking the construct into dust.
She turned just in time for the third to punch her square in the chest.
Celeste hit the ground hard, the air ripped from her lungs. The figure stood over her, crackling with heat, ready to strike.
She reached inward.
Past fear. Past doubt.
To the pulsing core of her soul where the flame lived.
It answered.
The blast that erupted from her body was pure light. The final construct shattered, vanishing into ash.
Silence followed.
Seraphine approached, unreadable. "Not bad."
Celeste coughed and sat up, dizzy and drenched in sweat. "Not bad? That thing nearly killed me."
"You are still breathing. Next time, think faster."
The priestess turned and walked away.
---
By sunset, Celeste had collapsed twice and thrown up once. Seraphine pushed her beyond exhaustion, forcing her to hold flame longer, shape it, condense it, release it without rage clouding her aim. There were burns along her arms now, faint but real.
Lucien found her by the well after the second collapse, water dripping from her chin as she leaned heavily against the stone.
"I thought she was trying to train me," Celeste said breathlessly. "Turns out she's just trying to kill me in creative ways."
Lucien offered a slight smile. "If she wanted you dead, you'd be ash already."
Celeste's laugh turned into a groan. "Encouraging."
He held out his hand. "Come on."
She hesitated, then took it.
Lucien led her back into the chapel, but instead of her room, he guided her to a narrow side corridor. At the end was a chamber bathed in golden light from a stained glass window, its mosaic casting soft hues over stone benches and velvet cushions.
He lit a candle.
"Rest here. No one will disturb you."
Celeste sat, watching the flicker of the flame. It reflected off Lucien's eyes as he knelt in front of her.
"You're burning out," he said quietly.
"I have to learn. I don't have a choice."
He frowned. "That's not what I meant."
Their eyes met.
Lucien reached forward and gently touched the edge of her burned wrist. "You were not made to carry this alone."
"I'm not alone," she whispered.
"Then let me help you."
Celeste exhaled slowly. She didn't realize she was trembling until his hand covered hers.
The room felt smaller suddenly. Warmer. The only sound was the soft crackle of the candle flame between them.
His thumb traced the edge of her wrist, and she felt the mark pulse beneath his touch. The soulbound bond shimmered between them, thin as breath, thick as fate.
Lucien's voice dropped lower.
"I've wanted to touch you like this since the moment you defied me at that hospital."
Celeste's heart stumbled. "Then why haven't you?"
"Because you were still running."
She didn't answer.
He leaned in slightly, lips close, breath brushing her cheek. Her fingers curled into his shirt.
"Lucien…"
She wasn't sure if it was a warning or a plea.
He stopped, their foreheads nearly touching.
"You can tell me to stop," he said.
She didn't.
His lips brushed hers, soft, hesitant like a question neither of them had the answer to.
Then he deepened the kiss.
Not forceful. Not rushed.
Just… real.
As if the world outside the chapel didn't exist.
When they finally pulled apart, Celeste was breathless. Her soulbound mark pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
Lucien's hand cradled the side of her face.
"You're stronger than you know," he whispered. "But strength doesn't mean silence."
Celeste closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.
For once, she didn't feel like she was standing at the edge of the world alone.