The silence after Seraphine's words was worse than a scream.
I stood frozen, Lucian's arm still lightly in front of me—a barrier made not of flesh but fury. His eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, jaw clenched so tight I feared he'd shatter bone.
"You dare invoke the Pact?" His voice was ice. "That oath was sealed in blood three hundred years ago—broken the day you slaughtered our kind in the name of your gods."
Seraphine didn't flinch. Her veil fluttered slightly in the wind, silver runes stitched into the hem catching the torchlight.
"The pact is older than your hatred, vampire. It binds all blood-born to the Council's justice, especially those marked by forbidden power."
My mark pulsed faintly beneath my skin. The same golden crescent… the one that shouldn't exist. That no one could explain. That made me a threat.
Or something worse.
Lucian shifted, and I felt the moment he drew power into himself. The air grew colder—thick with a crackle of tension so sharp it stung my skin.
"She is under my protection," he said quietly. "You want her—you'll have to take her from me."
"Then you condemn yourself."
Behind Seraphine, more figures emerged from the shadows—six, maybe seven, all cloaked in the same eerie silver. Inquisitors.
"Lucian," I whispered. "There's too many—"
"Stay behind me." His tone left no room for question. "You saw what you're capable of. Trust it. Trust me."
A heartbeat passed.
Then Seraphine raised her hand—and the Inquisitors charged.
The clash was thunder.
Steel met shadow. Magic burst like wildfire through the courtyard, sending dust and ancient stone flying. Lucian vanished into motion—one second beside me, the next a streak of black slicing through an Inquisitor mid-strike. Blood sprayed, dark against the pale moon.
I didn't have time to process. One of the Inquisitors broke from the pack and lunged straight at me.
My instincts screamed—too slow, too small—
But the mark burned hot, my body moving before thought. I raised my hand—
Light exploded from my palm.
The Inquisitor flew backward, landing with a sickening crack. I stared at my fingers, golden wisps trailing from them like smoke. My chest heaved.
What was that?
Another came. This one faster. I dodged, rolled, grabbed the dagger Lucian had given me back in the Sanctum. The weight felt right now, familiar.
We circled each other.
He feinted left—I struck right.
The blade bit into flesh.
He screamed and staggered, but didn't fall. Instead, he hissed something in an ancient tongue—and silver fire erupted from his chest.
I screamed as it seared toward me—
Lucian tackled me to the ground just in time, his cloak shielding us both. He grunted as it hit, his body taking the worst of the blast. Smoke curled from his shoulder.
"You alright?" he rasped.
"I—yes. You?"
He didn't answer. Just pushed to his feet and turned back toward the fray.
Kaelen had arrived.
He was a blur of movement, his twin blades slicing with brutal precision. Nines and Groot flanked him, both soaked in blood but standing.
Three Inquisitors down.
Four remained.
And Seraphine… still watched from the edge of the chaos. Unmoving. Unbothered. Her veil fluttered as though caught in a wind only she felt.
"She's not fighting," I said to Lucian, rising to my feet. "Why isn't she—?"
"She's waiting. Watching. Studying you." Lucian's voice was grim. "She wants to see what you can do."
"Then let's show her."
He turned to me. There was something in his gaze now—not surprise, but pride. And something darker. Possessive. Protective.
"You're not the same girl who arrived in chains," he said.
"No," I whispered, my mark flaring again. "I'm not."
I ran back into the fight.
Two Inquisitors cornered Kaelen. One struck with a hammer pulsing with light. Kaelen blocked—but his blade snapped.
I didn't think.
I launched forward, slamming my blade into the one with the hammer. His eyes widened—just before the gold fire ignited around my hands and lit up his chest.
He screamed. Dropped. Smoke curled from his armor.
Kaelen turned. "Remind me never to underestimate you again."
One left.
The final Inquisitor raised both hands, murmuring a chant that shook the stones beneath our feet. A vortex of light opened behind him—glowing runes spinning like a portal.
"Oh no you don't," Lucian growled.
He charged. His sword struck just as the portal flared—
The Inquisitor screamed—and was dragged into the vortex as it closed with a thunderclap.
Silence.
The courtyard was a ruin. Bodies. Ash. Scorched stone.
And Seraphine… still stood.
Lucian strode toward her, his blade dripping blood.
"Enough games," he snarled. "If you came to die, I'll grant your wish."
But Seraphine didn't move. Her eyes—silver and strange—locked on mine.
"I came to deliver a message," she said calmly. "The Council has seen the signs. They know the Chosen Flame has returned."
My blood chilled.
She raised a finger—and pointed it at me.
"She is the spark. But the fire to come… will burn even you, Lucian."
With that, she vanished. No light. No smoke. Just gone.
A heavy silence fell.
Lucian turned slowly to me. His expression was unreadable.
Kaelen swore under his breath. "The Council knows. They'll come in force."
"Let them," Lucian said coldly.
But his eyes never left me.
And I knew, deep down… this war had only just begun.
The room was still humming with the aftershock of Seraphine's presence. Every candle flickered. The shadows clung to the corners like frightened creatures. My pulse hadn't slowed—not since she uttered those words.
"The Pact has been broken. The Flame has awakened. Prepare for war."
Lucian hadn't moved. His eyes glowed like molten silver, unblinking as he stared at the space where Seraphine had stood. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped forward and picked up the scorched edge of her black feathered cloak that had fallen to the floor.
It disintegrated in his hand.
"She shouldn't have been able to enter the Sanctum," Kaelen said, voice low. "Not without a sacrifice."
"She didn't enter," Lucian murmured, still watching the space. "She was summoned. By the Pact itself."
A chill rolled over me, worse than the blood or the terror. "What does that mean?"
Lucian turned his gaze on me then—intense, unreadable, but no longer cold. "It means your existence has disrupted the ancient laws. The balance between the Temple and the Old Blood is crumbling. And it started the moment you touched me."
Kaelen swore under his breath. "The moment she chose you, you mean."
"No," Lucian said sharply. "The moment she remembered."
My breath hitched.
"I don't remember anything—"
"But something inside you does." He stepped closer, his fingers brushing my mark. "The Temple saw it. They called you Flame of the Betrayer. They've only ever used that name once in history."
"When?"
Lucian's jaw tensed. "Two thousand years ago. For the woman who nearly brought down the entire Temple."
Kaelen stared at me now too, his suspicion forgotten, replaced by something closer to awe. "The first marked one."
My stomach twisted. "What are you saying? That I'm her?"
"No," Lucian said. "You're not her. But you carry her legacy. Her mark. Her power. And now, her enemies."
"Lucian," Kaelen growled, warning in his tone. "If she's truly inherited the Flame—"
"Then she's already been claimed by fate," Lucian finished. "And they'll kill her before they let her fulfill it."
The floor trembled softly beneath us—barely noticeable, but real.
I looked between them, the weight of it all sinking in. "So what now? We just wait for them to attack again?"
Lucian's smile was humorless. "No. We go to the source."
"What?"
He turned away from me, already walking toward the Sanctum's exit. "We're leaving the Hollow."
Kaelen blinked. "You're taking her to the Vale?"
"She needs answers. And there's only one place left untouched by the Temple's reach where the truth still lives."
My heart skipped. "Where?"
Lucian paused at the threshold. The shadows clung to him like a mantle.
"To the ruins of Eir.