The night came early, heavy and cold.
The palace torches burned low, their flames flickering against the marble walls. The corridors were nearly empty when the summons arrived, a young acolyte at her door, trembling as he bowed.
"His Grace requests your presence in the chapel, my lady."
Seraphina set aside the book she had been pretending to read. "At this hour?"
"Yes, my lady. He said it could not wait."
Cale stepped forward immediately. "She will not go alone."
The boy hesitated. "He said she must."
Cale looked at her, concern darkening his features. "You do not have to obey him."
Seraphina rose. "If I refuse, he will only come here. I would rather choose the ground myself."
She touched his arm lightly. "Wait outside the chapel. If I do not return, do not come for me. Take Elias and leave."
"Seraphina."
"Promise me."
His jaw tightened. He nodded once.
The acolyte led her through the sleeping palace, down the long corridor lined with cold statues of saints. Their stone faces seemed to follow her as she passed.
The chapel doors stood open. Candles burned in tall stands, throwing long shadows across the floor. At the altar stood Lucien, his black robes catching the light, a single flame reflected in the silver of his eyes.
"You came," he said. "Good."
Seraphina stopped at the center of the aisle. "You make it sound like I had a choice."
"There is always a choice. Only the wise recognize which one costs less."
"Then speak plainly," she said. "Why am I here?"
Lucien regarded her for a long moment before answering. "Because I want you to understand why the Church fears you."
Her pulse quickened. "Fears me?"
He stepped closer, his voice quiet but clear. "The Light is not mercy. It is balance. It burns what oversteps its purpose, whether sinner or saint. The Church serves that balance. But you are not part of it."
"I did not choose this," she said.
"No," Lucien replied. "But choice does not erase consequence."
He turned away, walking toward the altar. His hand rested on the reliquary, the same golden sphere she had touched. Its light pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
"Do you know why they call Equinox a false goddess?" he asked.
Seraphina shook her head.
"Because she grants power without the Church's blessing. Because she answers those the Light has forsaken. Once, centuries ago, a vessel of Equinox nearly destroyed a kingdom. She believed she was restoring balance, but what she created was ruin. Cities turned to ice. Faith shattered. The Church rebuilt from the ashes, and they swore it would never happen again."
"And you think I will repeat her sins?"
Lucien faced her fully. "You already walk her path. You healed a broken relic. You silenced a divine flame. You turned judgment into mercy. Those acts defy the order of the Light. They rewrite the laws that bind this world."
His eyes were pale and steady, but his voice carried something colder than anger, belief.
"The Church does not hate you because you are evil," he said. "It hates you because you are impossible."
Seraphina stared at him. "So that is what you call it when something no longer fits inside your faith, impossible."
He moved closer, stopping a breath away. "Faith exists to protect the world from chaos. And you are chaos given form."
For a heartbeat, neither moved. The candles flickered. The silence stretched.
Seraphina's voice was soft but sharp. "If I am chaos, then perhaps the world deserves a little of it."
Lucien studied her face. "You do not understand what your power truly is. It grows each time you resist. It learns from you. And when it decides you are no longer enough to contain it, it will unmake everything you love."
Her breath caught. "You speak as if you have seen it."
"I have," he said quietly. "Once."
He lifted his sleeve, revealing a faint scar running along his wrist, a mark of frost shaped like a serpent. "I was a child when the last vessel rose. I survived what she made of the world. I watched her freeze her own city to stop herself from burning it. She begged for the Light to kill her, and it did."
Seraphina stared at the mark, her heartbeat unsteady. "And yet you serve the same Light that murdered her."
"It was mercy," he said. "It ended her suffering."
"Or erased what you feared."
Lucien's gaze met hers. "If you wish to live, suppress it. The Church will not forgive a second Equinox."
She took a step closer. "And if I refuse?"
"Then I will stop you before the Church does."
Something flickered behind his calm, not hatred, but conviction sharpened to cruelty.
Seraphina looked past him to the altar. The reliquary's light flickered again, golden and faint. Her mark answered, silver through her skin.
"The Light and your goddess cannot exist together," Lucien said. "One must die for the other to live."
Seraphina's voice was barely a whisper. "Then I will make sure it is not me."
The air between them tightened. Frost began to form along the edges of the altar, thin and glimmering. Lucien's eyes flicked to it but he didn't move.
"You should leave," he said softly. "Before you do something you cannot take back."
She turned toward the door. "You summoned me for a warning. Consider it received."
As she walked away, his voice followed her. "When the Church comes for you, they will not ask questions. They will burn first and pray later."
Seraphina paused at the threshold, her hand resting on the heavy oak door.
"Then let them," she said. "I have already survived fire once."
She left without looking back.
************************
Outside, the night air bit at her skin. She stood on the steps of the chapel, heart pounding, the mark on her palm burning cold and bright.
The moon hung low, reflecting in the frozen fountain below. She looked down at her hand, watching the silver light fade back into flesh.
"Impossible," she whispered. "Then I will show them what impossible truly means."
Inside the chapel, Lucien stood alone. The frost she had left behind still clung to the altar, thin as glass.
He pressed his hand against it. It did not melt.
"Equinox has chosen again," he murmured. "And this time, the world may not survive her mercy."