The torches along the corridor flickered violently, though no wind passed through.
Lucian stood there, his hand still glowing faintly with the serpentine sigil that pulsed like a living thing under his skin.
Seraphina froze. Her throat tightened—not from fear, but from memory. The mark had once belonged to both of them.
> "You shouldn't remember it," she said quietly.
"I don't," he answered. "But it burns when I see you."
His eyes, once cold as obsidian, now shimmered with confusion. For the first time since his return, Lucian Draven looked uncertain.
She took a step back, the hem of her gown whispering over the marble floor. "That mark was sealed centuries ago. It should not exist anymore."
Lucian raised his hand, studying it. "Then tell me why it appeared the moment I saw you."
---
She could have lied. She should have. But her pulse betrayed her, her breath catching in the same rhythm as the curse's pulse beneath his skin.
> "Because some bonds," she whispered, "are written in blood and defiance. Not even death erases them."
He stepped closer, and the scent of smoke and steel wrapped around her again—the scent of her nightmares.
> "Who are you, truly?" he demanded. "You speak of things only the dead should know."
> "Then perhaps I am one," she replied, voice trembling.
Lucian's jaw tightened. "You're not the first to play at prophecy. But when I look at you…" He trailed off, staring as though something behind her face was shifting in his mind. "It feels like déjà vu. Like a name I've forgotten."
Seraphina's fingers brushed the hidden scar on her wrist, a faint ring-shaped mark—the twin of his curse.
> "You should stay away from me, Prince," she said. "Your past has already killed you once. Don't let it claim you again."
---
He didn't answer. The torches dimmed until only the glow from his mark lit their faces. Then suddenly—he staggered.
Seraphina lunged forward instinctively, catching him before he hit the ground. His body was burning hot, veins glowing faintly beneath his skin.
> "Lucian!"
He gasped, voice breaking. "It's—inside—me—"
She recognized it instantly. The curse wasn't just a mark anymore. It was awakening.
---
The corridor twisted. Reality itself bent like smoke.
In an instant, she wasn't in the palace anymore. She was somewhere else—another life, another century.
Rain. Fire. A battlefield drowned in ash. Lucian stood before her, armor shattered, blade dripping with light instead of blood. And she—her hands were covered in gold, glowing with forbidden magic.
> "You can't save me," he'd said back then.
"Then I'll damn myself trying," she'd answered.
The vision shattered like glass.
---
When Seraphina blinked again, she was back in the corridor, both of them trembling. Lucian's eyes had gone pitch-black, but slowly, painfully, they returned to normal.
He looked at her as if she were the only thing anchoring him to the world.
> "That—vision. I saw you. Not as you are now… but as you were."
Her heart clenched. "Then it's begun."
> "What has?"
> "The curse's cycle," she whispered. "It feeds on remembrance. Every time we remember, it awakens. Every time we meet, it begins again."
He stared at her, realization dawning like horror.
> "We've done this before."
> "Too many times," she said softly. "And it always ends the same way—one of us dies, and the other is left to remember."
---
A long silence stretched between them. The mark on his palm faded, but not completely. It left a faint ember behind—just enough to remind them both that this was only the beginning.
> "Then tell me," Lucian said finally, stepping closer until their breaths mingled. "If this curse binds us to tragedy… why come near me again?"
Seraphina met his gaze, steady, unflinching.
> "Because this time," she said, "I intend to end it. Even if it means ending you."
His lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite pain.
> "Then let's see which one of us fate favors, my cursed lover."