The sun had fallen behind the palace spires, and the city of Valemire glowed like a thousand dying embers. From the highest balcony, Seraphina could see the torches flicker in long rows along the streets. Below, the people celebrated their prince's return; above, the curse pulsed quietly between two stubborn hearts.
Lucian stood beside her, silent, hands clasped behind his back. The mark on his palm shimmered faintly beneath the glove—always there, like a heartbeat that wasn't his own.
> "You haven't spoken since morning," she said.
He gave a faint smile. "I'm trying to decide whether to fear you or thank you."
> "You should do neither."
> "Then perhaps I'll do both."
They fell into a silence that wasn't entirely comfortable. It was full of all the things neither dared to say.
---
A low chime interrupted them. One of the palace guards approached, bowing deeply.
> "Your Grace. A messenger from the Temple of Solara requests audience. He says it concerns… the curse."
Seraphina's head snapped up. "That's impossible. The Temple was destroyed ages ago."
Lucian frowned. "Then someone rebuilt it—or something wants us to think so."
> "Bring him," Lucian ordered.
Moments later, the doors opened, and an old man in priestly robes stepped forward. His eyes were clouded with cataracts, but they glowed faintly gold. He bowed low.
> "My lord. My lady. I have come on behalf of the forgotten gods."
Seraphina stiffened. "The gods have not spoken in centuries."
> "No," the priest said softly. "Because they no longer can."
---
He lifted his staff. The air around them shimmered—and suddenly, the walls of the chamber vanished. They stood in a circle of fire, suspended in a memory that was not theirs but older than either had lived.
Lucian drew his sword by instinct. "What trick is this?"
> "Not a trick," the priest said. "A truth buried in flame. The curse you carry is no divine punishment. It was forged—by mortal hands."
Seraphina's breath caught. "Forged?"
> "The Covenant of Everfall," he continued. "A spell meant to bind love so completely that it could bend reality. A weapon against the gods themselves. Two souls made one—forever. You were its creators."
Lucian turned sharply to her. "We made this?"
She shook her head slowly. "No… no, I would never—"
> "You did," the priest whispered. "In your first life, when the gods threatened to erase your names. You swore you'd survive anything. Even death. Even divinity. And so, you forged the Vow Written in Fire."
---
The flames flared, revealing an image between them: a younger Lucian and Seraphina standing within a temple, hands bleeding, eyes fierce. Between their palms burned a sigil—the same that now marked them both.
> "Do you understand now?" the priest said. "This curse is not punishment—it is creation gone wrong. It grows stronger each time you fall in love again. Eventually, it will devour the world that shelters you."
Seraphina staggered back, horror spreading through her. "You're saying our love—feeds it?"
> "Yes. Every heartbeat you share writes new fire into the weave of existence. If you do not end it soon, the covenant will consume everything."
Lucian's fists clenched. "Then tell me how to break it."
> "One of you must sever the bond willingly."
> "Meaning?"
> "One must die," the priest said simply. "By the hand of the other. The blood of one half extinguishes the fire of both."
---
The vision faded, the chamber returning with a rush of cold air. The priest's body wavered like smoke before vanishing entirely.
Lucian stood frozen, his knuckles white around his sword. Seraphina turned away, her voice shaking.
> "It was always going to end this way."
> "No," he said. "Not this time."
> "You heard him, Lucian! The only way to end it—"
> "Is the way it's always ended. And yet we're still here."
He stepped closer, his voice low but unyielding. "If we created this curse, we can unmake it. Together."
Seraphina met his gaze, searching for doubt—and found none.
> "You're mad," she whispered.
> "Then I'll be mad for you," he said. "Just don't ask me to stop fighting."
---
Outside, thunder rumbled though no storm stirred. The mark on both their hands flared, brighter than ever—reacting to something new: rebellion.
Somewhere, unseen gods—or what was left of them—watched and trembled.
For the first time in a thousand years, the cursed lovers were no longer running from destiny.
They were preparing to rewrite it.