The carriage rattled over the muddy path, wheels crunching against stone and soaked earth. Trees lined both sides of the trail, dense and overgrown, their branches arching overhead to form a canopy that swallowed the light. Rain tapped against the window in a steady rhythm as Seraphina stared out at the blur of trees.
"You're really doing this alone?" Dorian had asked her when they were still on the road.
"I have to," Seraphina replied, her voice steady. "No one else can open it. No one else should."
Lyria had tried to mask her concern. "Then at least let Dorian wait close."
"He will," Seraphina assured her. "He and the guards will hold the entrance. That's enough."
Caelan hadn't said much, but when he handed her the blade hidden beneath her cloak, his eyes met hers and held for a long moment. "Come back whole."
"I intend to," she said simply.
Now, as the trees closed in around the carriage, those words echoed in her mind. She was going in alone. But not without purpose.
This wasn't about court politics or positioning. This was personal. A part of her past she could no longer avoid.
The Vault was deep in the forest, hidden and nearly forgotten. Her family had called it many things over the years. A sanctuary. A place of memory. A vault full of things best left untouched. It held truth,too much of it.
When the carriage stopped, silence fell. No birdsong. No wind. Just rain and the hush of something waiting.
She stepped out. Her boots sank slightly into the wet soil. In front of her, a stone staircase descended into the earth, overgrown with roots and thick with moss. She didn't pause. She moved forward.
Each step down was colder than the last. She ran her hand along the damp wall, tracing the worn grooves of ancient carvings now almost hidden beneath age.
She tried not to think too much, but the weight of it pressed in. What would she find down here? Not just relics or bones or scrolls. Truth. Raw, unfiltered truth she couldn't ignore, and maybe wasn't ready for.
Part of her had wanted to turn back as soon as the stairs disappeared into shadow. But there was no room for fear. Not anymore.
At the base of the stairs stood a door made of solid stone. No handle. No lock. Just a wall meant to keep everyone else out.
Everyone but her.
She took off her glove and placed her hand on it.
At first, nothing happened.
Then warmth bloomed beneath her palm. Symbols glowed faintly beneath her skin, responding not to command, but to her blood.
The door split open. Slowly. Silently.
She stepped inside.
Her breath caught as the door sealed behind her. It was quiet—too quiet. The weight of the air made her chest feel tight. This was it. No guards, no allies, no advisors—just her and whatever truth her family had buried here. She'd prepared for this, told herself she was ready, but standing there in the flickering torchlight, she felt the pressure settle on her shoulders like armor. There was no turning back now. Whatever she uncovered, she would carry it alone.
The air was still and dry. As she crossed the threshold, torches along the walls lit one by one. Their flames gave off a soft glow.
The chamber was filled with relics. Swords suspended in crystal. Banners from centuries past. Bones, cleaned and arranged with care, each one etched with protective runes.
This was her family's true legacy. Not the curated version the court remembered. This was what they had really protected.
At the center of the room sat a black chest on a pedestal. Magic rolled off it like static.
She reached out and placed her fingers on it.
Everything shifted.
She didn't fall, but the world around her reeled. Her vision darkened.She was back in her past life.
Flames. Screams. Smoke thick in her lungs.
She was back in the fire. Back in the moment everything collapsed.
Alaric stood above it all. Not afraid. Not shocked. Just calm. Detached. Watching.
Then he nodded.
Just once.
It was the moment he gave the order.
Evelyne stood beside him. Smiling.
The vision dragged on. She saw Alaric hunched over her family's records, documents that were supposed to be locked away. They had been misplaced after their marriage. A careless archivist had delivered them to Alaric with the rest of the estate shipments. He had dug through them like a man searching for gold.
He found what he needed.
The archivist realized the mistake. The documents were retrieved and he honored Seraphina's mother's last wishes; she ordered them locked in the Vault, to be sealed by blood wards that only Seraphina could break. It wasn't about hoarding power. It was about preserving the truth.
Her Warden blood. Her tie to the Empress line.
Alaric loved her lineage more than her. He became obsessed with it.
He saw her as a key.
He wanted the throne. And she was the path to it.
When it became too risky, he threw her aside.
He accused her of using magic to manipulate him. Said she twisted his thoughts.
The court believed him. Or they pretended to.
People feared Warden blood. Her name was enough to justify the flames.
She tried to break free from the vision, but it wouldn't release her.
She saw Evelyne again. Whispering. Moving among the nobles. Helping Alaric take control. Watching Seraphina's family name be erased.
Then her mother's voice broke through.
"If you are reading this, my light, then you have already died once. And I have done the unforgivable to give you one more breath."
The regression spell.
It hadn't been mercy. It had been the only option left.
The chest clicked open.
Inside were scrolls bearing the D'Lorien crest. Lineage records. Wills. Declarations.
Evidence.
She reached for them with shaking hands.
These weren't whispers or secondhand stories.
These were facts.
Her heritage. Her claim. Her truth.
It wasn't something the court could ignore.
She didn't smile.
She couldn't present these herself. Not yet.
Caelan would deliver them. He would take them to the Empress. Quietly. Without drama.
She didn't need to make a scene.
She needed to be undeniable.
She slipped a ring from her chest and onto her finger. It was cold for a moment. Then warm. It pulsed.
A Warden's ring.
She curled her hand into a fist.
This wasn't about survival anymore.
It was about setting things right.
She gathered the scrolls and turned to leave.
The Vault door closed behind her, soft and final.
Rain still fell outside. Within seconds, her cloak was soaked through.
She didn't stop walking.
Back on the trail, she opened one more scroll. Smaller. Older. The handwriting was her mother's.
"The Hollow remembers what the world has forgotten. Go to where the light fractures. Only there will the seal recognize you."
She read it again.
The Crystalline Hollow. A name from myth and rumor. A trial. A test.
The Vault had given her proof.
The Hollow would give her recognition.
Her mother hadn't just given her another chance.
She had given her directions.
Seraphina folded the parchment and tucked it away.
She didn't need a crown.
She needed the truth.
And she would claim it.