Some students at Emberthorn sneak into the kitchen for midnight snacks.
Some sneak into the Mirror Garden to kiss under starlight.
And then there's us:
Breaking into the Headmistress's Vault to learn the truth about forbidden mirror shards, flame cults, and possibly the end of magic as we know it.
So, you know. Normal Tuesday.
✦ ✦ ✦
Riven and I didn't sleep after the Tower of Thorn.
We returned to our dorm shaken, silent. I stared at the symbol now marked into my skin—two flames entwined in the shape of an eye. It pulsed softly under my gloves, warm like an ember that never faded.
The next morning, Riven slapped her spellbook shut with grim purpose.
"We're not going to figure this out by waiting around for another ghost to show up."
"Agreed," I said.
She grinned like a girl preparing to punch fate in the teeth.
"Then it's time we saw what the Headmistress is hiding."
✦ ✦ ✦
The Vault of Virel was beneath the Arcane Hall, guarded by three magical defenses:
A blood-binding ward keyed to faculty only.
A riddle-lock shaped like a dragon's skull that asked things like "What walks on ash but never burns?"
And a very bored stone sphinx that mostly existed to ask you your biggest fear and then judge you for it.
"I'm terrified of becoming something I can't control," I told it.
It blinked.
"That's… actually valid," it said, and let us through.
Riven confessed her fear of public speaking and being asked to lead a group project. The sphinx rolled its eyes.
"You students are getting weirder every year."
✦ ✦ ✦
Inside the vault, the air felt old.
Not just dusty—but heavy with power. History. Memory.
Shelves lined the walls, filled with magical artifacts sealed in runeglass. Books that glowed. Wands made from starroot. Bottles of flame swirling inside containment charms.
At the far end: a circle of glass cases.
And in the center of them: a mirror.
Cracked. Familiar.
Etched with the same symbol that burned into my palms.
Riven approached the case and whistled low. "That's a core piece. That's… that's the original Mirror of Flame, isn't it?"
Before I could answer, the mirror spoke.
Elira Wren.
My breath caught.
Daughter of the fire that once ruled this world. You are not its first bearer. But you may be its last.
Riven stared at me.
"Did that mirror just call you royalty?"
"I think it just implied I'm a magical time bomb."
The mirror's glow deepened.
You are Fireblood. Born of the ancient flame. A child of the Ember Pact.
"The what now?"
Riven began flipping through the oldest book we'd swiped from the Tower. Her eyes widened.
"The Ember Pact… Elira, it was a magical covenant. Like, pre-academy era. Magic so powerful it was sealed. Burned. Forgotten. Your magic isn't just weird. It's illegal."
I stared at my hands.
The flame inside me pulsed once.
And then—
The door to the vault slammed open.
✦ ✦ ✦
Headmistress Virel walked in with robes swirling, power radiating like a storm trapped in a body.
Her eyes locked on me.
"Step away from the mirror, Miss Wren."
I didn't move.
"You knew," I said quietly. "You knew what I was. What this magic was."
She frowned. Not angry. Not surprised. Just… tired.
"I hoped the mark would skip a generation. I was wrong."
Riven stepped forward. "You've been hiding all this. The Tower. The Pact. The Thorned Flame. Why?"
The Headmistress glanced at the mirror, then at me.
"Because some truths are too dangerous to speak. Some fires, once lit, can't be extinguished."
She raised a hand.
Magic surged.
Riven grabbed my wrist. "We have to go. Now."
I turned.
And ran.
As spells crackled behind us, the last thing I saw was the mirror—
And in its reflection, not me…
But the girl of flame again.
Older.
Burning.
Watching me.