The journal's map was fragmented—sketched in dream-logic, half symbols, half smudged coordinates.
But Kael and I found it.
A ruined chapel deep within the Elunwood, long reclaimed by vines and silence. Trees bowed around it like sentinels. Moss covered what remained of the bell tower. Birds didn't sing here.
Only fireflies danced, as if drawn by memory.
The pendant around my neck pulsed the moment we crossed the threshold.
Kael gripped the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning the trees. "I don't like this."
"Neither do I," I said, "which means we're probably in the right place."
The sanctuary door—half-rotted, iron-ringed—fell open with a groan. Inside was nothing but dust and stone pews splintered by time.
But at the center, where the altar once stood, was a circle of scorched earth.
I knelt beside it, running my fingers over the faded runes etched around the perimeter. Glyphs like the ones in the Vault. But more primal. Older. Cruder.
Kael knelt beside me.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I think this is where Rosen Ashborne's flame was first passed."
"To whom?"
"Maybe Elyra. Maybe someone before her."
A whisper of wind moved through the chapel.
And then—
The circle ignited.
Flames roared to life without heat. Pale gold. Ethereal. They rose in a ring around us and didn't burn, didn't touch.
They showed.
Visions shimmered in the fire: flickering images of battles long past, a knight in blackened armor standing against an army of shadows. His sword burned like sunlight. At his side—a woman cloaked in silver with a child pressed to her chest.
> "Flame is not power," a voice echoed, not from the fire—but from inside me.
"It is memory. It is legacy. And it must be chosen."
Then the images shifted.
I saw a child in monastery robes running from a burning library. Elyra.
I saw myself—Seraphina—standing atop the palace walls, hands glowing, facing down something vast and winged and wrong.
> "You are not meant to open the Vault," the voice said.
"You are meant to become it."
The fire vanished.
I collapsed, breath stolen.
Kael caught me. "Seraphina!"
"I'm fine," I rasped, though I wasn't. Not entirely. Not anymore.
Something had latched on. Not possession. Not corruption.
Recognition.
The Vault knew me now. Not as a visitor. But as its vessel.
---
We camped beneath the stars just outside the ruins.
Kael said little, tending the fire with tense hands.
Finally, I broke the silence.
"Do you think we're in over our heads?"
He looked at me, truly looked. "Yes."
"And you're still here?"
His voice was quiet. "You're not the only one trying to rewrite fate."
I turned my gaze to the sky.
Somewhere, Elyra was still running. The Cardinal was still hunting. Corven was likely sharpening knives behind velvet curtains.
And beneath it all, the Vault was watching.
---
Back in the capital, Prince Corven returned to the High Cardinal.
"The boy's out of the palace," Corven said, tossing a folded map onto the table. "With her. South of Elunwood."
The Cardinal opened it, nodded.
"Then it's time," he said. "They've lit the match."
Corven narrowed his eyes. "What exactly are you planning?"
The Cardinal's smile was a knife dipped in sugar.
"What must be done," he said. "Let them chase ash. Let them taste legacy."
Then, under his breath:
> "Let the Vault open… too soon."
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