Lyon, Midnight — The Undercroft of Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourvière
The echoes of Maeryss's confession faded like dying embers, swallowed by the ancient stone.
La Reyna stood motionless. Her heartbeat thundered, drowning thought. The truth wrapped around her ribs like chains — she wasn't just the heir. She was the final defense. The lock. The flame. A legacy forged in secret, without her consent.
Lucien's hand rested gently on her shoulder.
She didn't turn. Her eyes remained fixed on the sigil carved into the floor — an Ouroboros devouring its own tail, bleeding at the mouth.
"Lucien," she rasped. "Do you think she did it to protect me? Or to control me?"
"Maeryss doesn't believe in protection, Reyna," he said quietly. "She believes in prevention. That's what makes her dangerous."
Reyna stepped forward. The Council sat in shadow — faceless, unmoving, calculating.
"You may not like your destiny," the Council Leader intoned. "But it was never hidden. Only veiled. For your own sake."
"Then let me lift the veil."
She knelt in the center of the sigil and drew a blade across her palm. Blood dripped onto the stone. It hissed and flared, igniting ancient runes that pulsed beneath her.
A blast of red light surged upward, revealing the full engraving — not just the Ouroboros, but the Crescent Claw, entwined with iron vines. The forgotten mark of the Vault of Severance.
From the arched corridor, a figure emerged.
A cloak of tattered red.
A face half-consumed by flame.
Eyes that once stood beside her father in blood and war.
Vaelen Darrox — Raezmir's oldest ally. The first bearer of the Key Sigil. A man believed long dead.
"So the daughter lives," he said, voice as brittle as scorched earth. "And still, you bleed with pride."
Reyna stood slowly. Her jaw clenched, her breath steady.
"I bleed with purpose now."
Vaelen turned toward the Council.
"You sat idle as the El'Raez bloodline rotted. As the Vault of Severance weakened. You thought binding her would silence the prophecy. But fate doesn't whisper — it screams."
Lucien stepped forward.
"Why are you here, Vaelen?"
"To finish what your master began. And to warn her."
Reyna's voice was steel.
"Warn me of what?"
"The Vault won't hold much longer. N'Axur stirs. His whispers are seeping through the cracks. He remembers the bloodline that betrayed him."
The chamber dimmed. The torches sputtered. Even the air seemed to recoil.
"Then we reinforce the seal," Maeryss's voice echoed faintly — not physically present, but etched in Reyna's mind like a scar.
Vaelen's gaze turned sharp.
"No. There is no sealing what is already breaking. You must decide — will La Reyna be the seal… or the sword?"
The words lingered like ash on fire-warmed wind.
⸻
Later — Hidden Catacombs Beneath the Basilica
Cold stone against their backs. The scent of ancient dust in their lungs.
Lucien and Reyna sat in silence, side by side. Not from exhaustion — but truth.
"I wanted to kill her," she whispered. "But now… I don't know if I'm the victim, or the weapon."
"You're only a weapon if you let them wield you," Lucien said. "You have a choice."
He leaned closer, voice low, like flame beneath breath.
"Decide what burns — your past, or your enemies. If you try to burn both… you'll go up with them."
She didn't reply.
For a fleeting second, she imagined a life where vengeance wasn't carved into her skin. Where her name wasn't locked in blood.
But that wasn't her story.
Maybe they carved a weapon from my name, she thought. But from this moment, I choose what it destroys.
She stood.
"Tomorrow, we go to Paris."
Lucien blinked. "Why?"
"The last Sigil Guardian is there. And if N'Axur is stirring… I need to awaken what still sleeps inside me."
She tied her bleeding hand with rune-threaded cloth — each knot a vow, each pull a severance.
"I'm done being the lock."
She looked into the darkness, voice sharp with new fire.
"Now, I'll become the flame that melts the gate."