Elle couldn't sleep.
The duel with Aelinor had left more than bruises—it left cracks in her soul. She had felt it, when their blades collided: a flicker of an old promise, a whisper of another life where she had once worn a crown made of moonlight and betrayal.
She lay beneath the open canopy of her dorm rooftop, staring at the stars as a cold breeze swept the campus. Kaine had left a charm at her window, a silver wolf fang with rune etchings. A silent protection.
But it was Vaeloren she couldn't stop thinking about.
The way he'd held her that night. The way he vanished before she could ask him the question that haunted her lips.
And so, when sleep finally came, the dream came too.
The Dream of the End
She stood atop a tower of obsidian glass, surrounded by a world in ruin.
The sky had torn open—bleeding starlight and void. The earth below crackled with fire and ash. Souls screamed across the sky like dying comets.
And at the center of it all… she stood, crowned in shadow.
But she wasn't alone.
Vaeloren stood beside her—eyes glowing like the sun's last breath. His hand in hers. His wings—massive, black, and divine—unfurled in silent promise.
"You chose me," he said.
"I always do."
"You always doom us."
Behind them rose the Throne of the Broken Realm.
And beneath it… the corpses of those she loved.
Sora. Kaine. Lucanox. Even Professor Myra—frozen in a loop of dying stardust.
"You don't understand what you were meant to be," Vaeloren whispered. "But when you remember, it will be too late."
She turned toward him—and saw her reflection in his burning eyes.
Her true form.
A goddess of ruin. Crowned in prophecy. Forged to unmake.
And as the world shattered—
She woke, screaming.
---
Morning came with silence.
Sora hadn't returned.
Her bed was cold. Her herbal satchel was gone. Even her shadow—the one that always flickered oddly—was absent.
Elle tried to shake the dream from her mind, but something gnawed at her. Soras voice. Her eyes. The way she had looked at the moon before giving Elle that charm.
So Elle followed the thread of power—the invisible sigil carved into her soul since the pact with Lucanox. It led her deep into the Wyrd Library—past forbidden levels, into a locked chamber no student was allowed to touch.
There, amidst vines of spell-thorns and mirrors of bone, she found Sora.
Floating.
Her skin glowed green-gold. Roots curled around her limbs. Her eyes were open, but not awake.
And beside her stood Professor Myra.
"You shouldn't be here," Myra said without turning.
"What… what is she?"
"She is the last Verdant Seer," Myra replied. "A dryad who never bloomed. Until now."
"She's my friend."
"She's older than your bloodline," Myra whispered, brushing a rune across Sora's forehead. "But for some reason… she remembers you. She sings your name in the Dreamgrove. You are her tether."
Elle stepped closer.
"What does she see?"
"She sees your end. And perhaps… her own."
Myra finally turned to Elle, her ageless face drawn with a flicker of something rare.
Fear.
---
That night, the skies turned violet.
Lucanox Everfall waited atop the Celestial Terrace—shirtless, scars glowing faintly beneath the dragon tattoos etched across his bronze skin.
He heard the shift in the wind before he saw the flame.
Vaeloren appeared in a burst of fire and silence, wearing midnight robes and no crown. His eyes glowed with heat, but his expression was unreadable.
"You've been watching her," Lucanox said.
"And you've been touching her."
"She's in danger."
"She is the danger."
The wind roared.
Their powers coiled in the air like beasts at war.
"Tell me something, Vaeloren," Lucanox growled. "Why don't you just take her back to the Broken Realm? Isn't that what you want?"
"She doesn't remember."
"And when she does?"
Vaeloren's voice lowered.
"She'll come to me willingly."
"And if she doesn't?" Lucanox 's eyes narrowed. "Will you break her… or burn her?"
A long pause.
Then Vaeloren whispered:
"I'd burn the realms to keep her. But I'd rather die than see her afraid of me again."
And with that, he vanished.
Leaving Lucanox staring at the stars.
---
The Cult Awakens
Across the northern tower, in the sealed catacombs beneath the Academy—deep where old gods were buried—hooded figures gathered.
One wore a mask of hollow bone.
Another whispered with a serpent's tongue.
And in the center lay a crystal coffin—sealed in ancient prophecy.
The leader raised a black orb, pulsing with infernal magic.
"The Sealed One stirs. The girl dreams. The pact is breaking."
"She must be offered," another hissed.
"No," said the bone-mask. "She must be bound. Or she'll remember everything. And then not even Vaeloren will stop her."
They began to chant.
> She who sealed the sun...
She who chose the flame…
May the thirteenth moon open the gate again.
And far above them—
Elle stood in her window, watching the sky crackle once more.
----
The third moon of the Crimson Cycle rose, and with it came echoes from forgotten lives.
Elle had not spoken of the dream to anyone. Not to Thorne, not even to Sora, who still lay wrapped in the ancient vines of prophecy beneath the Wyrd Library. It was safer, she told herself. Safer to pretend that nothing had changed.
But something had.
Ever since the duel, she felt it—a heat beneath her skin, like fire laced through her veins. And when she touched the old iron gates behind the academy's east wing, they opened for her alone, revealing corridors sealed for centuries.
She had started seeing things in mirrors. A throne in flame. A figure cloaked in raven feathers. And always, a voice:
"You wore the name of the goddess who chose the flame. Do you still remember it?"
Elle would wake with tears in her eyes and the taste of ashes on her tongue.
A Visitor from the Depths
Word spread like wildfire across the academy by morning: a foreign envoy had arrived. No carriage. No winged beast. Only mist and salt in the wind.
"It's the Prince of the Nethersea," whispered Sakiel, a storm elemental from Elle's elemental theory class. "They say he walks on glass and commands leviathans."
Elle stood with Lucanox and Kaine by the scrying fountain as the mists parted to reveal him.
Tall. Dressed in layers of dark opal silks that shimmered like oil-slick tides. His skin was pearl-pale, eyes black with silver pupils, and his long white hair moved as though underwater.
He bowed to the headmistress but looked only at Elle.
"You smell of the First Flame."
Kaine tensed. Lucanox stepped forward. "She is not yours."
The prince only smiled. "We shall see."
His name was Kaelith Morvain, the Tidelord, crowned heir to the drowned kingdom of Osyron. And he had come to claim an ancient debt.
That evening, Elle was summoned to the Astral Hall. She expected Myra or Headmistress Virelle. Instead, she found Kaelith waiting alone.
"This place is bound by old magic," he said, tracing a rune in the air. It shimmered like wet silk. "As are you."
"What do you want?"
He turned, expression unreadable. "A choice."
With a flick of his wrist, water rose from the air—forming a glowing orb. Within it, images twisted: a temple beneath the sea, a sigil of flame intertwined with tide, and Elle—standing beside Kaelith, crowned.
"You were once promised to me. A long time ago. Before the flame took your name."
Elle's heart thundered.
"You died," she whispered.
Kaelith nodded slowly. "And you wept fire until the sea swallowed you whole."
He stepped closer, voice low. "But I returned. To remind you. To warn you. The flame is not your only fate."
"I didn't choose it."
He gently touched her hand.
"You always chose it."
The orb vanished.
"Three nights from now," Kaelith said, "when the tide sings and the flame howls—choose. Come to me. Or be consumed by what waits beneath the ash."
Then he was gone.
That same night, Vaeloren appeared.
Elle sat on the observatory balcony, staring at the stars.
"You didn't come after the duel," she said without looking at him.
"You didn't need me to."
She turned to him slowly. He wore no armor, only a simple shirt and trousers, but power clung to him like smoke. He looked almost human. Almost.
"The Prince of the Nethersea came."
"I felt him. He reeked of regret."
Elle studied Vaeloren. "Did I really choose you? In every life?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he knelt before her, pulling something from his pocket. A broken ring—silver, carved with fire runes.
"You gave this to me. Before you sealed the realm. Before you burned the sky."
He placed it in her palm.
"I remember your name," he said. "Even if you don't."
"Tell me."
He looked up at her, something wild and sacred in his eyes.
"No. You must choose to remember."
The following morning, vines withered in the Wyrd Library.
Elle rushed through twisting corridors to find Myra waiting solemnly.
"She's awake," the professor said. "But not all of her."
Sora sat in the center of the chamber, eyes glowing faint green, skin pale as snow.
"Elle," she breathed. "You are waking. Your name is waking."
Elle dropped to her knees. "Tell me. What is it? What does it mean?"
Soraa reached out, her voice layered with ancient resonance.
"You were born as Aelaria of Flame. Goddess of the Last Dawn. Sealer of the Broken Realm."
The room fell silent.
Myra bowed her head.
Sora pressed a kiss to Elle's brow. "Remember who you are. Or the next time you dream... you will not wake."
The Shattered Mirror
That night, Elle stood before the oldest mirror in the Academy—the Mirror of Aeons.
She whispered her name.
"Aelaria."
The mirror rippled.
And in it, she saw every version of herself.
A queen in armor, leading gods to war.
A priestess cradling flame.
A child walking into fire, unburned.
A girl holding Vaeloren as the world ended.
And finally, herself.
Standing alone.
Afraid.
But not anymore.
She touched the mirror. It shattered—releasing a pulse of gold light that spiraled into the sky.
From the rooftop, Vaeloren watched.
He smiled.
"She remembers."
Far beneath the academy, the cult stirred in panic.
And Kaelith—alone by the moonlit shore—let a single tear fall into the tide.