The vial was heavier than it looked.Black glass, cold as if it held winter itself.
Seraphina turned it in her hand. When the torchlight touched the surface, something inside shimmered—like liquid starlight trapped beneath ink.
Veylor's words still echoed: Drink this. It'll unlock what's sealed inside you.
She uncorked it. The scent was metallic, ancient—blood and salt and something older than time.
I've already died once, she thought. What's the worst that can happen?
The liquid burned down her throat. For an instant, nothing. Then the world tilted.
***
A thousand bells rang inside her skull. The cellar walls bled into white fire.
She wasn't standing anymore. She was kneeling—again—only this time not in chains.
A marble dais stretched before her, bathed in gold light.And on it stood Kael, but not the prince she knew.His armor was pure white, his eyes soft with devotion.
"Elira," he said, voice trembling. "You promised me forever."
Her breath caught. Elira. Her old name.
But before she could answer, the scene warped—the dais cracked, fire swallowed everything, and Kael's face twisted into the cold mask of the prince who burned her alive.
"Saints are not meant to love," he whispered. "You broke the law of heaven."
The fire roared, and she screamed—
***
"Seraphina!"
Hands shook her shoulders. The world re-formed around her. She was back in the cellar. Veylor's face hovered inches away, eyes sharp with concern.
"You're lucky you stopped screaming," he muttered. "Any louder and half the manor would be down here."
Her lungs burned; she wiped sweat from her brow. "What did you make me drink?"
"Your own blood," he said simply. "Distilled from the day you died."
She stared at him, horrified.
Veylor smirked faintly. "I saved a drop from the pyre. Thought it might come in handy."
"You're insane."
"Maybe. But now you remember a little more, don't you?"
She opened her mouth to deny it—and stopped. Her hands were glowing faintly, veins pulsing with soft blue light. The same hue that once marked the Saintess's miracles.
"I don't want this," she whispered. "Not again."
"Then control it before it controls you," Veylor said. "Because that light? It's not mercy anymore—it's wrath. Twisted by death, reborn as something darker."
He stepped back into the shadow. "You'll need it, Seraphina. The court is already moving against you. The prince feels it, even if he can't name why."
"Why are you helping me?" she asked.
He paused at the stairs. "Because I owe you a sin that can't be forgiven."
Then he was gone.
***
Seraphina stood alone, torch guttering low. Her reflection shimmered faintly in a puddle at her feet.The faint blue glow in her veins pulsed once… twice… then faded.
She touched her heart. Beneath her ribs, something ancient stirred—memory, magic, vengeance—all braided into one.
"The Saint died," she murmured. "The Villain learned to breathe."
She blew out the torch and climbed toward the moonlight.