The air turned brittle.
No one breathed.
Even the flickering blue runes along the ice walls dimmed slightly—as if listening.
"Lyssara Valmourn?" Lira repeated slowly—each syllable tasting foreign on her tongue. "That's… impossible."
"She died centuries ago," she said, voice rising in disbelief. "Burned to ash defending some nameless prince during the Fall of Emberreach! Everyone knows that story it's a legend!"
Varden stepped down from his obsidian dais—one slow motion after another—and as he moved forward into moonlight filtering between arched ice columns… shadows peeled back from him like servants before a king.
He was taller than she remembered.
Broader.
But still—those eyes glowed faintly silver in dim light… ancient beyond time itself…
"You think I would kidnap an ordinary girl for sport?" he asked coolly. "Do you believe me so cruel?"
"Yes!" The word burst from her lips before she could stop it. "You smashed my door open like thunder! You dragged me away without warning—you terrified my family!"
"And if I had come gently," he countered calmly—"knocked? Asked? Do you think they would have handed over their daughter to a man known as 'the Frost Tyrant'? Do you think you would've believed me when I said destiny calls your blood?"
She opened her mouth—but nothing came out.
Because suddenly… something deeper stirred inside her chest—not logic or reason—but memory?
Not hers?
A flash:
Fire swallowing marble halls.
A child screaming.
A crown melting upon blackened stone.
And then—a hand reaching through smoke—
"Stop." She clutched her head with bound wrists behind back—the cuffs humming louder now—as if reacting to something within—
Varden noticed instantly.
His expression changed—just slightly—from cold control to sharp awareness.
"You felt it," he murmured—not quite question—"The echo."
"What was that?" Her voice trembled despite resolve not to show fear again."That wasn't mine…"
"It was hers," Varden whispered stepping closer until only two paces remained between them—the heat of his presence unnatural against such frozen hall."Your soul remembers what your mind refuses."
"This is madness," she whispered backing up instinctively only for chains behind her back to yank tight against bench armrests—a hidden mechanism locking them further."I'm not some reborn princess—I'm just Lira! Just... someone who cooks soup better than anyone else in Elderglen!"
"And yet…" Varden reached into inner fold of his coat—and withdrew something small wrapped in dark velvet cloth no bigger than palm…
He placed it gently on table beside throne-like chair carved from glacial ice shaped like snarling wolf jaws cradling seat where ruler sat above all others...
Then snapped fingers once sharply—
Guards moved at command unfastening cuffs binding Lira's wrists and vanished backward soundlessly as mist retreating dawn light.
She rubbed sore skin warily but curiosity won faster than caution ever could…
Slowly... hesitantly...
Lira stood…and walked toward object left deliberately within reach but untouched by guard or servant since entrance…
With shaking hands, she peeled open folded corners of velvet.
And froze completely at sight revealed beneath folds:
A locket.
Ornate silver frame engraved with twin flames—one red rubies forming petals; one pale sapphires mimicking frostfire glow...
In center—an oval glass window protecting image sealed inside:
Her own face stared back at her...
But older.
Crowned.
Dressed in flowing robes ablaze with fire sigils…
Eyes proud…
Smiling softly beside man draped entirely in midnight-blue cloak edged with wolf fur…
Beside him:
Lord Kaelen Varden—with long hair unbound and softer gaze filled not with icy distance but pure adoration...
Their fingers intertwined across centuries-old painted portrait sealed forever under glass inside this forgotten heirloom pulled seemingly from void itself...
"No…" She dropped locket abruptly as though burned—even floor did not crack when metal met stone—it floated down gently instead—as if unwilling even gravity should harm relic so sacred….
"How is this possible?" Her voice cracked broken finally after holding strong too long"Who made this? Why does it look like us?"
"I did," Varden answered quietly—from somewhere far away sounding both ancient and painfully young all same moment."Five hundred years ago.I commissioned every brushstroke myself.To never forget."
Silence swallowed room whole again until heartbeat alone pulsed loud enough echo across glaciers miles away
"You loved her?" Lira whispered barely audible over sudden storm wind outside beginning anew battering fortress