The night air was heavy with the scent of old stone and magic. The moonlight streaming through the castle's high windows made the shadows dance across the marble floors like restless spirits. Lianna's footsteps echoed softly as she followed the winding corridor deeper into the forbidden wing. She pulled her cloak tighter around her, not against the cold but against the weight pressing on her chest—the invisible pull that had led her here, the pull she didn't yet understand.
Rayan walked beside her, his movements quiet, controlled, like a predator stalking prey. His eyes, golden in the dim glow, never strayed far from her, as though he knew this was more dangerous than she realized.
"You shouldn't be here," he murmured finally, his voice low, rough with warning.
Lianna stopped, her hand brushing the stone wall. "And yet you brought me here."
His lips pressed into a thin line. "Because you wouldn't stop until you found it."
She exhaled, her breath shaky. "You say that like you already know what I'm searching for."
"I do." His gaze hardened. "Your soul remembers more than you allow yourself to admit. That's why this place calls to you."
Her heart skipped. Soul? The word clung to her ribs like a whispered truth she wasn't ready to face.
The corridor ended at a great archway, sealed with iron doors carved in runes older than kingdoms. The wards shimmered faintly, responding to their presence. As Rayan lifted his hand, the wards resisted, crackling with sparks. His jaw clenched, veins rising in his hand as he pressed harder, whispering words in a tongue Lianna didn't know.
She felt the weight of the magic ripple through her, tugging, tugging at something buried deep inside her chest. The door should have remained sealed, but the runes glowed and trembled—until they shifted, bending, opening.
The sound of iron groaning against stone filled the hall as the doors parted, and a rush of cold air swept over them.
Lianna shivered. "What… is this place?"
"The Archive of Souls," Rayan said, his tone unreadable. "The council forbade anyone to enter it centuries ago."
She swallowed hard, stepping inside. Shelves of ancient tomes stretched into the darkness, each bound with faded leather, dust, and forgotten seals. Crystals glowed faintly on pedestals, illuminating fragments of the room like constellations suspended in air. In the center stood a mirror—tall, cracked, framed with blackened silver.
Lianna's eyes were drawn to it instantly. Her pulse hammered.
"Don't." Rayan's voice was sharp as he stepped in front of her, blocking her view. "The mirror does not show truth—it shows memory."
Her throat went dry. "Memory?"
He leaned closer, his golden eyes fierce. "Not all memories are yours to see."
But she pushed past him, her feet carrying her toward the mirror as though invisible strings pulled her forward. The glass shimmered, swirling with mist, before shapes began to form.
A woman stood there.
Not just any woman—her.
Same face, same eyes, but the woman in the mirror wore flowing robes of midnight blue, a crown of silver thorns resting on her brow. Power radiated from her, and yet there was sorrow too, deep and consuming. She whispered a name that made Lianna's skin erupt in goosebumps:
"Amara…"
The mirror cracked deeper, and Lianna staggered back. Her heart slammed in her chest.
Rayan grabbed her arm, holding her steady. "Enough! You've seen what you weren't ready to see."
Tears pricked her eyes. "That was me, wasn't it?"
Silence. Rayan's grip on her arm tightened for a moment before he let go. He turned his face away, his jaw locked.
"Answer me!" she demanded, her voice breaking.
At last, he looked at her. There was no cruelty in his eyes, only a grief so profound it stole her breath.
"Yes," he said quietly. "That was you. That was Amara."
The name throbbed inside her, each syllable an echo of something lost. She shook her head, pressing her palms to her temples. "No. I'm Lianna. I'm not her. I can't be her—"
"You are both." His tone was steady, unyielding. "Lianna is who you are now. Amara is who you were. Your soul has lived before, and it remembers more than you think."
Her knees buckled. She stumbled toward a nearby pedestal, clutching its cold edge for balance. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because you weren't ready." His gaze softened, though tension lingered in every line of his body. "Because if you remembered everything too soon… it could destroy you."
Lianna stared at him, tears blurring her vision. "And you—how do you know all this? Why do you keep looking at me like—like you've lost me before?"
The silence stretched long, unbearably long, before Rayan finally spoke.
"Because I have."
The words pierced her. She searched his face, desperate for more, for answers, but he turned away, retreating into shadow as though the truth was too heavy to bear aloud.
The mirror pulsed again, and this time Lianna tore her gaze away, afraid of what else she might see. Her heart ached with questions, but fear laced them all.
She whispered into the silence: "If I was Amara… then who was I to you?"
Rayan's fists clenched at his sides. He didn't answer.
---
The crystal lights flickered, shadows stretching longer as though the room itself stirred with their presence. From beyond the shelves came the faintest sound—rustling, almost like whispers.
Lianna froze. "Did you hear that?"
Rayan's head snapped up, his senses sharpening. He moved in front of her instantly, protective, his golden eyes scanning the darkness.
The whispers grew clearer. Words. Ancient words. They slithered between the shelves like living things, wrapping around them both.
Lianna pressed closer to him before she realized what she was doing. His warmth steadied her, but her chest was still tight.
"What is it?" she whispered.
"Not what," he said grimly. "Who."
From the shadows emerged a figure cloaked in black, his face hidden. The stranger's presence was suffocating, his aura colder than ice. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of centuries:
"The soul has awakened."
Rayan's hand shot to his sword, fury flashing in his eyes. "You shouldn't be here."
The cloaked man tilted his head. "Neither should you. But the wheel of fate turns, whether you fight it or not. Amara has returned."
Lianna's breath caught in her throat.
The man's hood slipped back just enough for her to glimpse his eyes—silver, merciless. A shiver raced down her spine. She didn't know him, but something inside her recoiled as though she had.
The man smiled, though it was not kind. "Welcome back, Amara."
Rayan moved in front of her, his stance deadly. "She is Lianna. Remember that."
But the man only laughed softly, fading back into the shadows until his presence was gone, though the cold lingered.
Lianna's heart thundered, her body trembling. She clutched Rayan's sleeve without realizing it. He looked down at her hand, then at her, his expression unreadable.
"Who was that?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
His jaw tightened. "A reminder," he said softly. "That the past never stays buried."
---
Hours later, when Lianna lay awake in her chamber, staring at the ceiling, the image of the mirror haunted her. The crown, the robes, the name whispered like a curse.
Amara.
She had no answers, only more questions. And one truth she couldn't escape—her life was no longer her own.
And Rayan…
She pressed her palm to her chest, feeling the frantic beat of her heart. Why did it hurt more to think of his grief than of her own confusion?
---
❓️❓️❓️❓️❓️
If you were in Lianna's place—suddenly seeing proof that you lived another life as someone powerful and tragic—would you embrace that past identity to uncover the truth, or would you reject it to protect your current self?