Miren did not sleep.
She lay on the narrow bed in the quiet room Lady Aveline had given her, staring up at the pale ceiling while moonlight slipped through the tall window in thin silver lines. Beyond the glass, Lyrien glimmered—a vast constellation of lanterns, torches, and glowing sigils, breathing quietly beneath the High Ring's watchful towers.
Somewhere below, fountains murmured. Leaves stirred. A city lived.
Her heart, however, refused to be calm.
It beat too fast, too insistently, as though it were answering a call she could not hear.
You should rest, Arkel murmured inside her thoughts.
"I don't think I can," she whispered. "Every time I close my eyes, it feels like I'm standing on the edge of something… like a cliff I don't remember climbing."
That is because you did not climb it, he replied.
You fell from it.
A shiver passed through her, not of fear but of recognition.
"Why does it hurt," she asked softly, "when I think about you?"
There was a long pause, heavy with memory.
Because you loved me.
Miren turned onto her side, drawing the blanket closer. "You keep saying that. But I don't remember loving anyone. I don't even remember… myself, sometimes."
The seal is strong, Arkel said. Whoever placed it did not want you to know who you were.
"Who would do something like that?"
You.
The word rang through her.
"I did?"
Yes.
Her breath caught. "Why would I…?"
Because you were afraid of what you would become if you remembered.
Silence filled the room. In it, images brushed the edges of her mind—stars falling like rain, hands clasped in a vow that felt older than language, a voice speaking her name with an intimacy that made her chest ache.
As Arkel's presence stirred, a slow warmth unfurled through her—subtle, deep, an awareness that made her skin feel too sensitive to the air. It was not a demand, not a hunger, but a quiet, electric closeness that hummed along her nerves.
"Arkel…" she breathed. "Why does it feel like this when you're near?"
Because our bond was not only thought, he answered gently.
It was felt.
Her cheeks warmed. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the second, quieter rhythm beneath her heartbeat—the echo of him.
"I don't know what to do with that."
You do not have to do anything, he said. Not yet.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Miren?" Seren's voice was soft. "Are you awake?"
She sat up. "Yes."
He entered with a small lantern. In its glow, the sharpness of his Guardian's uniform softened, leaving a tired young man with worry in his eyes.
"They're meeting," he said. "Right now."
"Who?"
"The Imperial Council."
Her stomach tightened.
The Imperial Council
High above Lyrien, beneath a dome of crystal and starlight, twelve figures sat around a circular table of white stone. Each bore sigils of office: ministers, generals, archivists, and high cultivators—together forming the will of the Celestial Empire.
At the center stood Lady Aveline.
"She has awakened Arkel," Aveline said, her voice steady. "There is no ambiguity. The relic has chosen her."
A murmur spread.
"That blade ended dynasties."
"It drowned cities in celestial fire."
"It nearly tore the ley lines apart—"
"Which is precisely why it was sealed," snapped Chancellor Rhavos, his jeweled rings flashing. "We cannot allow a girl—any girl—to wield it."
"She is not a child," Aveline replied. "She is a young adult, and she did not seek this. It sought her."
General Veth leaned forward. "Then remove the sword from her."
"It will not separate," Aveline said. "We tried."
"And if we kill her?" someone asked quietly.
Silence followed.
Aveline's jaw tightened. "Then Arkel may choose another. Or it may break its seals in grief. You do not execute a thunderstorm and expect the sky to be calm."
Minister Kael folded his hands. "We need certainty. Test her. Measure the bond. If it is stable, we can contain it. If not…"
"Then we decide," Rhavos finished.
Aveline met his gaze. "You mean destroy."
Rhavos did not deny it.
Back in Miren's Room
Seren finished quietly. "Some want to protect you. Some want to dissect what you are. A few are terrified."
"And you?" Miren asked.
He hesitated. "I think you look more lost than dangerous."
Tears burned behind her eyes. "I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want to know who I am."
"That," Seren said gently, "might be the most dangerous thing of all."
After he left, the room felt colder.
"They're afraid," Miren whispered.
They remember, Arkel replied. Fear is what remains when power is buried.
"Will you protect me?"
With everything I am.
His presence deepened, wrapping around her awareness like a promise. That same gentle heat spread through her again—steady, intimate, making her feel less alone in her own skin.
Sleep finally claimed her.
She dreamed of a sky ablaze with falling stars. A man stood before her—tall, dark-haired, eyes bright with something that made her heart ache. He took her hand, and the contact sent a soft, thrilling warmth through her, as if their souls had leaned together.
"Don't forget me," he whispered.
"I won't," she promised.
She woke with tears on her cheeks.
Morning arrived in pale gold.
Lady Aveline stood at the door, her expression grave.
"The council has made a decision," she said. "You will be tested—your bond, its limits, and its danger."
Miren's hands trembled.
"Will they kill me if they don't like what they see?"
Aveline did not lie. "They may try."
Stay with me, Arkel whispered.
"I am," Miren replied softly.
As she stepped into the bright halls of the High Ring, she felt it—the quiet, intimate pull between her and the ancient blade, like a second heartbeat beneath her own.
Something old was waking.
And it remembered her