The march to Marcus's frontier fort took hours, but when the stone structure finally rose out of the valley—tall, black-spined, ringed with wardlight—Liam felt something inside him shrink.
He knew this place.
Not the fort itself—Marcus built this recently.
But the architecture, the angles, the way the halls opened inward like a trap waiting to close.
It mirrored the old court.
The one where Liam had been dragged in chains.
The one where Marcus liked to keep humans who "entertained" him.
A pulse of heat flickered up Liam's neck. His breath caught.
Seraphina glanced sideways. "You remember something."
"Not something," Liam whispered. "Everything."
A flash—hands pulling his arms back. A voice laughing. A cold floor.
Aria screaming his name.
His pulse spiked. Fire sparked at his fingertips without permission.
Seraphina murmured, "Keep breathing," but her eyes sharpened.
She could feel it—the shift, the rising, the old fear turning into something much more volatile.
Below them, her army split into flanking units, moving with fluid silent precision. Not the ceremonial grace of court vampires—this was old war discipline, efficient and fast.
"Strike teams ready," one of the captains reported.
Seraphina nodded once. "We move."
Then everything snapped into motion.
Her soldiers surged forward, vanishing into the night on silent feet. Liam felt the air change—the sudden drop of temperature, the tension just before impact. Seraphina stepped ahead, her posture slipping into a stance so controlled and predatory it made the hair on his arms rise.
"Stay at my left," she ordered.
"Yeah, not letting you run ahead alone—"
She was already gone.
Not vanished—just fast. Vampiric fast. The air rippled where she'd been.
"Right," Liam muttered. "Fair."
He sprinted after her just as the first alarm bell inside the fort rang out—sharp metal echoing across the walls. Moonlit figures leapt down from the battlements, weapons drawn, eyes glowing faintly.
Nightwalkers.
Marcus's handpicked soldiers.
They hit Seraphina first.
She didn't slow.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't check to see if Liam kept up.
She moved like a storm cutting through tall grass.
A guard lunged—she knocked him aside with the back of her wrist.
Another swung a blade—she stepped inside the arc and disarmed him before he realized he'd lost it.
Three tried to flank—her foot swept low, her hand caught a throat, her elbow cracked against another's guard. No wasted effort. No flourish. Pure economy of movement honed over centuries.
Liam stayed close but not too close—her combat radius was lethal to anything not expecting it.
A guard rushed him directly.
Liam barely had time to register the movement before instinct kicked in. His arm came up, blocking the strike. Fire flashed across his knuckles—not an attack, just a warning pulse.
His opponent recoiled.
"What—what are you—" the guard began.
Liam exhaled.
Not this time. Not their prisoner. Not their entertainment.
He swept his foot forward, knocking the guard's balance. The hit wasn't perfect—Liam wasn't a trained soldier—but the fire made up for it. When he struck the guard's chest, the flame flared without harming flesh, but it pushed, a shock like heated wind slamming outward.
The guard flew back, skidding across the dirt.
Liam froze.
He hadn't meant to send him flying.
Seraphina appeared at his side. "Good control."
"That wasn't control," Liam said through clenched teeth.
"It was enough."
More Nightwalkers poured in, climbing down the walls, sprinting across the courtyard. The air crackled with wardlight—defensive magic shimmering like threads across the stone.
Seraphina clicked her tongue. "Marcus was quicker than I thought."
"Falling back?" Liam asked.
She gave him a look that said the idea was absurd. "Forward."
They advanced deeper.
Every corridor was too familiar.
Every shadow a memory.
Every clang of weapons echoed the past— boots dragging him, a door slamming, Marcus's voice saying, Break him down first. Then he remembers me forever.
His vision stuttered. His stomach twisted.
Another guard intercepted them. This one was huge—broad-shouldered, armored, clearly a captain. His eyes locked onto Liam.
"You," he snarled. "The human boy from the holding wing. Marcus said you died."
Liam's skin went cold.
The captain lunged, closing the distance with unnatural speed. Liam barely had time to lift his arms. Seraphina intercepted, meeting the strike with a flash of metal. The captain pivoted, faster than expected, driving his elbow toward her throat.
She ducked, moved behind him, kicked the back of his knee out. He dropped but caught her ankle, trying to twist her balance.
Liam jumped in without thinking.
He drove his fist toward the captain's side—no flame intended—but the Sun-Seed reacted on its own. A burst of heat shot from his hand, the air snapping like a solar flare. It threw the captain sideways. Not wounded—just disoriented, shocked.
"What—what are you?" he gasped.
Liam felt his chest tighten. "Someone you should've left alone."
The captain tried to rise—Seraphina finished him cleanly with a single blow that knocked him unconscious.
She turned to Liam. "Your breathing is off."
"Because every corner looks like somewhere I begged to leave."
He didn't yell it.
He didn't have to.
She looked at him—not pitying, not soft—just understanding enough to be grounding.
"Then transform the memory," she said. "You return not as prey."
More guards charged.
Liam's fists lit.
Fire climbed his arms like a second set of veins.
Heat flooded his lungs.
"You return as the one who burns the door down."
He didn't remember deciding to move—he was already in the air, already meeting the first attacker. Their weapons clashed—metal scraping against the edge of flame. Liam twisted through the strike. His movements weren't as sharp as Seraphina's, but the fire compensated.
He was stronger than he realized.
Another guard came at him.
Then another.
Three circled him—fast, coordinated. One feinted low. Another went for his back.
Liam felt something snap inside him—not control breaking, but fear turning into precision.
He ducked under the low strike, pivoted, elbowed the second attacker, then let the pressure inside him release just a fraction.
A ring of heat burst outward from his chest.
Not fire.
Not destruction.
A pulse.
It pushed the attackers away in all directions, slamming them into walls, knocking their breath out. The wardlight flickered violently, destabilized by the magic-devouring nature of his flame.
"Liam!" Seraphina called. "More incoming—left!"
He didn't hesitate.
Didn't doubt.
He turned, caught a blade between his bracers, twisted it free, and sent a controlled burst through his palm that knocked the wielder off-balance without burning him.
Seraphina was suddenly at his right again, cutting through the next wave.
"Your output is stabilizing," she noted between strikes. She sounded almost satisfied.
"It doesn't feel stable."
"It is enough."
More guards spilled into the corridor. The fort's structure groaned under the force of ward disruption. Cracks of light darted across the ceiling.
Liam's mark flared brighter.
His breath caught.
Not from strain.
From memory.
A room.
A chair.
Marcus's cold smile as he dragged a glowing instrument along Liam's arm.
Aria's hoarse voice through the wall, begging.
His own voice breaking.
Stop. Please stop.
Liam felt the world tilt.
Seraphina spun, slicing through another attacker before she noticed.
"Liam—your pulse—center yourself."
"I can't," he whispered. "I can't—he took too much—he—"
Seraphina grabbed his shoulder, anchoring him. Her voice cut through the noise. "Marcus is not here."
"He will be."
"Good," she said with quiet steel. "Then you can answer him this time."
The fire in Liam's chest surged. But this time, it didn't explode outward terrifyingly.
It aligned.
As if hearing her.
As if listening.
The mark on his arm pulsed like a heartbeat.
Warm. Steady. Ready.
He exhaled—and the heat became something he could hold.
Controlled.
Directed.
Focused.
"Seraphina," he said, voice low, "open the main doors."
Her eyes flicked toward the double barricade down the hall—thick iron and warded.
"You cannot burn through—"
"I don't need to. I just need the wards to fail."
Understanding clicked instantly.
"They feed on ambient magic," she said. "If your flame drains them—"
"They collapse."
He stepped forward.
Guards tried to intercept—Seraphina's blade kept them from reaching him. The air filled with the blur of vampire movement—strikes so fast they barely registered visually. She fought like a storm with a mind of its own, clearing every threat within seconds.
Liam placed his palm on the warded door.
The wards trembled in response.
Then the Sun-Seed within him throbbed, and his flame did what it was built to do.
It devoured the magic.
The runes flickered—dimmed—shattered like glass.
The entire fort shook.
Seraphina lowered her blade. "Liam…"
He pushed the doors open.
Warm dusty air flooded out.
The main hall awaited.
And at the far end, on a raised platform of black stone.
His pulse stopped.
Seraphina's voice was low. "If Marcus kept anything from his old court… it will be here."
Liam stepped inside.
Not a prisoner.
Not a boy.
Not a victim.
The fire followed him like a second shadow.
Tonight, he wasn't here to survive.
He was here to answer.