The morning after the dream, Emberlynn could still feel the heat beneath her skin.
She stood before the mirror, eyes fixed on her left shoulder. The mark had grown darker—once a faint swirl, now a clear symbol carved into her flesh. Almost like a sigil. Ancient. Alive.
It pulsed with a quiet heat, as if it remembered being touched by fire.
She tugged her sleeve down, hiding it from sight.
Whatever Malphas had done—or whatever she had awakened—wasn't finished with her yet.
At the breakfast table, her grandmother pretended not to notice how quiet she was. But the woman's hands shook as she poured tea. "We need to speak to the Oracle."
Emberlynn blinked. "That old woman who talks to wind and bones?"
"She's the only one who ever survived binding a demon," her grandmother said, her voice firm despite the tremble in it. "And the only one mad enough to speak of it."
The journey to the Oracle's hut took them to the edge of town—past the market, past the stone chapel that hadn't been used in a decade, and up the cliffs where even the birds didn't fly.
Her hut was a crooked thing, leaning like it had been built by wind and sorrow. Runes were carved into the door. The trees here didn't whisper—they watched.
The Oracle was waiting for them.
She had no eyes. Only scarred lids and a mouth that smiled like she already knew their questions.
"Come in, girl," she rasped. "I've been waiting."
The air inside smelled of ash and honey. Candles dripped red wax onto blackened tables. Bones hung from the ceiling like wind chimes.
The Oracle gestured for Emberlynn to sit. "Let me see the mark."
Reluctantly, Emberlynn pulled her tunic aside and revealed her left shoulder. The woman's hands hovered over the symbol, not quite touching it.
She hissed.
"You bear the seal of the Paragon Key."
Emberlynn flinched. "What does that mean?"
The Oracle's voice dropped low. "You are the vessel. The last piece. Without you, the gates remain shut. With you…"
She looked toward the fire, as if watching the end of the world unfold.
"You carry inside you the lock that holds back the oldest darkness."
Emberlynn's heart pounded. "And Malphas?"
The Oracle gave a twisted smile. "The Demon King. The one who watched the stars die and promised he would make them burn again. He has waited centuries for you."
"He said I wasn't ready."
"He's right." The Oracle turned her blind face toward Emberlynn. "But he won't wait long."
A knock rattled the door.
All three of them froze.
No one ever came up this far.
The Oracle's fingers curled. "He's here."
Emberlynn stood, panic rising. "What do I do?"
"Don't answer," the Oracle whispered. "Not yet. He cannot enter unless you invite him."
Another knock. Firmer. Closer.
"Emberlynn," came his voice—smooth, velvet, and utterly unbothered. "I need to speak with you."
She pressed her back against the far wall, heart slamming. "He found me."
The Oracle placed a hand on her chest. "And he always will."