The others slept.
Sarya couldn't.
She rose from her bedroll silently, careful not to wake Kael or Nerra. The tomb felt even older at night, the silence heavier—like the walls were listening.
She walked deeper, toward the passage Kael hadn't dared enter.
Its door was broken. The runes cracked. Whatever seal once guarded it had faded.
Sarya stepped inside.
The chamber was small, circular. A pool sat in the center, dark as ink. And yet, it reflected only fire—dancing and flickering, though there were no flames to cast it.
Sarya leaned over.
The reflection didn't show her face.
It showed a woman with the same eyes—but older, regal, wounded. Her hair crowned with dying embers, her expression full of both love and sorrow.
"You…" Sarya whispered.
The reflection smiled faintly.
"You burned to save him."
Sarya stumbled back. The reflection didn't follow.
"What are you?"
No answer.
Only memory.
Visions struck like lightning
A great hall torn by civil war.
Sarya, older—burning wings outstretched, shielding Kael from a dagger of shadow.
Her last words: "This is not who you are."
She collapsed to her knees, gasping.
When she opened her eyes, the vision was gone. But something remained.
A warmth. A presence. Not just a memory, but a consciousness.
Whispering.
Guiding.
And yet… not fully her.
She staggered out of the chamber, holding her chest.
Kael stirred as she passed. "Sarya?"
She didn't stop.
Couldn't.
Because now, she knew the truth.
Whatever she had once been—whatever flame burned inside her—it wasn't sleeping anymore.
And it was starting to remember him with terrifying affection.