For the rest of the day, Aaron moved through the halls of the Pierce estate like a shadow. Tasks were assigned—polish the candelabras, dust the eastern mirror gallery, re-shelve tomes in the minor library—but his thoughts never left the Red Salon, nor the words Frankfurt had left him with.
> "You will."
They echoed in his skull like a riddle whispered through ancient stone.
No answers followed.
Kain, as usual, appeared and disappeared like mist, always one step ahead of Aaron's questions. And Frankfurt had locked himself in his study after the emissary's departure, refusing interruption.
Left alone, Aaron found himself drawn to the west wing once more.
The corridors there were colder. The walls tighter. The air... different.
He passed the same woven tapestries, the same empty halls, until he found himself standing before the blue door at the end of the western hallway—the one Kain had warned him never to open.
It looked unassuming enough. Slightly aged. Painted a deep, rich blue with brass handles shaped like serpents coiled in opposing spirals. But as Aaron approached, a strange pull gripped him—like his heartbeat had moved into his fingertips.
He reached out.
The air grew heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks. His fingers hovered an inch from the handle.
A voice hissed behind him.
"I said not to open that door."
Aaron spun around.
Kain stood in the shadows, his gray uniform seemingly untouched by dust or time.
Aaron took a step back. "I was just—"
"You weren't," Kain interrupted. "That door is sealed for a reason. It does not lead where you think."
"What's inside?" Aaron asked, pulse still racing.
Kain stared at him for a long moment. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
Kain stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Do you know what a Lineborn is, Aaron?"
The name struck something deep in Aaron's bones. "No…"
"They are the descendants of the old blood. People born not from love or chance, but from ancient forces. The Court calls them myths. The temples call them cursed. But they exist. And when awakened, they change the world."
Aaron's voice dropped. "And you think I'm one of them?"
"I don't think," Kain said. "I know."
Silence.
Aaron turned slowly toward the blue door again, but Kain raised a hand.
"If you open that, it won't just be knowledge you find. It'll be memory. The kind that doesn't ask permission to return."
Aaron's throat was dry. "Whose memory?"
But Kain was already walking away. "Rest tonight, servant. You'll need it."
---
That night, the dreams returned—but this time, they weren't just images.
He saw fire—blue fire—rising from his own palms, twisting upward into a dome of stars. He saw a circle of masked figures chanting beneath a black sun. He saw a woman with sky-colored eyes like his, standing atop a tower with her arms raised, screaming into the wind.
And worst of all… he saw the crest of the Hotveil family, burning in reverse—as if erased from time.
He woke up gasping, his bedsheets soaked with sweat, the air around him freezing cold despite the closed windows. A faint hum—like a song without words—filled the silence.
It was coming from the hallway.
From the blue door.
---
He rose without thinking. Slipped out of bed. Moved barefoot, carefully, quietly.
The door at the end of the hallway seemed to shimmer in the moonlight spilling through the skylight above it. The humming grew louder, and this time it was not just sound. It was memory. Emotion. Calling.
Aaron reached the door again.
And this time… he touched it.
The brass handle felt warm. Alive.
And the moment his skin made contact—
Flash.
He wasn't in the hallway anymore.
He was in a circular chamber of obsidian stone, lit by floating glyphs. On the floor was a symbol—familiar yet foreign—glowing with faint blue light. His feet stood at the center of it. And in front of him...
A mirror.
Not a normal one.
In its glass, his reflection was older, eyes glowing faintly, a cloak of midnight and stars on his shoulders.
The reflection opened its mouth. And Aaron heard his own voice say:
> "You are the last Lineborn of the Sky Flame."
Then the light vanished.
He collapsed back into the hallway, heart thudding against his ribs, palms scorched slightly where he'd touched the brass.
---
Moments later, Kain appeared again—this time, visibly rattled.
"You opened it," he whispered.
Aaron looked up at him, breathless. "What am I?"
Kain helped him to his feet. "You are a mystery wrapped in a prophecy wrapped in a mistake."
Aaron laughed once, bitterly. "That's not helpful."
"It wasn't meant to be."
Kain stared down the hallway, toward the now-closed door.
"Tomorrow… you tell Lord Pierce everything you saw. No matter what. Understand?"
Aaron nodded slowly, feeling the echo of fire still flickering under his skin.