Elara had known danger before.
When her mother died summoning a storm no one could name. When her father stood between her and a cursed blade. When she ran into the Frosthold woods alone and came back changed.
But this was different.
This was war.
Hidden beneath the Academy's grand halls, beneath the spell-bound tiles and perfumed gardens, the truth had begun to fester — and rot.
The veil between worlds was thinning.
And someone — something — was trying to tear it open from the other side.
Elara stood at the edge of the ancient stone ring just before dawn, her cloak flapping in the icy wind, Kael beside her like a living shadow. Across from them stood three professors, a dozen ward-mages, and — to her shock — Rowan.
Their eyes met.
He didn't smile.
Didn't nod.
But he didn't look away either.
"Explain why I'm needed," she said, arms crossed, voice steeled.
Professor Thorne, head of arcane relics, stepped forward. "The barrier breach is coming from Blackmere Ruins. The magic is identical to the mark on your wrist. You're attuned to it."
"So send me," she said. "Alone."
Kael growled beside her. "Like hell."
Thorne frowned. "She needs a partner."
"I'll go," Kael said instantly.
"So will I," Rowan added.
Silence.
Elara stared at them both.
This wasn't happening.
But Thorne only nodded. "Fine. All three of you."
Elara didn't realize she was holding her breath until Rowan looked at her again, this time not with anger — but armor.
He didn't come for her.
He came for the war.
Blackmere was a wound on the world.
The ruins rose from the cliffside like broken teeth, black stone veined with silver, humming with dark energy. Once, it had been a temple — a sanctuary of the Old Gods. Now, it bled shadow.
The first night, they camped beneath a spellshield. Elara sat between them, fire crackling, tension thick enough to choke on.
"Your magic is pulling toward the north chamber," Kael murmured, fingers tracing lines in the dirt. "There's something under the crypt."
"Elara shouldn't go down there alone," Rowan added.
"You don't get to tell her what she should do," Kael snapped.
"And you do?" Rowan said, eyes sharp.
Elara stood. "Enough. I'm not a prize. Or a child."
Both of them went still.
"I'm going down there at first light," she said. "With or without either of you."
And then she walked away.
Behind her, their silence fought louder than their words.
She didn't sleep.
How could she?
Every part of her was burning.
Her wrist pulsed with that same strange rune — the one no one could decipher. Her blood felt thicker. Her dreams darker. Kael haunted her thoughts like firelight on stone, temptation and danger in equal measure.
But Rowan… Rowan was her anchor. Her memory. The way he used to run barefoot after her through the summer fields, laughing as she dared the stars.
One had history.
One had heat.
She was the spark between them — and if she wasn't careful, she'd burn them all.
The crypt was colder than death.
Runes lined the walls, glowing faintly with silver fire. Elara walked at the front, her palm out, guiding them with her magic. Kael followed silently. Rowan took the rear, every step measured.
The mark on her wrist flared.
"Stop," Kael said, grabbing her arm.
The floor ahead shimmered — an illusion. Below, nothing but a pit of cursed void.
Rowan cast a bridge spell. Kael adjusted the threads mid-air.
They worked together seamlessly, reluctantly.
"I'm not helpless," Elara muttered.
"No," Kael said, low. "You're lethal. That's what I'm afraid of."
She swallowed.
Because she was afraid of it too.
They crossed into the heart of the crypt.
And there — at the center — was a mirror.
Like the one in the archives, only… alive.
It pulsed like a heartbeat.
Reflected nothing.
Her rune blazed like fire.
Kael reached for her. "Elara, don't—"
She touched it.
And the world exploded.
She was floating.
No — falling.
Through fire and blood and memory.
Her mother's voice screaming in the distance.
Kael's shadow arms dragging her down.
Rowan's hand slipping from hers.
She saw herself — older. Glowing. Consumed by shadow. Crowned in flame.
A queen of ruin.
And then—
A child's cry.
Her own.
She was cradling a baby wrapped in starlight.
Its eyes… green like Rowan's.
But the fire on its brow — Kael's mark.
Her heart stuttered.
She screamed—
And woke.
Kael held her tightly, kneeling beside her, his shadows coiled like wings.
"Elara, look at me," he growled. "Look."
She did.
And what she saw in his eyes wasn't fear.
It was need.
"You saw the prophecy," he said. "Didn't you?"
She nodded.
Rowan stepped forward. "What did you see?"
Elara stood on shaking legs.
"A choice," she whispered. "And a future. One where I burn everything. One where I save it. But I… I don't know which is which."
Kael brushed a thumb over her jaw. "You already know."
Rowan's voice broke. "And what about me? What am I in your future?"
Elara looked between them — and saw two paths. One of light. One of fire. Both ending in ash.
"I don't know," she said.
And this time, she meant it.
They made camp on the surface, too afraid to stay beneath the earth.
Elara couldn't stop shaking.
Rowan wrapped his cloak around her shoulders, sitting beside her. He didn't touch her hand.
"I loved you since I was twelve," he said softly. "But I won't beg."
Tears stung her eyes. "You don't have to. I… I loved you too. I still do."
"But not enough?"
"Just… differently."
He nodded once.
Then walked into the trees.
And Kael stepped from the shadows.
"You're scared of loving me," he said.
"I'm scared of what you are," she snapped. "What I am when I'm with you."
He pulled her to him.
And kissed her again.
Fiercer than before.
Desperate.
Her fingers tangled in his shirt. Her legs wrapped around his hips. His mouth claimed her neck, her shoulder, the curve of her collarbone. Magic sparked along her skin like wildfire.
She wanted him.
Gods, she wanted him.
But she pulled back, breathless.
"Not here," she whispered.
Kael's eyes burned. "Then where?"
She looked up at the stars.
"When I'm ready to stop running."
And he nodded.
"Then I'll wait," he said.
But they both knew — not forever.
The next morning, Rowan was gone.
All he left was his blade by her pack.
And a single line, carved into the hilt.
"When you choose, I'll come."