By the time Seraphina turned ten, the whispers had already spread beyond the gilded gates of House Ravenshade.
"Did you hear? Their daughter shattered a mana crystal with her eyes."
"They say she solved an ancient rune puzzle in under a minute."
"She's never formally awakened, but the air bends around her. It's unnatural."
Unnatural. That word lingered in drawing rooms, tea circles, and noble banquets—spoken with awe, envy, and just a dash of fear. Children of the elite were no strangers to talent, but Seraphina Ravenshade wasn't just gifted. She was a phenomenon.
Not that she noticed. Or cared. She had more pressing matters.
Like enchanting her stuffed phoenix to spit glitter when someone said "fire," or sneaking into the manor library's restricted wing to decode spells older than the empire itself.
And today? Today she had her first royal gathering.
The garden of House Astrenor was filled with perfectly preened noble children in silks and smug smiles. Delicate pastries floated on trays beside them. A harpist played something unnecessarily fancy.
Sera stood in the middle of it all, wearing her too-formal shoes and trying not to yawn.
"She doesn't even have a House sigil yet," one boy whispered. "Is she even Ranked?"
"She's not Awakened," another girl with sun-blonde curls added. "She's just... weird."
Sera raised an eyebrow. Loud whispers were still whispers, right?
Then, like a gust of wind sweeping through dry leaves, a new presence entered.
"Seraphina Ravenshade."
A girl, maybe a year older than her, with a jeweled circlet and power stitched into every step. Amara Velthorne, heir of the King's Battle Strategist.
"People say you're dangerous," Amara said, voice smooth as frost.
Sera smiled sweetly. "Only if provoked."
Gasps. Delightful.
Amara tilted her head. "Let's test the rumors. Friendly duel. Just a spark. First to break a shield."
Caelum's warning echoed in her head: Do not show them too much.
But her past self? Archive? Flame girl in the mirror? She hummed inside her head.
"A little spark won't hurt. Unless we want it to."
Sera stepped forward, eyes gleaming. "Fine. But no crying when your shield breaks."
Amara smirked. "You wish."
The circle cleared. Wards shimmered into place. Spectators leaned in.
Amara conjured a flame spear, neat and deadly. Textbook perfect.
Sera raised her hand—just a flick of her fingers—and a wave of shimmering pressure pulsed through the space. The wards hummed.
Amara blinked. Her spear fizzled at the edges.
Sera smiled. "Oops. Guess I coughed too hard."
A slow clap echoed. It was Lord Velthorne himself, watching from the sidelines.
"That's enough, girls." He smiled, but his eyes locked on Seraphina. Measuring. Weighing.
Later, back in her room, Sera collapsed onto her bed.
"They're watching us now."
"I noticed," she whispered.
"Do you care?"
"Not yet. But I will."
The mirror pulsed softly, reflecting not just her face—but two girls now. One in the present, and one from the past. Both learning. Both burning.
And the world had only just started watching.