The house was silent, save for the sound of her breath—and his.
Anastasia sat at the edge of her couch, hands curled around a cup of untouched tea. Across the room, Antoine stood with his back to her, staring out the window like a predator caged in daylight.
"So…" Her voice cracked. "You said I betrayed you."
He didn't move. "Yes."
"Tell me how."
He finally turned. The expression on his face was unreadable—but his eyes... they burned like coals. "You loved me. Once. Or maybe you lied."
Anastasia flinched.
"I would've torn the world apart for you," he continued. "And you handed me over to the Council. Chained me. Burned me alive under a false sun."
Her heart dropped. "No… I—I wouldn't—"
"You already did," he snapped. Then, softer, as if it hurt to say it: "And yet, here I am… protecting you again."
She stared down at her hands. "I don't remember any of it."
"I know." His voice was tired. "But your soul does. That's why you dream. That's why your magic burns when I'm near."
Anastasia looked up. "I don't feel burning."
He walked closer, step by slow step. "Don't you?"
She swallowed. The space between them sizzled with something unspoken.
"Look me in the eye and tell me you feel nothing when I touch you."
She didn't answer.
Because she couldn't lie.
Not to him.
---
That night, the dreams returned.
Only this time, they weren't vague shadows.
They were vivid.
She stood in a glowing forest, the air thick with magic. Before her, a man knelt in armor soaked with blood, crown broken, his red eyes hollow.
"Karena…" he whispered. "Why?"
Her past self—Karena—stood tall, cold, regal.
"Because you were becoming a monster, Antoine."
"You were supposed to be my queen."
"I was never yours to keep."
Then, light exploded. Fire. Screams. Betrayal.
Anastasia woke up drenched in sweat, the name "Karena" on her lips.
---
She found him outside on the porch, bathed in moonlight.
"I saw it," she whispered. "My past life."
He didn't turn. "Which part?"
"The forest. I… I killed you."
His jaw clenched. "Yes."
Her throat tightened. "Why didn't you tell me who I was?"
"Would it have mattered?" he asked quietly. "You've already decided I'm a monster."
She hesitated. "Maybe I was the monster."
That made him look at her.
Really look.
And for the first time, the bitterness faded from his eyes.
"You were never a monster," he said. "You were scared. Just like now."
"But I killed you."
He gave a humorless smile. "Darling, I don't die so easily."
---
Later that night, he handed her a dagger—obsidian with a silver handle, ancient runes carved into the blade.
"What's this?" she asked.
"A memory trigger," he said. "Made from the ashes of your old staff. If you want the truth—if you want to know who you were—cut your palm and hold it."
Her fingers tightened around it. "What will I see?"
"Everything."
"And if I don't like the truth?"
"Then you'll at least know which of us is lying."
---
The blade bit into her skin. Warm blood spilled over the runes. The world went white.
---
She was dancing.
Candlelight. Velvet. A ballroom filled with Elites in masks.
A masked man reached for her hand—Antoine, young, laughing.
"Karena," he murmured. "Dance with me. Even if it ends in fire."
She smiled. "Always."
The vision flickered.
A council chamber. Flames. Screaming. Her standing over a dead child—his half-brother.
"Your war must end," Karena said, voice shaking. "Even if it means ending you."
Antoine roared, lunging toward her. "You loved me!"
She wept as she cast the spell that shattered them both.
---
Anastasia collapsed, panting.
Antoine caught her before she hit the floor.
"What did you see?" he whispered.
"Everything," she sobbed. "I saw the love. The hate. The war. The death. I saw… me."
He held her tightly, his voice hoarse. "Now you understand."
"Yes," she said, burying her face in his chest. "But I still don't know if I can forgive myself."
"Then let me hate you," he murmured. "I've done it for centuries. I can do it again, if it keeps you alive."
She looked up, eyes wet. "But do you?"
"Do I hate you?" He brushed a hair from her cheek. "Or do I love you so much it still breaks me?"
---
They kissed.
Not soft. Not sweet.
Desperate. Angry. Addictive.
Centuries of pain behind it. A bond neither of them could deny anymore.
She pulled away, breathless.
"This is a mistake."
"Probably," he said. "But I've waited five hundred years for this mistake."
---
The mark on her chest pulsed like fire.
Something was awakening inside her.
And far away, in the ruins of an old temple, the Council stirred.
"She remembers," one of them said.
"Then we don't have much time."