The candlelit library was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of pages and the distant hoot of an owl stationed just beyond the window. Seraphina Cole sat curled in one of the oversized velvet chairs, the parchment from the Vault gripped in her fingers. "Break," it read—cryptic and ominous, stamped with a sigil even Professor Vellum had failed to recognize.
Across from her, Darian flipped through a dusty tome on arcane sigils and forgotten relics, while Elijah paced near the hearth, arms folded tight across his chest.
"There's no record of this sigil anywhere," Darian muttered, frowning.
"Which means it predates the school's founding," Elijah said, stopping to glance over Sera's shoulder. "Or it was deliberately erased."
Sera's eyes hadn't left the parchment. She could still feel the lingering heat of the Trial of Flame—its voice, its visions. Her shadow self cloaked in fire haunted the edges of her thoughts.
"I'm supposed to break something. But what?" she asked aloud.
Darian looked up. "Or someone."
The room stilled.
It was Elijah who broke the silence. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together."
They followed the map again—this time past the east wing, beyond the Bell Garden, where stone angels loomed over cracked fountains. A gate barred their way, inscribed with silver lettering that shimmered under moonlight.
To bleed is to remember.
Sera touched the gate.
It groaned open with a sound like screaming iron.
Beyond the gate lay a spiral staircase carved from obsidian, descending into the earth. The air grew colder, heavy with copper and old magic. The walls were lined with ancient runes, some still flickering faintly.
They reached a chamber bathed in crimson glow.
A vast circular arena stretched before them, filled with shallow pools of glowing red liquid—like blood, but thicker, more luminous. In the center, an altar stood on a raised platform, and behind it, a figure waited.
A girl.
She looked exactly like Seraphina—except paler, almost translucent, and dressed in robes made of weaving shadows.
"I am the Memory of Blood," the girl said. Her voice echoed with hundreds of others.
Sera took a step forward. "Are you another shadow of me?"
"No," the girl said. "I am all that your blood has forgotten. And now, to proceed, you must remember… everything."
The pools began to churn.
Visions flooded her mind.
She was six again, watching her mother cry behind the locked bedroom door.
She was twelve, in a hospital waiting room, hands slick with blood that wasn't hers.
She was fifteen, screaming into her pillow the night her powers first manifested.
The altar pulsed. Each memory hit her like a wave, dragging her under. She fell to her knees, gasping.
"You must relive it," the Memory whispered. "Only by accepting your pain can you unlock the second key. Only by breaking… yourself."
"No," Elijah growled. "She's had enough."
But the Memory raised a hand. "Then she will fail."
The pools surged. Tendrils of liquid wrapped around Sera, lifting her from the ground. She hovered, eyes glowing red as her body convulsed.
Then she screamed.
It wasn't physical pain—it was deeper.
Her memories bled into her veins, igniting every cell. She saw her life through the eyes of others—her father, cold and calculating. Her teachers, frightened and awed. Her classmates, admiring yet wary. Elijah, watching her from a distance, never daring to confess the truth.
And Darian.
He had known. All along.
She fell to the ground with a gasp, the pools receding.
The altar now glowed with a new symbol—an open eye surrounded by five drops of blood.
"You broke the seal," the Memory whispered. "And remembered who you are."
Sera stood, trembling. "What… am I becoming?"
No answer came.
Only the next parchment.
One word: Bind.
As they ascended the stairs, Elijah stayed close to her side, his hand brushing hers but never quite holding it.
"You saw my memories," Sera said softly. "You saw… everything."
He nodded. "And I still choose you."
She smiled faintly. "Even if I become something monstrous?"
"You're not a monster, Sera."
"No," Darian interrupted from behind. "But you're not just a girl anymore either."
She turned. "What am I then?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You're what this school fears. And what it was built to contain."
Meanwhile, deep beneath the Headmaster's tower, Thorn stared at the glowing sigils arranged on the ancient table—each one representing a completed Trial.
Two now pulsed.
"She's accelerating," Mistress Soren whispered.
"Faster than expected," Vellum added. "The Trials weren't meant to be taken in such quick succession."
Thorn's voice was cold. "It doesn't matter. We activate the contingencies. Contact the Mirror Guard. And prepare the Binding Circle."
Soren hesitated. "You would chain her before she finishes?"
"If she finishes," Thorn said darkly, "we won't be able to."
Later that night, Sera stood alone in the Bell Garden, staring at the rusted iron chimes that never rang.
The word burned in her palm: Bind.
She closed her eyes.
What would she have to bind?
Her powers?
Her heart?
Or her fate?
A wind stirred the garden.
The chimes rang once.
And the sky above Empire High bled with starlight.