The storm had passed, but Elara's heart still beat like thunder.
She and Seryth stood in the shadow of the palace chapel a towering relic carved in obsidian and white stone, its spires shaped like reaching fingers. Torchlight danced over stained-glass windows, casting fractured reflections across the marble path as if even the building itself had secrets to keep.
"Elara," Seryth murmured, scanning the darkness. "If someone's already been here"
"Then we'll find out what they left behind," she cut in.
The Queen's ring still warm from the dying monarch's hand pulsed faintly against her palm. Magic. Old magic. The kind Elara had studied as a child but had been forbidden to use.
Together, they crept along the outer edge of the chapel to a side entrance shrouded in ivy. Hidden beneath decades of growth, a narrow iron door sat rusted and forgotten.
"This is it," Elara whispered.
Seryth drew his dagger. "And if it's trapped?"
"Then we learn quickly."
She pressed the Queen's ring into the center of the door a silver sigil shimmered, then clicked.
The door groaned open.
Inside, the air was cold and dry. Dust motes drifted like spirits through beams of moonlight from narrow slit windows. Stairs spiraled downward into the crypt.
Elara took the lead.
Step by step, the torchlight flickered against ancient walls etched with warding runes and symbols of the old gods. Each footfall echoed like a memory.
"You've been here before?" Seryth asked quietly.
Elara shook her head. "No. But I dreamed of it."
The stairwell ended in a vaulted chamber with a stone altar at its center. Atop it sat a silver box sealed, humming with restrained power.
But that wasn't what stopped Elara cold.
It was the splattered blood across the floor.
Fresh.
And the broken wax seal that once kept the box closed.
Her breath caught.
"No," she whispered. "We're too late."
Seryth crouched, running a finger through the crimson trail. "Still warm. Whoever did this left only moments ago."
Elara's hands trembled as she approached the box. Inside, nestled in velvet, lay a torn piece of parchment.
She unfolded it with care.
"The soul that dies twice shall awaken the Phoenix Crown.
One born of fire, one born of echo.
One will rule. One will burn."
Elara stared at the words.
The Phoenix Crown. The sacred relic said to choose only one ruler when the bloodlines were in conflict. A relic thought destroyed generations ago.
But this prophecy handwritten in the unmistakable script of the High Priestess suggested otherwise.
And more terrifying still… it suggested that only one Elara could survive.
Seryth read over her shoulder, his jaw tightening. "Born of fire… that's you."
"And the echo," Elara said darkly. "That's her."
Before Seryth could respond, the air shifted like the room exhaled.
A sigil ignited on the floor in crimson light. They jumped back as smoke rose from the stone.
A projection appeared shimmering, flickering of the High Priestess herself.
She was tall, ageless, her white robes trailing in an invisible wind. Her eyes, though only illusion, bore into Elara like fire.
"To the one who opens this vault…
If you are Elara Valeblume, know this: You are not alone.
You never were.
Your shadow walks beside you, twisted by the very fire that saved you.
She will seek the Phoenix Crown. She will claim your life.
But only you can awaken the truth.
Remember the river of glass.
Remember the mirror that bled."
The image vanished.
Silence fell.
Elara's throat was tight.
"She knew," she whispered. "Even then. She knew there would be two of me."
"River of glass?" Seryth asked.
"I don't know," Elara admitted. "But I will."
She reached for the parchment again only to realize… there was a corner missing.
The torn edge wasn't from age it had been ripped deliberately.
"She took the other half," Elara breathed.
Seryth swore. "We were supposed to get the full prophecy."
"Not we. She was." Elara's gaze sharpened. "And she has it now."
The shadows stirred.
A whisper at the edge of hearing, like silk sliding over a blade.
"Elara…" a voice cooed.
They turned sharply.
From the far end of the chamber, beyond a cracked pillar, a figure stepped out.
Cloaked in black. Hair like ink. Face veiled.
But the voice…
It was Elara's.
"I thought you might come," the impostor said, pulling back the veil.
The same face. The same eyes. But the expression was wrong cold and hungry.
"I just needed to know what you'd find," the impostor continued, stepping closer. "You're clever. Braver than I remember. That's why I need you."
"Need me?" Elara hissed.
The impostor smiled.
"I can't hold the Phoenix Crown alone. It requires two halves of the same soul. We are fractured. Together, we awaken it. Apart… we die."
Seryth stepped in front of Elara, blade raised. "Not a chance."
But the impostor ignored him, eyes locked on Elara.
"You think I'm the lie," she said. "But what if I'm the truth that you rejected?"
Elara's breath caught.
"I am the part of you that burned," the impostor whispered. "And I am not leaving quietly."
Then, with a flash of blue light, she vanished.
The crypt fell into silence once more.
Seryth exhaled shakily. "She's not just a copy."
"No," Elara murmured, staring at the parchment. "She's the prophecy's echo. The piece that should have died."
She turned toward the altar and froze.
A pendant glinted atop the stone.
She picked it up.
The moment her fingers closed around the metal, pain bloomed in her skull like a scream. Her knees buckled. Visions seared through her mind firestorms, blood-soaked halls, and Kaelith crowned in flame, staring down at her with dead eyes.
"Elara!" Seryth caught her just before she collapsed.
She gasped, trembling. "She left it… as a message."
"What did you see?" he asked.
"Not what's coming," she whispered. "What she's planning."
She shoved the pendant deep into her pocket, eyes blazing with determination.
"If she wants war," Elara said, turning toward the exit, "then I'll show her what the real Elara Valeblume can do."
The shadows behind them moved again.
This time, they weren't alone.