The silence that followed felt heavier than stone.
Celeste could barely breathe. But Lucien was beside her,his arms were warm, steady, too steady, like he wasn't shaken by what had just happened.
But she was.
The mark on her wrist glowed like a brand. Not faint, not subtle blazing.
"He's gone," she whispered, pressing her face into Lucien's chest. "He just… burned out."
Lucien didn't speak. His jaw was tight. His grip around her was almost too strong, as if he feared letting her go.
Or feared what she might become.
Celeste pulled back to look up at him. "You knew something, didn't you?"
"I suspected," Lucien said finally, his voice low. "But I didn't know what."
The chamber around them once filled with golden light and ancient warmth was now hollow and cold. Only embers remained where the Keeper once stood, and the scent of ash lingered in the air.
"What did he mean?" she asked. "Flameblood? Guardian of the boundary?"
Lucien's eyes searched hers, unreadable as ever. "It means the contract didn't bind you. It recognized you."
Celeste blinked. "What?"
He stepped back, pacing slowly. "The soulbound contract should've consumed you. It should have erased your will. But it didn't. Because you weren't just some human girl trying to save her brother. You were already part of this world."
The words hit her like sparks against dry leaves.
"I'm not human," she said softly, more to herself than to him.
Lucien nodded once. "Not entirely."
The truth cracked something open inside her. She wanted to scream, to demand more answers, to run but her body still trembled, overwhelmed by the power pulsing beneath her skin.
"Then what am I?"
Lucien stopped pacing. His gaze darkened. "That's the question that's going to put a target on your back."
She stared at him, heart thudding. "Why?"
"Because every faction, every realm, every creature bound to the flame or born from darkness will want you. Some will want to kill you. Others will want to use you. And a few," he added, stepping closer, "will want to protect you. Even if they don't understand why."
His hand reached out, fingers brushing hers.
The contact made the mark on her wrist flare.
Celeste flinched, but not from pain. From the pull.
The same magnetic pull that had drawn her to Lucien since the night they met. It felt stronger now. Hungrier.
"What's happening to me?" she asked, breath catching.
"You're awakening."
"To what?"
Lucien's voice was almost a growl. "To whatever was sealed inside your bloodline."
Celeste's head spun. The Keeper was dead. Her body felt like fire and ice. And now Lucien, this man who was supposed to be the Devil's heir, was looking at her like she was something holy and dangerous.
"I need answers," she said, steadying herself.
"Then we need to leave," Lucien replied. "Now."
She looked around the chamber. "What about the Keeper's body?"
Lucien's gaze swept across the ashes. "There's nothing left. He burned himself out to pass on his last prophecy. His soul has returned to the Flame."
Celeste shivered.
Lucien pulled her closer. "We're not safe here. The flame you carry now it's a beacon."
"A beacon to who?"
His lips parted, but before he could speak, the air shifted.
A cold wind rushed through the underground corridor behind them. Shadows stirred. Whispers rose.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "They're already here."
"Who?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he took her hand, and they ran.
The tunnels twisted and turned, but Lucien knew the way. She stumbled, but he never let go.
Behind them, the whispers grew louder unnatural, scraping sounds, like claws against stone. Celeste glanced back once and saw figures forming in the dark. Black eyes. No faces. Just hunger.
"Keep running!" Lucien shouted.
They burst through a hidden door, into an alleyway behind an old cathedral. Rain poured from the night sky, drenching them instantly, but it felt cleansing like the world was washing away the past.
Lucien dragged her beneath an overhang, shielding her from the worst of it.
"What were those things?" she asked, heart pounding.
"Shades," he said, scanning the shadows. "Drawn to power. Drawn to you."
"They weren't… human."
"No," Lucien said grimly. "They haven't been human in a long time."
Celeste wiped water from her eyes. "So this is my life now? Running from creatures I don't understand with a man who won't tell me everything?"
Lucien turned toward her, his expression unreadable. "You want everything now? Even if it burns you?"
"I'm already burning," she snapped.
Silence stretched between them.
Then he stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him even in the rain.
"You think I'm holding back because I want to protect you," he murmured. "But the truth is worse."
"What is it?"
He leaned in, his voice low and lethal. "I'm holding back because if I told you everything… you might run straight into the fire."
Celeste stared up at him, soaked, trembling, and defiant. "Then let me burn."
Lucien's hand rose to her face, fingers tracing the edge of her cheek. The moment crackled.
"You don't know what you're asking."
"Maybe not," she whispered, "but I know I can't go back to being the girl I was."
Lucien's eyes flicked to her lips, then to the glowing mark on her wrist. "No, you can't."
For a second, they stood like that on the edge of something too big to name.
Then a horn blared in the distance, and the spell shattered.
Lucien stepped back. "We need to disappear. You need training. Answers. Protection. And I know someone who can help."
Celeste exhaled. "Where are we going?"
"To someone who owes me," he said, grabbing his coat and wrapping it around her shoulders. "And someone who's not going to be happy to see you."
She arched a brow. "Why?"
Lucien gave a wry smile. "Because they believed the Flameblood line died out a century ago."
Celeste blinked. "And they'll know what I am?"
"They'll try to pretend they don't. But they will."
She glanced down at the mark on her wrist, still pulsing.
"What if I lose control?" she asked.
Lucien's expression turned deadly serious. "Then I'll be there to catch you before you fall."
For the first time since the Keeper's death, something warm unfurled in her chest.
Not hope. Not safety.
But trust.
It terrified her.
"Alright," she said. "Take me to them."
Lucien took her hand again. His touch was fire and restraint all at once.
But as they vanished into the night, neither of them saw the eyes watching from the cathedral's highest spire.
Nor did they hear the whispered voice echo through the rain.
"The Flame has awakened. The Heir has touched her. And the war has begun."