CHAPTER FOUR
Raven didn't sleep.
Not truly.
She drifted in and out of some strange twilight place—half-dream, half-memory—where fire roared without smoke and shadows whispered in voices she almost recognized. The woman in the mirror lingered in her thoughts like smoke clinging to fabric. Same eyes. Same fire. But a presence that was impossibly… old.
When she opened her eyes, the lake beneath her window still shimmered with its eerie blue light. There was no clock in the chamber, no sun to measure the passing of time—only the persistent rhythm of that faint, humming pulse buried beneath the stone floors of the palace.
She rose and found a set of clothes had been laid out: slim black trousers, a high-collared tunic with silver embroidery, and boots that somehow fit perfectly. She didn't remember giving anyone her size.
As she dressed, something inside her pulsed—a tug, soft but insistent, like a memory trying to rise through water.
And for the first time since arriving in Elarion, Raven didn't fight it.
The corridor outside was silent. The guards who had flanked her door the night before were gone, and the palace—massive, arcane, timeless—felt almost deserted.
She wandered, unsure if she was being followed or if the palace itself was watching.
Eventually, she reached a long colonnade, its walls open to the underground lake. The water glowed faintly, casting dappled patterns on the stone like dancing ghosts. And there, standing at the far end beneath an archway of black marble, was him.
Alexander Draven.
He didn't move as she approached, but the tilt of his head said he had heard her steps long before she arrived.
"Sleep well?" he asked without turning.
"If hallucinations of doppelgängers count as restful," she replied dryly, "then sure."
His lips curved faintly. "The mirror showed you something."
"A version of me… older. Wearing a crown. Is that another 'Elarion thing'?"
"No." He finally turned to her. "That mirror hasn't reflected anything in over a century. Until you."
Raven's stomach flipped. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're beginning to remember."
"I keep hearing that. Like I have some hidden diary in my head waiting to be unlocked."
Alexander studied her in that quiet, unnerving way of his. "What do you know of your past?"
Raven crossed her arms. "Raised in foster care. Bounced around. No known parents. No royal blood, no destiny, just... me."
He took a slow step forward, the silver embroidery on his coat catching the blue lake light.
"Memory is a fickle thing," he said. "Especially when sealed by magic. There are pieces of you locked away for a reason."
"Let me guess," she said, voice taut. "You're the key?"
"No. I'm the test."
Before she could ask what that meant, he turned and walked away.
And, against her better judgment, she followed.
———
They descended into the underwings of the palace—deeper than before. The walls here were older, the runes etched in darker stone. The lights were fewer, and the silence thicker.
At the base of the final stairway stood a massive arch, shaped like jagged wings.
Alexander placed a gloved hand against it. The stone pulsed—once. Then parted.
The chamber beyond was a circle of black and white marble, etched with constellations she didn't recognize. In the center stood a platform. On it, a sword floated—no strings, no wires, no tricks.
Raven blinked. "That's… not creepy at all."
Alexander stepped beside the sword but didn't touch it.
"This was your mother's," he said. "She ruled before the fall."
Raven's mouth went dry.
"My mother?"
"She was the rightful Queen of Flame. One half of the crown. The other half—Ash—was bound to her brother. Your uncle."
"I have an uncle?"
"You did," Alexander said. "He destroyed half the realm and vanished into the Rift."
Raven stared at him. "This is insane."
"Is it?" He finally looked at her. "The realm has been fractured since her death. The crown called to you because your blood remembers what your mind does not."
She took a shaky step toward the sword. "So what… I'm supposed to pick it up and suddenly rule?"
"No," he said quietly. "You're supposed to survive it."
The moment her fingers brushed the hilt, everything changed.
Light exploded through the chamber—blinding, roaring, devouring.
Flames danced across the ceiling. The stars on the floor pulsed to life. Raven screamed—not from pain, but from pressure. Like the weight of a thousand lives was pressing into her skull at once.
Images flashed behind her eyes:
A girl in silver armor standing on a burning cliff.
A crown split in two, tossed into a chasm.
A child hidden in a cradle of starlight.
A voice—her mother's—whispering, "Forgive them, Nova. Even the ones who will betray you."
Then it stopped.
Raven collapsed to her knees, panting. The sword clattered beside her, now inert.
Alexander was already at her side.
"You saw something," he said.
"I saw… too much."
But one thing had stuck. One detail that carved itself into her chest like a brand.
A sigil.
The mark of a twin flame—fire and ash entwined.
Raven looked at him, voice trembling. "I have a brother."
Alexander's jaw tightened. "Yes. And he's been hunting the heir since the day she disappeared."
Back in the palace throne room, Sarah Val knelt before a flickering orb of smoke and flame.
"She touched the blade," she said to the nothingness.
And the nothingness answered: a voice so ancient, it felt like cracking stone.
"Then the war begins anew."
———
That night, Raven sat in her chamber once more—her reflection shattered, her blood loud with memory.
And in the depths of the underground lake, something stirred.
Not fish.
Not current.
A shadow with eyes.
Watching.
Waiting.
Smiling.