Ashbourne House did not sleep.
Even when Olivia closed her eyes that first night, she felt it—like the walls breathed, like the stones remembered. Whispers in the pipes. Shifting shadows just beyond the candlelight. A heartbeat that was not hers pulsing through the floorboards.
She sat up in bed.
The canopy over her head was made of sheer midnight blue, embroidered with stars she swore moved if she stared long enough. The mattress was far too soft, the linens impossibly warm.
Aiden had disappeared hours ago. Said he needed to "set protections." Said the house had moods.
Olivia wasn't sure what that meant, but the silence was driving her mad.
She slid from the bed, bare feet sinking into the velvet carpet, and padded to the arched window. The moon hung low and crimson, casting the forest in blood-hued silver. Somewhere far off, a wolf howled. Or maybe it was something else.
She turned.
Something flickered in the mirror above the fireplace.
Not her reflection.
A woman.
For a split second, Olivia saw her—black hair coiled like serpents, eyes alight with flame, mouth curved in a cruel, knowing smile.
Then gone.
Just her own face again.
Breathing heavily, Olivia backed away. Her knees hit the bedframe. She sat, heart racing.
"Don't lose it," she whispered to herself.
But even as she said it, her fingers were tingling again. That telltale heat.
The magic wanted out.
**
At dawn, she found Aiden in the library. He was shirtless, tracing protective runes into the stone hearth with a glowing white chalk.
His body was lean, muscled, covered in faded scars—and one tattoo across his shoulder blade. A flame encircled by ivy, crowned with a sword.
Olivia stared.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Didn't trust the house not to eat me."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "It only eats the weak-willed."
"Comforting."
He straightened, turned, and handed her the chalk. "Time for your first lesson."
She blinked. "Here? Now?"
"Yes. Before your flame stirs on its own."
She hesitated. "And if I mess up?"
He nodded toward a scorched section of the wall. "Then I rebuild the library. Again."
**
He led her to a circular chamber on the third floor—a training room, once used by the Flamebearers of old. The walls were made of dark quartz that shimmered like oil. Candles hovered mid-air, suspended by magic.
"Focus on your pulse," Aiden instructed. "The flame is always tied to your heartbeat. Feel it."
Olivia closed her eyes.
Inhale. Exhale.
There. A flicker.
Small at first, like a match strike. It flared behind her ribs, in the space between her lungs. The warmth spread to her fingertips.
"Now, shape it. Picture what you want it to become."
She imagined a sphere—just a small globe of light. Harmless.
When she opened her eyes, a soft flame hovered above her palm. Pale gold, dancing in mid-air.
Her breath caught.
Aiden stepped closer, watching her. "You're stronger than she ever was."
"Seraphina?"
He nodded. "She never learned control. She only ever wielded destruction."
The flame in Olivia's hand pulsed.
"I don't want to become her," she whispered.
"You won't. You're not alone this time."
**
The next few days passed in a rhythm of practice and rest. Aiden taught her spells of focus, flamecasting, warding. Olivia absorbed them hungrily—her mind sharp, her body aching but eager.
Ashbourne itself seemed to approve. The doors opened for her without touch. The hallways warmed at her presence. She caught the scent of lavender every time she passed the old gallery—a favourite of hers as Seraphina, Aiden said.
But with power came questions.
And fear.
Each night, Olivia dreamt of fire. Of cities burning. Of Aiden reaching for her, only for her flames to consume him whole.
**
On the seventh night, the dream changed.
She stood in a room of mirrors.
Each one showed a different version of herself—older, younger, bloodied, crowned. Some wept. Others screamed. One—cloaked in fire—laughed.
"You're almost ready," a voice whispered behind her.
She turned.
The mirror behind her wasn't glass anymore.
It was a door.
And Seraphina stood on the other side.
Alive.
Smiling.
She reached out—and Olivia felt the burn rush up her arm as their fingertips met through the glass.
She woke with a scream.
Her curtains were ablaze.
**
Aiden doused the fire with a snap of his fingers, stormed into the room, and stared at the damage.
"You dreamt of her," he said, not a question.
"She touched me," Olivia said. Her voice was hoarse. "She's… coming."
"She never left," Aiden muttered. "But if she's this close—if the veil is thinning—then someone is helping her."
He looked at her, sharp. "Did anyone contact you before we left?"
She remembered the text. Her blood went cold.
"An unknown number. Said not to trust you. Then disappeared."
Aiden's jaw clenched. "Then it's started."
"What has?"
"The Betrayal. In every lifetime, someone close to you aids her return. Sometimes it's a friend. Sometimes it's—"
He stopped.
"A lover?" Olivia finished.
He said nothing.
And that silence burned more than fire.
**
They reinforced the wards on Ashbourne. Aiden taught her defensive spells, illusion traps, banishment rites. The training intensified. Olivia grew faster, stronger. Her fire burned brighter.
But so did her doubt.
Who was she, truly?
Just a reincarnation?
Or something more?
One night, after hours of sparring, Olivia collapsed in front of the library fire.
Aiden sat beside her, watching the flames.
"Did you ever love her?" she asked, voice soft.
"Yes."
"And now?"
He looked at her. Really looked.
"I don't know who you are yet," he said. "But I know this—every time I lose you, it breaks me. And this time… I want it to be different."
Olivia's heart thudded.
Not Seraphina's.
Hers.
She reached for his hand.
This time, he didn't pull away.