Olivia stood in the middle of the quartz chamber, her breathing shallow, hands shaking slightly. Smoke coiled from her fingertips—sweet, acrid, and sharp. The aftermath of a conjuration that had nearly backfired. Her magic was growing, but it was becoming harder to control. And the voice—always the voice—seemed louder now.
"That was better," Aiden said from the doorway, though his eyes betrayed his concern.
"Better?" Olivia lifted her scorched hand. "The wall is still smouldering."
Aiden stepped forward, examining the faint scorch marks on the blackstone. "It's still standing. Which means we're making progress."
She collapsed onto the padded bench beneath the arched window, the cold breeze brushing against her sweaty neck. "I feel like she's pushing through. Like... she's not just a memory anymore."
Aiden didn't answer at once. Instead, he walked over to a drawer in the far cabinet, pulled out something wrapped in linen, and brought it over. "You're not imagining it."
Inside the linen was a shard of polished obsidian, thin as a leaf and warm to the touch. It shimmered with faint silver veins, pulsing with something ancient.
"This is a memory shard," he explained. "It'll show you parts of your past lives—if you're ready."
"I don't want to see her," Olivia muttered.
"You might need to. To understand what's coming."
He left her alone.
She stared at the shard, hesitant. Then, taking a deep breath, she whispered, "What did I lose?"
The shard grew warm. And then it pulled her in.
She was no longer in Ashbourne. She stood in a grand ballroom lined with obsidian columns, their polished surfaces reflecting candlelight. People danced in velvet and jewels, but her attention locked onto the man standing beneath the chandelier.
Roran.
Tall. Blond. Eyes like ice.
"You swore yourself to me," Seraphina—her former self—said, stepping forward in crimson silk and fire-lit eyes.
"I swore to protect the realm," Roran replied, voice steel. "But you've become a danger."
"I gave you everything," she hissed.
"You took everything," he corrected.
He drew his sword.
A scream—then fire, wild and unending, consumed everything.
Olivia jerked back into her body. The shard fell from her fingers and clattered to the ground. She was gasping.
Aiden was beside her instantly. "You saw him."
"I killed him," she whispered.
"You tried to save yourself. And he tried to end you."
She looked up, dazed. "What if I do it again?"
"You won't," Aiden said. "You have me."
Later that night, back in her room, Olivia found a note tucked under her pillow. The handwriting was unmistakably her own—but she hadn't written it.
We're not so different, you and I. Let me in. We can finish what we started.
No signature. No explanation.
She crushed it in her hand.
Ashbourne had never felt more alive—or more haunted.
The corridors moaned faintly as she walked them. Candles flickered even without wind. The scent of roses and ash lingered near the stairs—Seraphina's scent.
Olivia stopped outside the gallery, the one filled with portraits of long-dead Flamebearers. Tonight, a new painting had appeared.
Seraphina.
Painted in agonising detail. She stood with one hand outstretched, fire swirling at her feet, lips curved into a knowing smirk. And behind her—
Aiden.
Bound in chains.
"No," Olivia whispered. "That's not real."
The portrait blinked.
Olivia ran.
Outside, the forest was quiet. Too quiet. She ran barefoot through the trees until she reached the clearing—where the memory well still glowed faintly under moonlight. Her heart thudded against her ribs, and her magic surged to the surface.
"I'm not her!" she shouted into the night. "I'm not Seraphina!"
A pause.
Then laughter—soft, feminine, echoing through the trees.
Not yet.
The ground split open in a circle around the well, flame rising like a crown. Olivia raised her hands, but her power surged wild and unfocused. Her flame twisted upward, not protecting her—but trying to pull her in.
Suddenly Aiden was there, grabbing her wrist. "Focus!" he yelled. "You're feeding it!"
"I can't stop it—"
"Yes, you can!" He placed his hand over her heart. "This flame belongs to you now, not her!"
Olivia gasped. Something clicked. The wild fire stilled—then extinguished, leaving only smoke.
Her knees gave out. Aiden caught her.
She trembled in his arms. "She's in my head, Aiden. She's not just a memory anymore."
"I know," he said softly. "And if she's growing stronger, it means someone is helping her. From inside the veil."
"Can we stop it?"
"Yes," he said. "But we'll have to face her."
Olivia buried her face in his chest, the scent of fire and pine grounding her.
She wasn't Seraphina.
Not yet.
But the line was thinner now. And Seraphina was ready to step through.