Snow blanketed the old world like a funeral shroud, hiding what horrors once lay beneath. The fields were quiet. Too quiet. Not even the wind dared stir the trees.
Evelyn walked alone.
Lucien had wanted to come, but she insisted on doing this alone. Something in her blood told her this path had to be hers.
The raven's message had led her to Varn Hollow—a forgotten village swallowed by time. It wasn't on any map, and the name was barely a whisper in the oldest records. But she remembered it. Not from books. From dreams.
Shadows clung to the buildings like ghosts. Each step she took echoed louder than the last.
She reached the heart of the village—a crumbling well surrounded by shattered stones.
Evelyn crouched, brushing snow away from the well's edge. Runes carved into the stones glowed faintly at her touch.
This place wasn't just haunted. It was sealed.
She pressed her palm against the runes. A sudden jolt of memory hit her like lightning:
A girl crying. A woman screaming. Blood in the snow.
She staggered back, heart racing.
Voices surrounded her. Not real ones—echoes. Trapped pain and rage.
"They took her! Burned her! She was only a child!"
"Lock it away. Forget it ever happened."
Evelyn gritted her teeth. The voices weren't new. They were hers. Memories long buried beneath her mind's defenses.
She fell to her knees.
A hand touched her shoulder.
Lucien.
She gasped. "You followed me."
He nodded. "You didn't think I'd let you face this alone, did you?"
She almost scolded him—almost. But the warmth of his hand kept her grounded.
Lucien looked at the well. "This is where she died, isn't it? Your mother."
Evelyn nodded slowly. "They said it was a sickness. That the fire was an accident. But I remember now. They came for her because of what she was."
Lucien's voice was barely above a whisper. "A seer. Like you."
She clenched her fists. "They feared her. And they feared me. So they buried it all. Hid it. Even from me."
Lucien gently turned her to face him. "You are not the past, Evelyn. You are what you choose to be."
But before she could respond, a shadow fell over them.
A figure stood near the well—tall, cloaked in gray, with no visible face. Not Seraphine.
Something worse.
Lucien drew his blade.
The figure spoke without sound, its voice entering their minds like poison:
"The seal is breaking. She knows."
Evelyn stepped forward. "Who are you?"
"The one who watched her burn. The one who buried your truth."
She froze. Her mouth went dry. "You were there."
The figure nodded slowly. "And I will be there at your end."
Lightning cracked the sky. The runes blazed blue. The ground trembled.
Lucien grabbed Evelyn's hand. "We have to go!"
But Evelyn stood still.
Not yet. Not until she knew.
The figure raised its hand. A pulse of dark energy surged forward. Lucien shielded them both, his blade absorbing the brunt.
Evelyn screamed, raising her own hands. Light burst from her chest, pure and searing.
The figure howled, stumbling back. The illusion flickered.
And for a second—just one second—Evelyn saw the face.
Her father.
Twisted. Hollow. Not human.
Then he vanished.
Evelyn collapsed to the ground, gasping.
Lucien knelt beside her. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. "No. But I saw him. I saw... my father. He was part of it. All of it."
Lucien held her tightly. "Then we face him together. Whatever he is now."
The well pulsed again. A new vision filled Evelyn's mind:
A city in flames. A crown of ash. And Seraphine, kneeling before someone darker.
It wasn't over.
It had never been over.