Aurora Lane dreamed in fire and starlight.
She stood in a silver field beneath a violet sky, her bare feet sinking into grass that shimmered faintly with light. Behind her, the forest waited — gnarled and breathing mist — and beyond it, like it had always been there, rose the castle.
Black stone. Cracked towers. Windows like watching eyes.
She stepped forward.
The fire came behind her. It always did. Hot, angry, alive. And this time, it spoke.
"Come back to us, Veilborn."
The name echoed in her bones — ancient, wrong, and hers.
She woke gasping, tangled in sheets soaked with sweat. Her heart pounded against her ribs like something trying to escape. Her window was open, letting in cold night air. It smelled like summer rain and something else — like smoke, like metal.
She sat up, reaching instinctively for her sketchbook.
Another page had filled itself overnight. The castle again. This time clearer. And there — drawn in careful strokes — the spiral-flame sigil glowing above its gates.
She didn't remember drawing it. She never did.
She traced the symbol with her finger, half-whispering the word that still echoed from the dream:
"Veilborn…"
Later that morning, Aurora sat on the back steps of her high school, her knees pulled to her chest. Ryan sat beside her, balancing a half-eaten muffin on his knee, watching her silently.
"I had the dream again," she said.
"The creepy castle? Hooded figures? Prophecy crap?"
"Just fire this time. And a name."
He raised an eyebrow. "Whose name?"
"Mine."
He was quiet for a moment. "You think it means something?"
"I don't know. It feels like something's coming. Like something's waking up."
Ryan nudged her shoulder with his. "Whatever it is, tell it to wait 'til after graduation."
She tried to smile. Failed.
The library was nearly empty.
Aurora wandered without thinking, drawn to the dustiest part of the old stacks. That's where she found it — a book with no title, no author. Rough leather binding. A seal burned into the cover.
The symbol. Her symbol.
It shimmered faintly when her fingers brushed it. The moment she touched it—
The world broke.
Light, pressure, heat. Time folded. Space unraveled.
And then—
Silence.
The forest was real this time.
Not a dream.
Silver grass beneath her feet. Stars like fireflies in the sky. The air tasted like metal and moonlight. Her lungs burned. Her fingers tingled with power she didn't understand.
Ahead stood the castle — black and ancient and waiting.
A figure stepped out from the trees.
A boy.
Sharp cheekbones, pale skin, black coat etched with silver runes. His hair was dark, windblown. His eyes — deep, gray, unreadable — locked on hers like a weapon aimed.
He said nothing for a long moment.
Then, carefully, "You're not supposed to be here."
High in one of the academy's towers, Atlas Thorne stood in the Hall of Echoes, a chamber where the Veil whispered to those willing to listen.
The wards had flared less than an hour ago — not an intrusion, not a breach, but something worse.
A return.
The flames in the watch basin still flickered with her shape, half-formed and pulsing.
He watched the fire silently, jaw tight.
This shouldn't be possible.
There were no active bloodlines left unrecorded. Every Veilborn heir had either been claimed, trained, or… sealed. And yet—
He turned sharply, leaving the chamber and descending the spiral stairs, his coat trailing behind him like a shadow.
If the Veil had let someone through… without a bloodline mark… without a name…
Then someone had lied.
And that someone might've been him.
Back in the forest, the boy stepped closer to Aurora.
"I am Atlas Thorne," he said. "First Ward of Aetherwyn Academy."
Her lips parted, confused. "Academy? Like… a school?"
He didn't smile.
"You crossed the Veil," he said. "You're standing in the land between realms. And you're not wearing a crest. You have no sigil."
"I don't know what any of that means," she said. "I didn't mean to come here. I just… touched something."
His gaze sharpened.
"What is your name?"
"…Aurora Lane."
His breath caught. He turned his head slightly — not away from her, but as if listening to something she couldn't hear.
"That name doesn't exist in the Codex."
"Codex?"
"The archive of bloodlines." His voice was low. Cold. "Your name isn't in it."
Aurora took a step back. "I'm not supposed to be here, am I?"
Atlas was silent.
And then, without looking at her, he said:
"No. You're not."