The whispers started before she even left the arena.
"Did you see that spell?"
"That wasn't in any Academy grimoire."
"I thought only the Archmages could use stormbinding magic."
Seraphina kept her head high as she walked the stone corridors of the Arcanum, her boots echoing off walls lined with flickering runes. She didn't need their praise. She needed their fear. Let the students talk. Let the instructors watch her with cautious eyes.
Fear was the first step to power.
But not everyone was whispering behind her back.
"Seraphina," came a quiet voice from the hallway's shadow.
She turned. A boy stood there, tall, lean, his dark robes immaculately kept. A gold-inked scroll peeked from beneath his sleeve. His eyes—gray like tempered steel—were sharp with calculation.
Fenrik Vale.
Top of his class. Scholar of forbidden magical theory. And in her past life, one of the few who believed dragons once walked the world.
Seraphina had barely spoken to him before her death. He had kept to his books then—aloof, distant. But she remembered now: he had survived the Academy's fall. Had even risen in the ranks of the new magical council… until he disappeared. Some said he vanished into the Wilds, searching for something ancient.
But here he was again. Unknowing. Unchanged.
"I've read that incantation before," he said. "Velth'ra. Old Arcani. Banned since the collapse of the Seraphic Empire."
She met his gaze evenly. "And yet I used it."
"That's what concerns me." He stepped closer, voice still low. "Where did you learn it? No one teaches Arcani anymore."
She considered lying—but only for a heartbeat.
"You assume the spellbook taught me," she said instead. "But maybe it remembered me."
His brow furrowed. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you'll get." She stepped past him, but paused. "Don't dig too deep, Fenrik. You might not like what you find."
His eyes narrowed slightly—but he didn't pursue her.
Good.
Not yet.
---
Back in her room, Seraphina opened her journal again. More memories were surfacing. Not just about the court—but about something older. Deeper.
The Vault of Embers.
A hidden archive beneath the Academy, sealed off after the Seers branded it dangerous and unstable. In her old life, she never got past the first seal. But she remembered what it promised.
Power untouched by time.
She turned the journal page and scribbled a new goal.
Find the Vault. Break the seals. Learn everything.
A knock came—soft, hesitant.
"Again?" she muttered, and opened the door.
This time, it wasn't Cassian.
It was Amiya Lowre.
Seraphina's breath caught, just for a second.
Amiya—the prodigy healer, daughter of a minor noble house. Golden-haired, sharp-witted, with eyes like stormlight. In her past life, they had barely spoken.
Now, here she stood—alive, untouched, radiant.
"I saw your duel," Amiya said, stepping inside without waiting for permission. "You humiliated Rylas. Thank you for that."
"I didn't do it for applause," Seraphina replied.
"Good. Because you've done something much more dangerous." Amiya's smile faded. "You've made people curious."
Seraphina crossed her arms. "Are you here to threaten me?"
"No," Amiya said. "I'm here to warn you."
A pause. Then, Amiya added in a whisper, "The instructors are already speaking with the High Seer. He's visiting next week. If he sees you as a threat this early…"
Seraphina's jaw tightened.
Mordain. Already reaching.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "But I'm not afraid."
"You should be," Amiya said, softer now. "I don't know what you're planning, but I've seen eyes like yours before. On soldiers. On survivors. Just… don't let it consume you."
Seraphina tilted her head. "Why do you care?"
Amiya looked away. "Because I've seen what happens when people burn too brightly."
And with that, she left.
---
Later that night, Seraphina stood again at her window.
So many pieces were moving already—Fenrik watching, Amiya warning, the court whispering.
But none of them understood what was truly coming.
She ran her fingers over the pendant she'd once worn in her past life—a trinket burned to ash on the pyre. It was gone now. Everything she once had was gone.
Except one thing.
Memory.
And with memory came vengeance.
Let them gather their doubts, she thought. Let them whisper and worry. When the flames rise again, there will be no mercy.
The moon rose higher, casting silver across the towers.