They reached the ridge at twilight.
The sky was bruised purple, streaked with fire-orange clouds that looked too still, too painted. Seraphina climbed the final slope with aching legs, breath ragged, and paused at the edge of a sheer cliff.
Below, carved into the valley floor, lay what could only be the first gate.
It wasn't a door in the conventional sense. It was a pattern—etched into the very stone of the world—a sprawling spiral of black marble and glowing red veins. Thorn-covered obelisks encircled it like sentries. And at its center, a pedestal holding an orb that pulsed like a living heart.
"Doesn't feel like a place built for mortals," she whispered.
Rowan stepped beside her, squinting down into the valley. "Because it wasn't."
Nyra hovered a few paces back, arms crossed, wings furled against her back. "This is the Gate of Thorns. The first blood-forged portal made by your ancestors. It opens not to a location… but a memory."
Seraphina blinked. "A memory?"
Nyra nodded. "A world constructed of pain, fear, and betrayal. Entering it means confronting the truth that shaped your bloodline."
Rowan's jaw tightened. "So this isn't a vault. It's a test."
"Precisely," Nyra replied, her tone grim. "You must enter alone."
Of course.
Always alone.
The descent into the valley was silent, heavy with tension.
The wind howled between the thorn pillars, carrying voices Seraphina couldn't quite make out. They sounded like her mother. Her younger self. Even Julian.
Rowan reached for her hand halfway down. She let him take it this time. His fingers were rough, warm. Anchoring.
"Come back to me," he said quietly.
"Planning to."
"Good. Because if you don't, I'll come in after you."
Nyra rolled her eyes behind them. "Romantics."
Seraphina gave a shaky laugh, then stepped into the circle of black stone.
The orb pulsed faster.
And then—
The thorns struck.
They moved like snakes, vines of razor-sharp memory curling around her ankles, her waist, her throat. She didn't scream. She didn't fight. She let them have her.
The world spun.
And the gate opened.
She stood in her childhood bedroom.
Everything was just as she remembered: the cracked mirror above the dresser, the stuffed wolf missing one eye, the scent of lavender and old books.
But something was wrong.
She wasn't in her body.
She was watching herself.
There she was—ten years old, sitting cross-legged on the floor, humming tunelessly as she drew spirals in crayon. Her mother stood at the window, back turned.
And in the shadows—
Julian.
Younger. Smiling.
But that smile… It wasn't warmth. It was a mask.
Seraphina felt her own heart crack as the memory played out.
Young Seraphina ran to Julian, wrapping her arms around him. "You came!"
He knelt, kissed her forehead. "Of course I did. I'll always come back for you."
Her mother turned.
Her face—Seraphina couldn't breathe.
There was so much fear in her mother's eyes. Not at Julian. At Seraphina.
"She's not ready," her mother whispered.
Julian's face darkened. "The court is losing patience. The seal weakens. If she doesn't awaken soon—"
"She's a child!"
"She's a weapon," Julian snapped. "And I intend to use her before they do."
Seraphina screamed, but no sound came. The memory rolled on.
Julian pulled something from his coat—an obsidian dagger. Her mother threw herself in front of young Seraphina, shielding her.
But Seraphina's power surged.
Without warning, the child unleashed a shockwave of light. Julian was thrown back. Her mother screamed.
And everything shattered.
Seraphina dropped to her knees.
Her hands trembled. Her breath stuttered.
She had hurt her mother. Not Julian. Her.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered into the dust.
"That's the thing about power," said a voice behind her. "It doesn't care about intent."
She turned.
Standing where the memory had been was a woman in a black gown stitched with starlight. Her face was Seraphina's, but older. Sharper. Eyes like cold fire.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the part of you that survives. The part that cuts before being cut."
Seraphina swallowed. "You're not real."
"I'm inevitable," the reflection said, stepping forward. "Every Vale chooses. Submit… or reign."
She reached out, touching Seraphina's cheek.
"Which one will you be?"
Back in the valley, Rowan paced.
An hour had passed.
Nyra watched the gate, expression unreadable. "Time moves differently in memory. She might be gone for minutes… or days."
"Not good enough," Rowan muttered.
He stepped toward the circle, but Nyra blocked him with a wing.
"If you break the ritual, she'll be trapped in there forever."
Rowan's fists clenched. "I don't care about rules. If she doesn't come back, none of this matters."
"You think your love can save her?"
He didn't answer.
Because yes—he did.
Inside the memory, Seraphina stood before the woman in black.
"Show me everything," she whispered. "All the betrayals. All the lies. I want to see."
The reflection grinned. "Brave. Stupid. But brave."
And then the ground fell away.
She tumbled through moments like shards of broken glass:
Her mother weeping alone, writing letters she never sent.
Her father, not dead—but banished. To protect her.
Julian, kneeling before a robed figure cloaked in flame, swearing loyalty to something older than gods.
Rowan, younger, holding her baby blanket, crying alone in a garden.
And then—
A vision of the final gate.
Buried beneath a mountain of bones.
With Seraphina standing at its threshold, drenched in blood, alone.
She gasped.
The visions faded.
She was back in the spiral.
The orb pulsed once, then shattered.
She awoke in Rowan's arms.
He didn't say anything. Just held her. She let him.
"I saw… everything," she whispered.
"Are you still you?"
"I don't know."
He kissed the top of her head.
"That's okay."
That night, they camped under the obelisks.
Nyra kept watch while Rowan cooked something vaguely edible over a fire. Seraphina sat apart, turning the pieces over in her mind.
"What did you see?" Rowan finally asked.
"My father's alive," she said softly. "They banished him. To keep me safe."
Rowan's eyes widened. "Where?"
"I don't know. But I'm going to find him."
He nodded. "Then we'll start there."
She shook her head. "No. I mean I'm going."
His smile faded. "You don't have to do this alone."
"I do," she said. "You've already given me more than I deserve. You were trained to guard me, not follow me into death."
He stepped closer. "And what if I want to?"
The space between them grew hot.
Tight.
She looked up at him.
And this time, she didn't pull away.
Their kiss was slow, hesitant at first. Then hungry. Messy. Real.
When they broke apart, she whispered, "This doesn't make it easier."
"I don't care."
She closed her eyes. "I'm scared, Rowan."
He touched her cheek. "Then let's be scared together."
The next morning, Seraphina rose before dawn.
She packed light: the Blood Key, the Vale sigil, the silver dagger, and the map burned into her memory.
She didn't wake Rowan.
She left a note by the fire:
"Find me when the stars scream.
I'll be where the world ends."
And she walked into the fog.
Alone.
Because sometimes, power must break its own heart to find its edge.