Chapter 7: The Flame Beneath Her Skin
Aria read the journal for hours.
The entries blurred between memory and prophecy, magic and mourning. Some were written like letters to Damien. Others—spells coded in ancient symbols. Warnings. Instructions.
And one, in particular, stopped her cold:
When the violet flame returns to her hands, the cycle begins again. Protect her heart. Or you will lose the world—twice.
She read it five times.
The flame. The same one she'd seen in her nightmares. The same that had licked her skin in the ballroom. The same that—
Her necklace pulsed.
So did the ring.
A second later, her phone lit up with a message.
Unknown Number: Don't trust him. He's already lying to you again.
Then another.
Unknown Number: Meet me at midnight. 52nd & Madison. Come alone if you want the truth.
Caden.
Of course it was him.
She should've blocked the number.
She should've thrown the phone in the ocean.
But she didn't.
Instead, at 11:55 PM, she stood in a rain-soaked alley beneath the glow of a broken streetlight. Alone. Waiting.
She didn't know why she came.
Maybe it was desperation. Maybe curiosity.
Or maybe some ruined part of her remembered him—and needed to know how deep that memory went.
He arrived at 12:01.
Not in a car. Not from the shadows.
He just… appeared.
As if the rain called him.
Caden was wearing a long black coat, collar turned up. His golden hair was damp, but his smile was untouched.
"Hello, flameheart," he said softly.
"Don't call me that."
"But you are," he said, walking closer. "It lives under your skin again, doesn't it? You feel it every time you're angry. Every time you dream."
Aria crossed her arms. "What do you want?"
"To save you," he said. "From him."
"From Damien?"
Caden's eyes darkened. "He hasn't told you everything. He never does."
"He's trying to help me remember."
"No," Caden said sharply. "He's trying to shape what you remember. Same as last time. Same as always."
Aria frowned. "What happened between you two?"
"Ask him," Caden said, stepping even closer. "Ask him what happened the night you died. Not the night you gave up your power. The real end. The one he never speaks about."
Aria's breath caught. "I… died?"
"Didn't he tell you?" Caden asked softly. "After you gave everything to save the world, he killed you. With your own magic. Because you were too powerful."
"That's a lie."
"Is it?" he whispered. "Then explain the scar behind your heart. The one that burns when you touch fire. The one you never noticed until the gala."
Her hand flew to her chest.
There was something there.
A pain. A knot. A heat.
"You don't know me," she said quietly.
"But I did," Caden replied. "Before him. Long before."
Lightning cracked the sky.
And for a moment, it wasn't rain falling.
It was ash.
They were standing in a battlefield again. One she'd never seen. Or had forgotten.
Bodies. Smoke. Screams.
She stood at the center, and her hands were on fire. Not red. Not gold. Violet.
And Damien—he wasn't reaching for her.
He was backing away.
Sword in hand.
Aria gasped.
Reality snapped back.
The alley. The rain. Caden.
He was still staring at her. And for once, the smile was gone.
"You're waking up," he said. "Sooner than I expected."
"What do you want from me?" she breathed.
Caden's voice turned grave. "To choose you. Not the girl they keep trying to make you be. Not the martyr. Not the queen. Just you."
"I don't know who that is yet."
"I do," he said. "And she didn't deserve what happened."
He stepped forward and gently took her hand.
And the instant he touched her—
The flame burst through her fingers.
Violet. Wild. Alive.
She screamed as it flared across her skin—but it didn't burn. It welcomed her.
The fire knew her.
A door behind them slammed open.
Damien was there. Jaw clenched. Eyes glowing faint silver.
"Let her go."
Caden didn't flinch. "Too late."
Damien raised his hand—and wind tore through the alley, howling like wolves. The rain spiraled into a cyclone, knocking trash bins flying.
Caden caught Aria's wrist and whispered, "Remember me when the truth shatters. And when he begs, don't believe the tears."
Then he vanished.
Just like that.
Gone.
Aria collapsed to the ground.
The fire in her hands died.
But the pain didn't.
Damien was beside her in seconds, kneeling, gripping her shoulders. "Aria, are you hurt?"
She looked at him, eyes wide, breathing fast. "He touched me—and the flame—it—"
"I saw."
"It didn't hurt. It felt… like me."
Damien's voice was strained. "That's because it is. You're starting to unlock your core magic."
"I saw a battlefield," she whispered. "I was burning everything. Even you."
Damien said nothing.
And that silence told her too much.
She pulled back. "What aren't you telling me?"
"You're not ready."
"You keep saying that," she snapped. "But what if I'm already in it, Damien? What if being ready doesn't matter anymore?"
He looked at her.
Then, quietly, "Then we're already too late."
Thunder rumbled above them.
Aria shivered in the wind, her hand still glowing faint violet.
For the first time, she didn't feel afraid of the fire.
She was afraid of what came after.