Chapter 8: The Flame Inside the Mirror
Aria hadn't spoken to Damien in three days.
Not because she didn't want to.
Because she didn't trust herself to say what she shouldn't.
The flame hadn't gone out.
Even after Caden vanished, even after Damien pulled her back to the manor and locked her inside a circle of enchanted wards, the violet fire still lived beneath her skin. She could feel it in her bones, like something coiled and ancient, waiting.
And when she slept…
She dreamed in violet.
She stood in front of the mirror now, watching it flicker behind her eyes.
Her necklace pulsed faintly. Her ring glowed when she got too close to the truth. And the journal sat open on the floor beside her, filled with more questions than answers.
A single line haunted her:
You were the fire before the stars knew light.
She didn't know what it meant.
But she knew it wasn't just poetry.
It was a warning.
She lifted her hand in front of the mirror.
"Okay," she whispered. "Do something. Show me. Burn."
Nothing.
No spark.
No heat.
Just silence.
She tried again. "Ignite."
Still nothing.
Her frustration boiled up—hot, bitter, fast.
"You were there when Caden touched me. You came alive. So come back now. I need you."
Nothing.
Then—
A whisper.
Not spoken. Not heard.
Feel. Don't command.
She froze.
The voice hadn't come from outside.
It had come from within.
And the moment she stopped trying to control the flame, she felt it rise. Like a sigh. A stretch. A yawn from a sleeping beast inside her chest.
Her hand flared.
Violet fire bloomed across her fingers—flickering, soft, alive.
And the mirror responded.
It shimmered. Warped.
And for a moment, it wasn't her reflection.
It was someone else.
A woman.
Older. Crowned. Dressed in flowing robes and violet armor. Her hair was silver-blonde, and her eyes burned with galaxies.
But it was her.
A version of Aria who had lived a thousand years ago. The Queen of Flame.
The one who had started it all.
A crash tore through the silence.
Aria's concentration snapped. The mirror exploded into shards.
The fire vanished instantly.
Her palm was bleeding.
The woman in the mirror was gone.
She turned slowly to find Damien standing in the doorway, face pale, hand still glowing with protective energy.
"I told you not to try summoning without me," he said.
"I wasn't trying to summon," she snapped. "I was trying to understand."
"Same thing in your case," he muttered, stepping forward. "Show me your hand."
She hesitated.
Then held it out.
Damien took it gently—his hands warm and sure—and ran his fingers along her bleeding palm.
"You're lucky it wasn't worse," he said. "That wasn't just any reflection spell. That was a Mirror Flame Echo. You unlocked a shard of your past life."
"I saw her," Aria whispered. "She was me—but older. Stronger. She looked like she knew exactly who she was."
"She did," Damien said softly. "And she paid the price for it."
She looked up at him. "What aren't you telling me, Damien? Caden said you killed me. That the truth isn't what you keep saying."
His eyes hardened instantly. "Caden says whatever he needs to in order to turn you against me. He did the same before. He always does."
"That's not an answer."
"I won't give you a full one," Damien said tightly. "Not until you remember everything yourself."
"Why? Because you're afraid I'll hate you again?"
"Because I'm afraid if I tell you, you'll stop being you."
They stared at each other in raw silence.
The air between them crackled with more than just magic.
But before either could say another word, the wardline Damien had etched into the window glowed red.
His head snapped around. "Someone's here."
A second later, the glass exploded inward.
Aria screamed and dropped behind the table.
Damien was already moving—magic bursting from his hands, shaping into a shield around them both.
A figure landed in the center of the room.
Clad in black. Masked in silver.
Not Caden.
Not any court member Aria had seen in her visions.
Someone new.
And powerful.
The stranger raised a hand, and the air itself shivered.
Damien growled, "Get behind me."
But the masked intruder laughed.
"Too late," the voice echoed—distorted, neither male nor female. "She's already awakened."
Their hand pointed at Aria.
And in an instant, her fire responded.
Violet flame erupted from her chest, forming a barrier of light between her and the stranger.
Her heart raced—but she didn't feel fear.
She felt clarity.
And the masked figure paused.
Then tilted their head. "So it's true. She really is reborn."
"Who are you?" Aria shouted.
The figure didn't answer. Instead, they whispered a spell and vanished in a flicker of shadow and stars.
Silence.
Smoke.
Glass crunched beneath Damien's boots as he moved to seal the wardline again. He didn't speak. Didn't look at her.
"Who was that?" Aria demanded.
He closed his eyes. "A reminder. That we're out of time."
He turned to her, and for the first time, she saw real fear behind his mask of calm.
"From now on," he said, "you don't leave this manor without me. Not for a minute."
Aria crossed her arms. "I'm not your prisoner."
"No," he said quietly. "You're my only hope."
And she didn't know if that was a promise.
Or a curse.