Chapter 11: Echoes Beneath the Temple
The dreams returned that night.
But this time, Aria wasn't watching from afar.
She was inside the memory.
Living it.
Feeling it.
And it hurt.
The temple was on fire.
Not metaphorical, not a dreamscape—burning.
Flames licked up the ancient pillars, the carved walls glowing like molten gold. The air was thick with magic and ash.
She stood at the center of it all—crowned in violet fire, cloaked in battle-scarred armor, and bleeding from a gash down her side.
And in front of her, two men knelt.
One held a broken blade.
The other clutched his chest, struggling to breathe.
Damien.
And Caden.
"Please," her past self whispered—voice raw, cracking. "Don't make me choose."
Damien looked up, blood running from his mouth. "You already did."
Caden's eyes burned. "Finish it, Aria. You know what needs to be done."
"I don't want to lose either of you—"
"Then the world loses everything," Caden said coldly. "Because if you don't unbind the fire now, Faerondel falls. Earth follows."
"I can't," she cried. "If I do, I'll lose—"
"Yourself," Damien finished. "You'll lose yourself."
They stared at each other through smoke and flame.
And then, slowly, she stepped back.
Tears streamed down her face.
She raised her arms.
And began to speak the words of the Unbinding Spell.
Ancient. Absolute. Final.
The fire in her chest surged.
Ripped outward.
The temple walls shattered.
The sky screamed.
And the last thing Aria saw—
Was Damien, reaching for her as her body dissolved into flame and light.
She woke up screaming.
Damien was already beside her, gripping her shoulders. "Aria. Aria, it's me. You're safe."
Her eyes were wild, her breath ragged. "I saw it. I saw it."
"What did you see?"
"You. Him. Me. The end. The choice."
His face went pale.
"I was dying. And I—" Her voice broke. "I unbound the flame."
Damien closed his eyes. "So it's starting."
"What is?"
He opened them again—haunted, fierce. "Your memories. Your true self. It's waking up. And soon… you'll remember everything."
The next day, Aria wandered the temple grounds alone.
Every stone whispered now.
Every carving seemed to recognize her.
And beneath the east wing, she found a passage hidden behind a mirror that hadn't reflected her since the first night.
A passage made of obsidian and veined with silver.
At the end—an echo chamber.
A memory vault.
And inside, a crystal shard glowing with her fire.
When she touched it, the vision struck her like lightning.
She saw the moment Damien stepped in front of her at the final battle.
Saw the Hollow Court binding her arms in chains of soul-steel.
Saw Caden fighting beside her—until he saw her collapse, and ran instead of staying.
But most of all…
She saw Damien begging her not to burn herself out.
Begging her to run.
Begging her to choose life.
And she didn't.
She chose the world.
And in that choice…
Damien lost her.
The vision shattered.
Aria collapsed to her knees, shaking.
Not from pain.
But from truth.
He hadn't betrayed her.
He hadn't killed her.
He had tried to save her.
And she had died anyway.
She found him by the lake at sunset.
He didn't turn when she approached.
"I saw the crystal," she said softly.
His shoulders tensed.
"I saw the real end."
Silence.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "For believing him. For doubting you."
"You had every right to," Damien said without looking at her. "I didn't fight hard enough. I let you choose death when I should've—"
"No," she interrupted. "You honored my choice. Even when it broke you."
She stepped closer.
Laid her hand on his arm.
And for the first time, he turned to face her with no walls.
No armor.
Just sorrow.
And longing.
"You always come back," he said, voice almost too soft to hear. "But I never know how long I'll have you."
Aria's throat tightened. "Maybe this time, you'll have me until the end."
He looked at her. "Even if that end comes again?"
She smiled through tears. "Especially then."
For a moment, he looked like he might kiss her again.
But he didn't.
He just held her hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to this life.
And the stars above them began to burn.
Not with fire.
But with memory.
As if the sky remembered them too.