Acacia's fingers instinctively brushed the pendant, thumb gliding over the delicate etching as if searching for something she couldn't name. A flicker of something stirred, a soundless hallway lined with towering windows, the cold kiss of marble beneath bare feet, the rustle of silk skirts and a woman's voice calling her by a name she didn't recognize.
But just as quickly as it came, it vanished.
"Do you think…" she hesitated. "You think I'm from Valeriath?"
The question hung in the air.
Dominic didn't answer at first. He stared into the fire, jaw tightening as if wrestling between logic and instinct. "It's... possible," he said finally, cautious. "The royal family changed their crest after the war, to an hourglass alone. But the old one still hangs in the eastern hall of the capital palace. As a remembrance. Out of respect. They never truly buried that symbol."
Astor exhaled through his nose, a half-laugh escaping. "You're asking the wrong question," he said, eyes fixed on her. "It's not if you're from Valeriath. It's if you're… her."
Dominic's gaze snapped to him. "Astor"
"What? I'm just saying what we're both thinking." He gestured loosely. "She sketches that. She wears that pendant. And don't tell me you haven't noticed the way she holds herself when she thinks no one's watching, like someone born to command a room and doesn't know why."
Acacia's mouth opened slightly but no words came.
"I'm not saying it's certain," Dominic said, measured. "But… perhaps."
Another silence settled in, not heavy but dense with the unspoken.
"Even if it were true," Acacia said slowly, voice quieter now, "what would that change?"
"Everything," Astor said.
"Nothing," Dominic replied at the same time.
Their voices overlapped and they glanced at each other.
Acacia looked down again, thumb brushing over the surface of her pendant. Flame. Wings. Crown. And within the hourglass, something beginning to stir.
She blinked, the pendant warm beneath her touch. "Perhaps," she said softly, eyes on the parchment. "But I wouldn't know. Would I?"
Acacia stood. The fire's glow caught in her hair, setting it alight like dusk tipping into night. "I should get some rest," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
Neither of them stopped her.
She paused at the threshold, back half-turned. "If I was her… wouldn't someone have come for me by now?"
"Not if they thought you were dead," Astor murmured.
"Or if they wanted you to stay that way," Dominic added, quieter still.
Her breath hitched, almost imperceptibly but she nodded once, then slipped out into the hallway.
The hallway was dim, lit only by the dying light of sconces flickering against old stone. Acacia walked slowly, one hand grazing the wall as if its cool surface might steady the storm brewing behind her ribs.
There was no sound, only the soft fall of her steps and the faint rustle of fabric. Yet something in the stillness felt taut. Not frightening. Just... aware.
At her door, she hesitated. The pendant rested warm against her skin, pulsing faintly as though it, too, had heard everything.
She closed her eyes.
Not if they thought you were dead.
Or if they wanted you to stay that way.
Her hand curled into a fist.
She opened the door and stepped inside, letting the silence swallow her whole.
The door clicked shut.
And the hallway behind her exhaled, quiet once more.
She didn't light the lamp.
The moonlight slipping through the window was enough, silvered and soft, washing over the desk, the old shelf, the folded blanket at the edge of her bed.
She lay back, arms folded beneath her head, eyes tracing the patterns the light carved onto the ceiling.
Sleep didn't come quickly.
And when it did, it came with the pull of something not quite a dream, not quite memory.
Marble floors.
Soft footsteps echoing down a long corridor.
A line of towering windows, each glowing with pale winter light.
Her breath fogged the glass. Small hands. Bare feet. A voice, hushed but urgent.
"Chrysa..!"
The sound cut off.
She turned but the face behind the voice blurred into shadow. There was movement, a flash of green silk, a pale hand reaching, a thud. Then…
A shattering.
Glass?
Time?
The world tilted.
Acacia gasped awake, breath catching like something had been pulled straight out of her chest. She sat up sharply, hand flying to the pendant.
Cold.
Not just the pendant. Her skin. Her throat. Her fingers.
The dream scattered too quickly to hold but the name remained.
Not all of it.
Just the beginning.
Chrysa…
She didn't know the rest.
Acacia hadn't slept again.
She sat at the edge of the bed, bare feet planted on the rug, eyes dull with something not quite fear, but close. Her fingers toyed with the pendant like it was the only thing tethering her to the now. The warmth from the dream never returned.
But the name still echoed, low and broken in her chest.
It could've been anyone. Anything.
But it felt like hers.
And that was the part that unsettled her most.
Not that she didn't remember.
But that part of her did.
She descended the stairs quietly, in the entry hall, voices murmured, not loud, but tight. Formal. Guarded.
Acacia slowed.
Dominic stood by the main doors, posture rigid, arms behind his back. Beside him, Astor leaned with his usual careless grace, except his gaze wasn't playful. It was sharp.
Facing them was a figure dressed in travel-worn grey and imperial blue, the cloak still damp at the edges from the road.
A rider.
Ashcroft insignia on the chest, yes, but another seal was affixed to the folded parchment in his hand.
One she didn't recognize.
Until her eyes narrowed.
A golden sunburst behind a crescent blade.
Not Ashcroft.
Not Solerith.
The man noticed her then and hesitated, eyes flicking between her and the others.
"She wasn't supposed to.." said Astor.
"She's already seen it," Dominic said firmly, cutting him off without even looking at her.
Acacia stepped forward slowly, her voice even.
"Who sent you?"
The rider shifted uneasily, as if unsure whether to answer.
Her eyes stayed on the parchment.
"That seal…" she murmured.
Dominic's silence was telling.
He said finally. "It belongs to a very old alliance."
"An older enemy," Astor corrected, smile brittle. "Depending on how you look at it."
Acacia's fingers curled at her sides. The pendant pressed warm against her skin again, not scalding, just a breath of heat. A warning.
"Can I read it?" she asked.
The rider's gaze flicked to Dominic.
"Let me see it first," Dominic said, his tone clipped. He took the letter, broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.
The rider gave a curt nod then turned to his horse and left without another word, hooves fading into the distance.
Acacia moved closer as Dominic's eyes darted across the page, his expression hardening, twisting with anger.
Before he could stop her, Acacia snatched the letter from his grip. Her gaze traced the words, steady at first but each line coiled tighter around her chest.
It was addressed to her but not by name.
"To the girl taken in by the Ashcrofts, I know you live though you hide behind another name. Silence will not shield you any longer...there are those who hunt what stirs within you. Return or be dragged into the light. Your time is nearly up"
She didn't look up.
She didn't need to.
Because for the first time since she'd woken up in that forest, she felt it fully:
She was being hunted.