She was dreaming again.
Or maybe she was dying.
It was hard to tell the difference anymore.
Aria floated in darkness, her limbs numb, her heart slowing like a forgotten drum in a sunken temple. Her memories came and went—faces, laughter, pain. Her mother's songs. Her father's wrath. Kael's arms. The way he had once whispered her name like it was the only truth in a world of lies.
Now, her name was a curse.
Every time she tried to speak, the bond around her chest tightened like chains. Every time she thought of Kael, the flames inside her flickered… and the Crown drank them in greedily.
They were feeding on her love.
Using it as fuel.
She felt it each time Kael awakened another seal like shards of herself breaking loose, rushing toward him. But not just to save him. To prepare him. To ignite him.
They wanted her gone.
Because she was the lock.
And Kael was the flame.
The chamber around her pulsed with red-gold light. Priests chanted in a tongue older than the empire. Her wrists were bound in silver. Her ankles anchored in stone. The throne above her leaked smoke, and on it sat the Veiled Highlord, crowned in flame, watching her with hollow eyes.
"You are the girl he would burn the world for," the Highlord said calmly. "The perfect tether."
Aria tried to glare. Tried to speak. But her voice caught in her throat.
The Highlord leaned forward. "Let him come. Let him unleash the final seal. When he does… your soul will break. And we will rise."
Her pulse fluttered once. Then again. Weakly.
Then… a whisper.
Not from the Crown. Not from the throne.
From the bond.
"Aria…"
Her breath hitched.
Kael.
She could feel him. Closer now. Not just in her blood. In her bones. Her heart.
Their bond was no longer whispering. It was screaming.
And deep in her fading soul, something old stirred. Not the power the priests feared. Not the magic the empire craved.
Something more dangerous.
Hope.