Two nights later, Seraphina slipped from Everfell Estate and crossed into House Ravaryn's lower cellars. The chamber was colder than Seraphina remembered.
Torches flickered along the stone walls of the secret cellars beneath House Ravaryn, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts. She had stolen down here in silence, careful not to wake the servants—or worse, Lady Ravaryn herself.
Only one person knew she'd come.
"Couldn't sleep, my lady?"
The voice slithered from the shadows before the figure emerged. Veylor.
He stood at ease, arms crossed, leaning against a wine barrel like he owned the place. He wore no mask tonight—only his amused smirk.
"You said we needed to talk," Seraphina said, arms folded tightly. "I'm here. Start talking."
Veylor's eyes glittered. "You're quick to command, for someone with no real power."
She ignored the jab. "You spoke to me in the maze. You knew about my dream."
"I didn't speak, my lady. You summoned me—your blood did." He stepped forward slowly, like a cat circling prey. "You're beginning to remember, aren't you? What it meant to be the Saintess."
Her throat dried. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He laughed. "But you do. And if you let me help you, you might survive what's coming."
She took a step back.
Veylor's expression darkened. "You died once. You won't be granted that mercy again."
The words hit like ice. She remembered flashes—chains, fire, betrayal. A coronation gone wrong. A man she had trusted holding the blade.
She clenched her fists. "Why should I trust you?"
"Because I was there," he said, voice quiet. "And I remember everything."
He reached inside his coat and withdrew a small, obsidian vial. "Drink this. It'll unlock what's sealed inside you."
Seraphina hesitated.
Veylor shrugged. "Or walk away. Keep pretending. But this time, he won't hesitate when it's your throat on the altar."
The flames trembled. Seraphina took the vial.