By dawn, they reached the shadowed valley where the winds always whispered.
Seraphira knew the place well.
It was called Thamorra's Hollow, once sacred to the witches, now feared by all.
And yet, the flame in her blood pulsed toward it like a hound catching the scent of a long-lost truth.
Elena hesitated at the edge. We shouldn't be here.
We're already beyond shouldn't, Seraphira muttered, then stepped forward.
The stone archway into the Hollow still stood, though its carvings had eroded. Beneath it, the path wound down into a mist-laced ravine.
With every step, the spiral on her wrist grew warmer.
And then, they saw them.
Witches.
Nine of them.
Standing in a perfect ring around a silver basin, robes glinting faintly with starlight thread. Their faces were hidden beneath masks carved from moonstone and ash. They did not move. Did not breathe.
But their eyes glowed behind the masks.
Watching.
Waiting.
"She comes marked," one said, voice echoing like water in a deep cave.
"The flame has taken root," said another.
"Too soon," murmured a third. "Too deep."
Seraphira stepped into the center of the ring, blade sheathed at her side.
Why did you curse me? she demanded.
The witches did not flinch.
We did not curse you, said the center witch.
You did! Seraphira snapped. You called me ruin. You cast me out.
We saw what you would become, the witch said. And we feared the fire would take you too soon. So we bound it.
You feared me.
No, the witch replied. We feared him.
A hush fell.
You saw Kaelreth, Seraphira said.
We remembered him, said another. Once, he walked beside light. Then the Veil shattered, and he fell. You were his flame once. You are still.
Seraphira's hands trembled.
She hadn't told them she'd seen him. Hadn't told them about the temple. The memory. The name.
And yet… they knew.
You bound my power because you thought I'd follow him?
No, said the lead witch. We bound you because we saw that you already had.
The circle began to shift. Energy rippled like heat between them.
But now, the witch said, stepping closer, "it is too late. You have drawn the blade. You have touched the throne's memory. You are no longer bound.
What does that mean? Seraphira asked.
The witch reached up and removed her mask.
It was Theryn.
Again.
Her eyes, once pale green, now glowed with a golden ring.
"The kingdoms will call you cursed," she said.
"The witches will call you traitor."
"The humans will call you witch."
"And the demons will call you Queen."
Seraphira's chest tightened. I never chose this.
"You never had to," Theryn said softly.
"The flame chose you."
🌑 Far beneath...
Kaelreth sat in silence beside the Obsidian Gate.
The mark on his wrist flared.
"She has entered the Hollow," Malkor said. "They will try to sway her."
Kaelreth's voice was low. Calm.
"Let them try."
He opened his palm and in it burned the shape of her name, wrought in living fire.
"She is no longer theirs."