Seraphina's POV
I woke up screaming Lucian's name.
Strong hands pinned my shoulders to the softest bed I'd ever felt. "Easy, child! You're safe! You're at Gravemire Estate!"
I thrashed against the grip, my heart pounding. "Lucian—the magic hit him—Evangeline—"
"Lord Gravemire is alive," a gentle voice assured me. "Hurt, but alive. Now please, stop fighting before you set the curtains on fire again."
Again?
I blinked my eyes open. An older woman with kind gray eyes and flour on her apron held my shoulders. Behind her, scorch marks blackened the wall, and the smell of smoke hung in the air.
"Did I..." I looked down at my hands, terrified of what I'd see.
Normal hands. No flames. Just trembling fingers wrapped in clean white bandages.
"You've been unconscious for two days," the woman said, releasing me gently. "Your magic burned itself out completely. Lord Gravemire carried you here himself, even though he could barely stand. Stubborn man nearly collapsed three times."
Two days. I'd lost two whole days.
"Where is he?" I demanded, trying to sit up. The room spun, and I fell back against the pillows. "Is he okay? How badly was he hurt?"
"He'll recover." The woman smoothed my hair back like my mother used to do, and my chest ached. "His magic protected him from the worst of it. My name's Martha. I've been taking care of both of you." She smiled. "Now, let's get some food in you before you try any heroics."
Only then did I notice the tray on the bedside table—real food, not hospital slop. Fresh bread, cheese, fruit, and some kind of soup that smelled like heaven.
My stomach growled so loud Martha laughed.
"Eat slowly," she warned. "You haven't had proper food in days."
I tried to obey, but the first bite of bread tasted so good I nearly cried. Real butter. Actual cheese that wasn't moldy. This was more food than I'd seen in months.
"Why is Lucian doing this?" I asked between bites. "He doesn't even know me. Why would he risk his life for a stranger?"
Martha's expression turned sad. "Lord Gravemire has his reasons, dear. Reasons he'll have to explain himself." She stood and gathered some clothes from a chair. "When you're finished eating, get dressed. He wants to see you in his study."
"But I should rest, you said—"
"He said it's urgent." Martha's voice turned serious. "Your aunt is still out there, Seraphina. And now that she knows you're with Lord Gravemire, she'll be planning her next move. We need to plan ours first."
Twenty minutes later, wearing clothes that actually fit and with food warming my stomach, I followed Martha through the most incredible house I'd ever seen. Gravemire Estate was huge—all dark wood and fancy carpets and paintings worth more than my entire village.
But I barely looked at any of it. My mind kept replaying Evangeline's face, her cold voice, the way she'd pressed that knife to my throat.
Your father's sister. Your aunt.
Family. She was family, and she'd murdered my parents. Why?
Martha stopped at a heavy wooden door. "He's waiting inside. Try not to upset him—he's still healing."
She left before I could ask what that meant.
I knocked softly.
"Come in." Lucian's voice sounded tired.
I pushed open the door and gasped.
The study was massive, lined floor-to-ceiling with books. But that's not what made me gasp. Covering every surface—the huge desk, side tables, even parts of the floor—were papers, maps, strange glowing objects, and jars filled with swirling mist.
Lucian sat behind the desk, and he looked awful. Dark circles shadowed his silver eyes. Bandages wrapped around his chest, visible under his partially open shirt. His usual perfect composure was cracked, showing exhaustion underneath.
But he smiled when he saw me. A real smile.
"You're awake. Good. We have a lot to discuss."
I rushed forward before I could think better of it. "Are you okay? Martha said the magic hit you—"
"I'll heal." He waved off my concern. "Sit. Please."
I sank into the chair across from him, suddenly nervous. This was it. The moment where he'd explain everything—why he saved me, what he wanted, why any of this was happening.
Lucian steepled his fingers, studying me. "How much do you remember about Ember Hollow?"
"Fragments," I admitted. "Flames. My parents telling me to hide. Evangeline's voice ordering them killed. And..." I swallowed hard. "My hands on fire. Silver flames, just like when I lose control now."
"Your magic was suppressed your entire childhood," Lucian said. "Someone—probably your parents—put a blocking spell on you to hide what you are. But trauma can shatter those blocks. When the attack happened, your magic exploded out of you in self-defense."
"And burned down my whole village," I whispered, shame crushing my chest.
"No." Lucian's voice turned sharp. "Evangeline and the Inquisitors burned your village. Your magic was just trying to keep you alive. Don't take responsibility for their crimes, Seraphina."
Easier said than believed.
"Why can't I remember more?" I asked, frustrated. "Why is everything so blurry?"
Lucian leaned forward, wincing at the movement. "Because someone stole your memories. Not all of them—they left enough so you wouldn't notice the gaps. But the crucial parts, the parts that would tell you who you really are and why they wanted you dead? Those were extracted and hidden away."
My blood ran cold. "You can steal memories?"
"Welcome to my world." He gestured at the glowing jars around the room. "I'm not just an information broker, Seraphina. I deal in memory magic. There's an underground network called the Memory Market where people trade thoughts, secrets, and experiences. It's highly illegal and incredibly dangerous. It's also the only way to find truth when powerful people want it buried."
I stared at the jars with new horror. Each one contained someone's memories? Their thoughts, their experiences, their private moments?
"That's..." I couldn't find the word.
"Disturbing? Invasive? Necessary?" Lucian picked up one jar, the mist inside swirling purple and gold. "Every survivor who escaped Ember Hollow before the fire spread—twelve people total—had their memories of that night professionally erased. Someone paid a fortune to make sure no one could testify to what they saw."
"Even me?"
"Especially you." His silver eyes pinned me. "You were there for the entire attack. You saw Evangeline kill your parents. You heard things, saw things that someone desperately needs to stay hidden. So they locked those memories away, buried them so deep even you can't access them."
My hands clenched into fists. "Can I get them back?"
Lucian set down the jar carefully. "Yes. But memory recovery is painful, Seraphina. When we bring those memories back, you'll relive everything—the fear, the pain, watching your parents die. It might break you."
"I don't care." My voice came out stronger than I felt. "I need to know the truth. I need to understand why Evangeline murdered her own family."
"Are you absolutely certain?" Lucian stood and walked to the window, his movements stiff with pain. "Once we start this, there's no going back. The people who destroyed your village will come after you again. Evangeline won't stop. The Inquisition won't stop. Your life will be constant danger."
I thought about my parents' screams. About waking up alone in that hospital. About the baker who spat at me and the children who threw rocks. About Evangeline's knife at my throat.
"I'm already in danger," I said. "At least this way, I'll know why."
Lucian turned from the window, and something soft—almost sad—crossed his face. "You're braver than you know. Or maybe just more stubborn." He walked to a bookshelf and pressed something hidden. The entire wall swung inward, revealing a staircase leading down into darkness. "There's someone you need to meet. Someone who can help you recover what was stolen."
My heart hammered as I followed him down the stairs. The air grew colder with each step, and a strange humming filled my ears—like a thousand whispers all at once.
We emerged into a basement that took my breath away.
Hundreds—maybe thousands—of glowing jars lined the walls, each containing swirling mist of different colors. The whispers grew louder, and I realized with horror that they were coming from the jars.
"These are memories," Lucian explained quietly. "Collected from volunteers and criminals alike. Some people sell their memories willingly. Others... don't get a choice."
I felt sick. "This is wrong."
"Yes," he agreed simply. "But it's also the only weapon we have against people like your aunt."
A figure emerged from the shadows between the shelves—so silent I gasped. A woman, moving like a ghost. She wore a white mask decorated with intricate purple designs that covered her entire face. Only her eyes were visible—dark and knowing and sad.
"Seraphina Ashborne." Her voice was soft, almost musical. "I've been waiting three months to meet you."
"This is Vesper," Lucian introduced. "She's a phantom thief who specializes in memory magic. The best in the Empire."
Vesper glided closer, studying me. "You have strong blocks on your mind, child. Professional work. Expensive. Whoever locked your memories away knew exactly what they were doing."
"Can you break through them?" I asked.
"Yes. But Lucian is right—it will hurt. You'll relive your worst nightmare in perfect detail." She tilted her masked head. "The question is: are you strong enough to survive your own memories?"
"I have to be," I said firmly. "My parents deserve justice. They deserve—"
"They deserve vengeance," Vesper interrupted, her voice turning cold. "And so do you. That's why I'll help you, Seraphina. Because I know what it's like to have everything stolen from you."
She reached up and slowly removed her mask.
I stumbled backward, crashing into Lucian. He caught me, his hands steadying my shoulders.
Because staring back at me was a face I knew. A face I'd seen every day for the first fourteen years of my life. A face that had been in every family portrait, every memory of home.
Vesper had my mother's face.
Not similar. Not resembling. Identical.
"Hello, little sister," she whispered. "I'm sorry I've been dead for so long."
The basement spun around me as impossible understanding crashed down.
My sister. I had a sister. A sister who was supposed to have died when I was three years old.
A sister who'd been hiding in the shadows, stealing memories, for fourteen years.
"You're alive," I breathed. "But Mom and Dad said—they told me you died of fever—"
"They lied to protect me." Her eyes—my mother's eyes—filled with tears. "And I let them. I've been watching you your whole life, Seraphina. Protecting you from the shadows. But I wasn't there the night Evangeline came. I wasn't there to save them."
Her voice broke on the last word.
"I don't understand," I choked out. "Why hide? Why let everyone think—"
"Because of what I am." She gestured to the jars, the basement, the stolen memories. "I'm a Memory Eater, Sera. I can consume thoughts and secrets. The Inquisition would have killed me if they knew I existed. So I died. I became a ghost." She stepped closer, reaching for my hand. "But now I can finally help you. I can give you back everything that was stolen."
My mind reeled. A sister. I had family after all. Family who wasn't trying to kill me.
"When do we start?" I asked.
Vesper and Lucian exchanged a look.
"Now," Vesper said. "Before Evangeline finds us again. But Seraphina, you need to understand—when I break through those memory blocks, you won't just remember the attack. You'll remember everything your parents hid from you. Everything about who you really are."
"What does that mean?"
She pulled me toward a strange chair surrounded by glowing crystals. "It means your parents weren't simple villagers, little sister. They were running from something. Hiding from something. And once you know the truth..."
She strapped my wrists to the chair arms gently.
"There's no going back to being an ordinary girl ever again."
Lucian knelt beside the chair, taking my hand. "Last chance to walk away, Seraphina."
I looked at my sister—my impossible, alive, ghost of a sister. Then at Lucian, who'd saved me twice despite barely knowing me.
"I want the truth," I said. "All of it."
Vesper placed her fingers on my temples. Her eyes began to glow purple.
"Then let's see what they wanted you to forget."
Pain exploded through my skull.
And suddenly I was three years old again, watching my sister die—
Except she wasn't dying.
She was screaming as men in black robes dragged her away from my parents.
"Please!" my mother begged. "She's just a child! She doesn't know what she can do—"
"The Memory Eater bloodline must be eliminated," one robed figure said coldly.
Then my father's hands erupted in silver flames, and everything dissolved into chaos and fire and screaming—
The memory shifted.
I was seven, hiding under my bed while my parents argued.
"We can't keep running," my father said desperately. "Eventually they'll find us. Find her."
"Then we suppress her magic completely," my mother replied. "Make her ordinary. Make her safe."
"She's the last Phoenix heir! We can't just—"
"We can and we will! I won't let them kill another daughter!"
The memory shifted again.
I was fourteen, the night before the fire.
My mother was crying, packing a bag. "Tomorrow. We leave tomorrow, before Evangeline figures out where we are."
"It's too late," my father said grimly, looking out the window. "She's already here."
The memory sharpened, became crystal clear.
I was hiding in the cellar, watching through a crack as Evangeline murdered my parents.
But this time, I heard everything.
"Where is the Flamebringer's Crown?" Evangeline demanded, her knife dripping with my father's blood. "Where did you hide the Phoenix Queen's crown?"
My mother spat at her feet. "You'll never find it. And you'll never find Seraphina. She doesn't even know what she is!"
Evangeline smiled. "Oh, I'll find her. And when I do, I'll take her power and that crown. Then the Phoenix Throne will be mine."
She raised her blade—
I screamed, and the memory shattered.
I jerked awake in the chair, gasping for air. Tears poured down my face.
Lucian held my hand so tight it hurt.
Vesper removed her fingers from my temples, looking exhausted.
"You saw," she whispered. "You saw everything."
I nodded, unable to speak through my sobs.
Because now I understood.
My parents weren't running from the Inquisition.
They were running from something much, much bigger.
"I'm not just a Flamebringer," I choked out. "Am I?"
Lucian's silver eyes held such sadness. "No, Seraphina. You're not."
"Then what am I?"
Vesper knelt in front of me, taking both my hands.
"You're the Phoenix Queen's only heir. The last member of the royal bloodline that ruled this Empire for a thousand years before they were overthrown and slaughtered thirty years ago." Her voice shook. "You're not just some village girl, Sera."
She squeezed my hands tighter.
"You're the rightful Empress of the entire Clockwork Empire. And somewhere, hidden by our parents before they died, is the Flamebringer's Crown—the one object that can prove your claim and restore your power."
The basement went silent except for my ragged breathing.
An Empress. I was supposed to be an Empress.
No wonder Evangeline wanted me dead.
"Where's the crown?" I whispered.
Lucian and Vesper exchanged another look.
"That's the problem," Lucian said quietly. "Your parents hid it so well, even they couldn't find it in their own memories before they died. It could be anywhere in the Empire."
"But someone else knows where it is," Vesper added darkly. "Someone who was at Ember Hollow that night. Someone who might have seen where your parents hid it."
My blood turned to ice.
"Who?"
The basement door at the top of the stairs exploded inward with a deafening CRACK.
Footsteps pounded down the stairs—dozens of them.
Lucian jumped to his feet, silver flames erupting from both hands. "How did they find us?!"
Commander Aldric appeared at the bottom of the stairs, flanked by twenty Inquisitors in full combat gear.
And standing behind him, smiling that cold, terrible smile, was Evangeline.
"Hello, niece," she purred. "Did you really think you could hide from me in my own brother-in-law's ancestral estate?"
She raised her hand, and I saw what she held.
A glowing jar containing swirling golden mist.
Lucian's memories.
"I've known Lord Gravemire's secrets for years," Evangeline continued. "Including the location of his precious Memory Market basement. Thank you for gathering everything I need in one convenient place."
She hurled the jar at the floor.
It shattered.
And Lucian collapsed, screaming, clutching his head as his own stolen memories tore through his mind.