The corridors beneath Blackthorn Academy were so quiet, Lyra Corven could hear her own heartbeat echoing against the stone. Every step she and Rhoan Vale took rang louder than it should've, like they were disturbing something ancient.
Torch sconces flickered with violet flames, casting eerie shadows along the runed walls—remnants of spells no one remembered how to cast. This part of the school was supposed to be sealed off. "For safety," the professors said. But here they were, following a sigil that had burned brighter than any in the sky last night.
Lyra tightened her grip on her wand, eyes flicking toward Rhoan. "You sure this is the place?"
Rhoan stopped in front of a moss-covered inscription.
Here lies the Ironroot's Heart.
She nodded. "House Ironroot. Their sigil blinked right over this spot. Twice. That means something."
Lyra frowned. "But why here? Why hide their remnant so deep underground?"
They pressed on until the tunnel opened into a wide, vaulted chamber. The ceiling soared above them, held up by stone arches carved into twisted roots. In the center stood a lectern—black as obsidian, veined with silver like petrified sap. An open book sat on it, the words shifting and moving like they didn't want to be read.
And below, embedded in a circular dais of living rock, was a statue of a student—frozen mid-step. Veins of crystal root wound through her limbs, anchoring her to the earth like she was being grown instead of buried.
Lyra gasped. "She's… beautiful."
The girl's face was peaceful, her eyes closed, lips almost smiling. But cracks ran down her arms and across her chest—like she'd tried to fight the stone that claimed her.
Rhoan stepped closer, voice quiet. "Ironroot magic bound their blood to the land. They were protectors of legacy. When the Accord erased them… this must've been their punishment."
Lyra knelt by the statue, tracing one of the cracks with her finger. The air trembled. Behind them, the lectern groaned, and the book fluttered.
From the tunnel came a voice—familiar and urgent. "Lyra? Rhoan?"
Lyra stood fast. "Rowan."
Rhoan offered her a hand. "Come on. He needs to see this."
—
Outside the Vault, the rain-slick air smelled of moss and thunder. Rowan stood under the open sky, pacing beneath the thirteen constellations still glowing overhead.
"They haven't moved yet," he muttered, turning as the girls appeared. "What did you find?"
Lyra dropped to her knees, breath catching. "We found it. The last Ironroot."
Rhoan knelt too. "A student. Petrified in their sanctum. Still… alive, in some way."
Rowan's expression hardened. "And the sigil?"
Rhoan nodded. "Ironroot's mark led us straight there."
Lyra met his gaze. "The whole place is layered in earth wards. Strong ones. If we're not careful, the chamber could collapse."
Rowan crouched beside her. "Tell me everything."
She swallowed. "She was caught mid-step, like she was walking out of a lesson. But the roots… they were in her. Through her. The lectern was stone too. Like even the teacher had turned to dust."
Rowan touched the Thirteenth Flame mark on her hand. "They tried to leave a memory behind. A warning. A hope."
Rhoan spoke quietly. "The book whispered something to me. A spell. Something about reversing the petrification. But it'll cost me. My blood. My magic. Maybe more."
Rowan met her eyes. "Is it worth it?"
Lyra didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Rhoan nodded. "Then let's go."
—
Back in the vault, the room felt even heavier than before.
Lyra stepped forward and raised her wand. "Earth… give back what you took."
The roots shivered. A web of crystal traced over the stone girl's body. Then light bled from the cracks—violet fire, burning from the inside out.
Rhoan pressed her palm to the statue's wrist. Ink-like fire curled around her fingers. She whispered a word Lyra didn't recognize—sharp, ancient, almost lost.
The light surged. The cracks split. Stone broke and flaked away.
Rowan dropped to his knees beside the statue. He circled the girl's chest in fire—not to harm, but to hold. The roots hissed and recoiled. Rhoan chanted louder. The sigil on her hand flared—and moved. It left her skin, embedding itself in the statue's chest like a seed.
The girl trembled.
Then she breathed.
Dust puffed from her lips as she coughed. Her fingers twitched, then stretched. Her eyes blinked open—wide, glowing violet. She stared down at her hands in disbelief.
Rowan caught her before she fell. "You're safe."
She looked up, her voice hoarse. "I… remember."
Lyra blinked back tears. "Welcome back."
Rhoan stepped forward. "I'm Rhoan Vale. This is Lyra, and Rowan."
The girl's eyes lit up. "Rowan Vale. The Flamebound." She looked down at her chest. "The Flame… is in me?"
Rowan nodded. "It's part of all of us now."
The girl looked around the shattered chamber, then back at them. Her voice was steadier this time. "My name is Mira Thorne. Heir of Ironroot."
Lyra smiled. "Then your House isn't lost."
Mira closed her eyes, gathering strength. When she opened them again, they burned with quiet fire. "Then we rebuild."
—
Word spread fast. By morning, half the school stood outside the Vault, whispering, wondering, waiting.
When the doors finally opened, four figures stepped out: Rowan, Lyra, Rhoan… and the girl thought lost to time.
Mira walked slowly, leaning on Rowan. Dust streaked her face, and her robe trailed bits of root and stone—but her eyes were alive.
The House leaders stepped aside. Some students clapped. Others just stared in awe.
Mira raised one hand in a quiet wave.
Rowan turned to Lyra. "This is where it starts."
Lyra nodded. "One House remembered. More will follow."
Rhoan added softly, "And we'll pay the price."
Rowan looked down at their joined hands—flame, ink, and light all etched into their skin. "Together."
Above them, the stars shifted. The sigils of the twelve lost Houses shimmered… then vanished—except one.
Ironroot's remained.
Its light burned steady.
A student stepped forward, wide-eyed. "What now?"
Rowan turned toward the academy. "Now… we find the next one."
Lyra's voice rang clear. "The House of Breathless Oaths is calling."
Rhoan laughed. "Then let's answer."
Together, they stepped into the darkness, ready for the next memory the world had tried to erase.