The chamber's silence stretched thick and sacred after Gwen's departure.
Selene didn't move at first. The weight of the letter she'd read still pressed against her chest—words from her mother, Lysaria, warning her of the Tower's hatred and fear. Warning her that she was more than a daughter. More than a child of the Bright Line.
She was the Weavewalker.
But the letter hadn't said everything. There were still pieces missing. And Selene could feel them—like fragments of a broken pattern waiting to rejoin.
She wandered deeper into the chamber, beyond the central desk. Dust and silence ruled here, but as she passed under the three interwoven rings symbol, something shifted. A current tugged her toward the far wall—toward a stand of carved stone inset with flickering flame-glass. Above it, etched in Bright Line runes, was a line she could barely read:
"To my daughter. If you stand where I once stood, then fate has kept its promise."
Selene froze.
It was her mother's voice. Not literal—but unmistakable. Her mother had written this. Left it hidden in this forgotten space. No one but someone born of their blood could have activated the rune. It glowed brighter now, waiting.
Her hands trembled as she pressed her palm against the stone.
A hidden drawer opened with a whisper.
Inside: another scroll—smaller than the first. Unsealed. Untouched by Gwen.
With trembling fingers, Selene lifted it.
This time, the ink was familiar from the first stroke.
Lysaria's hand.
She read aloud, her voice quiet:
"My dearest Selene,If you are reading this, then I have failed to shield you from the truth for much longer than I hoped. But I did not leave you behind—I left you a path. I only pray you still walk it."
Tears pricked her eyes.
"I met your father at a time when I had no right to hope. I was the wife of an emperor—young, powerless, and ornamented, little more than a peace token sealed in silk. But he saw me—not the titles or the chains, but me."
Selene could see it now. Her mother's smile in old memories. Always tinged with something sad. Something hidden.
"Arathe of the Flameborn was the last true child of the Bright Line. He had no crown, no court—only stories and starlight. He told me of the Tower's betrayal, of how our bloodline had once shaped magic itself before they hunted it into shadow."
"He wasn't a rebel. He was a remembering."
"And I loved him."
Selene's hand covered her mouth. Her heart beat painfully.
"I left the empire once. For three moons. It was the only freedom I ever truly had. We lived in a ruined sanctuary beneath the mountain ash. He taught me the language of the first flame. We read from the Codex of Threads. We spoke vows the Tower had forgotten."
"And then I returned."
"Because I had to."
"You were already within me."
Selene sank to her knees.
"I hid you in plain sight—under magic and misdirection. The emperor suspected. He said nothing. But when the Tower came to collect its due, he handed me to them without a second breath. I never saw Arathe again. He was already gone—killed not by blade, but by grief and silence."
"I returned once, under watch, to this chamber. I left behind what truth I could. I hoped the Weave would draw you here, if your soul was bright enough."
Selene finished the letter, barely breathing.
"You are not a mistake. You are our echo. Our flame reborn. And I love you beyond thread or time. —Lysaria."
The scroll dimmed. The runes vanished, leaving only silence again.
Selene curled over the parchment, heart cracking under the weight of it all. Her mother had risked everything. Not for a throne. Not for rebellion.
For love.
And for her.
A low hum began to build beneath the floor—like a second heartbeat awakening.
She stood slowly, wiping her eyes.
And then it happened.
The fireglass behind her flared with sudden heat.
She spun—and gasped.
From the glowing rings on the wall, smoke spilled. And within it, fire drew itself into shape.
A figure stepped forward—masked in gold-veined flame, tall as the chamber itself. It didn't walk. It emerged.
Selene stumbled backward, chest heaving.
"What—what are you?!"
The flame didn't answer at first.
Then it spoke in a voice that wrapped around her like ancient wind.
"I am the Guardian of the Hollow Flame. Bound by Arathe's final vow. Kept alive by the soul of Lysaria. And now… by yours."
Selene trembled, eyes wide.
"Why now? Why are you here?"
The figure's mask turned gently toward her.
"Because you now carry what they could not destroy. You are what was promised."
The chamber darkened.
Selene stepped closer, no longer afraid—only breathless.
"You knew them both."
"I did."
"Then tell me everything."