Pain.
Hot, raw pain surged through Amara's chest like a wildfire.
She woke up on the cold floor of the Vault, Lucien kneeling beside her, golden eyes narrowed. His fingers hovered just above her skin, glowing with a pulsing light.
"You weren't supposed to collapse," he murmured. "Your body isn't fully awakened."
Amara tried to sit up, her muscles trembling.
"What do you mean… awakened?"
Lucien tilted his head, almost curious. "You're carrying a dormant soul—the soul of the First Queen who sealed me here centuries ago. It's incomplete. Fading. But when you stepped into the Vault, it flared back to life."
He stood and paced, each footstep echoing. "This Vault is older than your world. Built by the Blackwells to guard not money, not power—but prophecy. And you, Amara Blackwell, are the prophecy's trigger."
Prophecy.
Of course there had to be a prophecy. Amara laughed—short, bitter.
"Let me guess. I'm the chosen one who has to either save the world or destroy it?"
Lucien's eyes met hers. "Yes."
The word was so final it crushed the room.
Before Amara could respond, the golden orb above flickered. The air chilled.
Lucien straightened instantly. "They're coming."
"Who—?"
"The Shadow Guard. The Blackwell Council has sensed your awakening. They'll try to erase you before the prophecy completes."
Suddenly, the Vault's walls shifted. A staircase spiraled upward from the floor.
Lucien didn't hesitate. He grabbed Amara's hand. "If you want to live, run."
They took the stairs two at a time. Each level shimmered with illusions—memories of a past life Amara didn't know she had: a woman in golden armor, standing before armies… another image of her kissing Lucien beneath a blood moon… then her screaming as she sealed him inside the Vault.
"Why did she seal you?" Amara asked, breathless.
Lucien didn't look back. "Because she loved me—and feared what I would become."
They burst into the upper hall just as the Vault doors exploded open behind them.
A figure stepped through—cloaked in darkness, face obscured by a porcelain mask. He raised one pale hand, and the entire hallway cracked with shadow magic.
Lucien threw up a shield.
"Go!" he shouted. "Find Victor—he'll protect you until I can hold them off."
But Amara hesitated.
Lucien was a stranger, yes—but he had only protected her so far. Could she really leave him behind again?
Before she could decide, the masked man whispered a spell—and Amara was blasted backward, straight into darkness.
She woke up in Victor's study, her body wrapped in spell-healing gauze, her mind still reeling.
Victor sat nearby, sipping bloodroot tea like this was any normal Thursday.
"Well," he said without looking up. "It seems the Vault chose you. And now the war begins."