There are moments in life when you have exactly two options:
Obey.
Run.
When the Headmistress of a legendary magic school finds out you're a living secret from a forgotten magical era?
You run.
✦ ✦ ✦
We bolted from the Vault.
Riven shouted spells behind us, half to keep the wards off our heels and half because she was panicking in the most aggressively Riven way possible.
"Left! Left! No wait—my left, your right!"
"Just say 'door!'" I snapped, ducking as a bolt of nullfire missed us by inches.
"DOOR!"
We slid around a corner, almost collided with a professor, and dove straight into the underground dueling chamber—abandoned at night, except for the glowing ward lines and a few magical dummies that turned their heads as we passed.
Behind us, alarms flared across the school.
Magic barriers shimmered to life like glowing spiderwebs in the air. Voices echoed through the crystal intercoms:
"Security breach in the Vault of Virel.""Subject: Elira Wren. Do not engage without containment protocols."
That hit like a slap.
Not "student."Not "suspect."
Subject.
I wasn't a girl anymore.
I was a problem.
✦ ✦ ✦
We ducked into the utility tunnels—a maze of old pipes and forgotten crawlspaces beneath Emberthorn's south wing. Riven, of course, had been down here before.
"Used to hide down here after I blew up my first summoning circle," she said, crawling beside me. "Smells worse now, though. Think something's living in the walls."
"Great," I muttered. "Running from the law and sewer lizards. Just how I pictured my academic career."
"You okay?"
I paused.
Was I?
No.
Not even a little.
"I'm glowing again," I whispered, lifting my hands. The sigil was still there. Brighter. And hotter. I could feel the power now—not just in me, but awake.
"It's not just magic, Riven," I said. "It's memory. It's history. I think… I think I'm remembering things that didn't happen to me."
She looked at me.
Really looked.
"Then maybe you were never just Elira Wren. Maybe that's what they were scared of."
✦ ✦ ✦
We finally emerged in the overgrown Mirror Garden, breathless and reeking of tunnel mold.
The moon hung low. The sky was cloudless. The statues were watching.
And in the center, glowing faintly…
…was a girl.
Not a girl.
The girl.
The fire-girl from my visions.
Older. Wreathed in flame. Eyes like gold coals. Hair like wildfire.
But this time, she wasn't a dream.
She stood at the edge of the central mirror-pool, barefoot on the grass, watching us.
Riven backed up. "Oh no."
I took a step forward.
"Who are you?"
She tilted her head.
"I'm what they erased," she said. "I'm what the Pact couldn't kill. I'm you, Elira. Or what you could become."
"A memory?" I asked. "A ghost?"
Her smile was sad.
"A weapon."
"I don't want to be a weapon."
"You were born one."
She reached out—and for a heartbeat, our fingers touched.
Fire roared behind my eyes.
I saw the past.
Cities burning in golden light.A trial beneath a blackened sun.A girl kneeling, hands bound, flames rising around her.The words: "Let her be forgotten."
Then—
The girl vanished into flame.
Gone.
Silence.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Okay," said Riven. "We need a new plan. One that involves less cryptic fire apparitions and more not dying."
I nodded, still trembling.
"We need answers. Real ones. Not visions."
Riven cracked her knuckles.
"Then we find the last person who knows the full truth."
I looked up.
"Who?"
"The Masked One," she said grimly. "The man from the mirror. He knew the Pact. He knew you."
"And we find him how?"
She handed me something—wrapped in enchanted cloth.
"Because he left this in your bed while we were gone."
I unwrapped it.
A piece of burning paper.
A map.
A note scrawled in crimson ink:
Elira Wren. If you want the truth—meet me in the Heart of Embers before the next moonrise. Come alone.
The bottom of the page read:
– V.