Ch. 11: The Seer of the Citadel

The Dominion citadel wasn’t built for mortals.

Its halls spiraled like the inside of a shell, each curve lined with runes that pulsed faintly beneath Kaelira’s feet. The air hummed with layered whispers—old spells repeating themselves for centuries.

Zevran moved ahead of her, silent but coiled. He knew this place too well.

She could feel it in the way his shoulders stiffened at each corridor, in the pulse of the bond that echoed faint unease through her chest.

“You’ve been here before,” she said.

His voice stayed low. “I guarded its gates, once.”

“And when did you stop?”

“When I learned what they kept behind them.”

They turned a final corner, and the corridor opened into a circular chamber flooded with violet light. The air smelled of salt and dust and something older than both.

At the center stood a woman wrapped in gauze-thin robes, hair white as ash, eyes blind and gleaming. She didn’t look up when they entered—she felt them.

“Child of the Fire Vein,” she said, her voice echoing like wind through glass. “I wondered when you would burn your way home.”

Kaelira’s throat tightened. “Serane.”

The seer smiled faintly. “So she told you my name.”

“She told me you betrayed her.”

“Then she told you truth.” Serane turned her sightless eyes toward Zevran. “And yet you still bring her here, King. Have you grown fond of dying?”

Zevran’s hand brushed his sword hilt. “I’ve done worse for less reason.”

The seer laughed softly. “Still arrogant. Still grieving.”

Then, to Kaelira: “You wish to unbind the Flamebound.”

Kaelira stepped closer. “You know how?”

“I forged the first bond.”

Zevran stiffened. “That’s impossible. The Flamebound predates the Dominion.”

“The Dominion was born from it,” Serane said calmly. “Your forefathers sought to cage what they feared. I taught them how.”

Kaelira’s stomach turned. “You created the tether.”

Serane nodded. “A witch needs balance. A Lycan’s blood was the only vessel strong enough to carry the excess flame. Your mother swore the ritual would die with her line. She lied.”

Kaelira’s hands clenched. “You used me.”

“I saved you,” Serane corrected. “Without the bond, the fire inside you would have consumed every living thing within a league. You would have died a child—and taken the valley with you.”

Zevran’s voice was hard. “And now?”

“Now,” the seer said, “the fire is waking again. The Dominion feeds on it. They intend to awaken the heart beneath this citadel. The bond keeps it sleeping, but not for long.”

Kaelira frowned. “The heart—what is it?”

Serane lifted her face toward the ceiling. “A fragment of the first moon. It fell when the gods ended their war. It is alive still, beating beneath the stone. The witches called it the core of all magic. The Dominion calls it salvation. Both are wrong.”

Zevran stepped closer. “How do we stop it?”

Serane’s mouth curved in a sad smile. “You can’t. But she can.”

Kaelira’s pulse quickened. “I’m not strong enough.”

“You were never meant to be strong,” Serane whispered. “You were meant to endure. Strength burns. Endurance changes everything it touches.”

Kaelira’s voice trembled. “Then teach me.”

“I will,” Serane said, “but you won’t like the lesson.”

She reached out, fingertips brushing Kaelira’s temple.

The world cracked.

⸻

Kaelira’s knees hit stone. Light flooded her vision—fire and moonlight entwined. She was no longer in the citadel but in a vast plain under a bleeding sky. Towers of silver rose and fell like breathing things. At the center stood a mirror of flame, its surface rippling with faces—wolves, witches, men—all shifting into one another.

Serane’s voice came from everywhere at once. This is what you are bound to. The flame that remembers all life and devours none. The heart wants to wake, Kaelira, because it misses its own reflection.

Kaelira reached toward the mirror. Her reflection met her hand—then changed. Her mother’s face stared back, weeping fire.

Break the bond, the reflection said, and the flame will claim you.

The image shattered.

⸻

Kaelira gasped and found herself back on the floor of the chamber, Zevran kneeling beside her, his hand steady at her neck. “Breathe,” he said, voice rough. “You were gone too long.”

Her pulse raced, matching his through the tether. She swallowed. “I saw it.”

“The heart?” he asked.

She nodded. “It’s alive. It knows us.”

Serane’s blind gaze turned toward them. “Then you understand why the Dominion wants her power. When the heart wakes fully, it will seek its twin—and she is that twin.”

Zevran’s tone was ice. “You built a weapon no one can control.”

“I built a bridge,” Serane said. “What you do with it is choice.”

Kaelira stood unsteadily. “You said you’d teach me how to stop it.”

“To stop it, you must learn to call it,” Serane answered. “Only what is summoned willingly can be silenced.”

Zevran’s eyes flashed. “That’s suicide.”

“It’s destiny,” the seer murmured. “And destiny is never gentle.”

⸻

They left the chamber in silence. The citadel’s corridors seemed darker now, the runes flickering in uneasy rhythm with Kaelira’s pulse.

When they reached the outer bridge, Kaelira finally spoke. “She’s right.”

“About destiny?” Zevran asked.

“About calling it. I felt it waiting. It won’t stop.”

He turned to her, the wind pulling his cloak. “If you call that thing, it will take everything you are.”

“Then we find a way to make it take less.”

His hand caught her arm, firm but not cruel. “You’re not a martyr.”

“Maybe not,” she said, meeting his gaze. “But I’m what’s left.”

Their eyes locked. The bond pulsed once, deep and resonant, echoing through both their chests. He let her go slowly.

“We’ll find another way,” he said.

“Then let’s start walking.”

Below them, the citadel lights flared brighter—as if something deep under the earth had begun to stir.