Chapter 44

The cavern was silent except for the drip of water echoing from the ceiling, each drop striking the stone like the toll of a bell. Serenya held her breath as she stepped deeper, the torch in her hand flickering against carvings older than any kingdom she had ever known. Beside her, Kaelen’s shadow stretched long and protective, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his blade.

“This place feels wrong,” he murmured, his voice pitched low. “The air… it’s too heavy, like it remembers things it should have forgotten.”

Serenya’s lips pressed tight. “The Seer said the Oracle would speak only once, and only to me. If her word holds any hope for the realm, I must hear it.”

Kaelen glanced at her—worry clouding his storm-colored eyes—but said nothing more. He had learned that when Serenya set her mind upon something, no force could sway her.

They reached the heart of the cavern: a chamber vast and round, its floor carved with circles of runes that glowed faintly blue, as though lit from beneath by a buried flame. At its center stood a figure cloaked in white, her face veiled by strands of silver cloth. She did not move until Serenya stepped into the first circle.

Then the Oracle’s voice filled the chamber, soft but resonant, as though she spoke through a thousand echoes.

“Child of shadow, heir of fire. You seek what cannot be given without sacrifice.”

Serenya’s chest tightened. “I seek the truth—what must be done to unite the fractured crowns, to end this war before it consumes all.”

The Oracle’s veiled head tilted. “Truth is a blade sharper than any dagger. You ask for it, yet when it cuts, will you endure the wound?”

Kaelen shifted, his hand flexing on his sword hilt. “Speak plain. What danger do you foretell?”

The Oracle ignored him, her attention fixed solely on Serenya. “You stand between two paths, Serenya Vale. One leads to a throne forged in blood, the other to love lost in fire. You cannot hold both.”

Serenya’s throat tightened. “There must be another way.”

“There is none.” The Oracle’s voice trembled like glass on the edge of shattering. “If you choose the crown, the one you love will fall before dawn’s light. If you choose the heart, the kingdom will drown in its own ashes. Shadows and stars cannot dwell together—one must eclipse the other.”

The runes beneath Serenya’s feet flared, flooding the cavern with ghostly light. Her pulse raced, her thoughts spiraling. Kaelen reached for her hand, grounding her with his warmth, though his expression was carved with grim tension.

“This is madness,” he said, his voice fierce. “Prophecies twist truth into cages. You are no prisoner of fate, Serenya.”

The Oracle’s voice deepened, as though layered with ancient voices not her own. “Fate weaves all things. The heir must burn, or the realm will perish.”

“Burn?” Serenya whispered, horror sinking into her chest.

Before the Oracle could answer, the cavern trembled. A jagged crack split the ceiling, and dust rained down. Kaelen drew his blade, pulling Serenya close. From the shadows at the far edge of the chamber, steel glinted—figures stepping forth, armored and masked.

“Veynor’s men,” Kaelen spat.

The ruthless duke had sent his assassins even here. Serenya clutched her torch tighter, forcing her fear back. The Oracle’s prophecy thundered in her mind—crown or heart, fire or ashes—but there was no time to unravel it now. Survival came first.

The assassins surged forward. Kaelen met them with a sweep of his blade, steel ringing as sparks burst in the cavern’s dim light. Serenya dodged aside, her pulse hammering, but one assassin broke past Kaelen and lunged toward her. She raised the torch just in time, shoving the flame against his mask. He reeled back with a strangled cry, giving Kaelen the moment to cut him down.

“Stay behind me!” Kaelen barked.

But Serenya’s gaze caught on the Oracle—still unmoving, untouched by the chaos. The veiled figure lifted one trembling hand and pointed toward Serenya.

“Remember, child… when the torch is passed, it will not burn twice.”

Her voice faded into silence. Then, with a shudder, the Oracle collapsed into ash, her form scattering like dust across the glowing runes.

“No!” Serenya gasped, rushing forward, but Kaelen caught her arm and yanked her back as another assassin’s blade slashed through the air where she had been standing.

The battle was a blur of steel and shadows. Kaelen fought with desperate ferocity, but Serenya’s mind reeled with the Oracle’s words. Crown or heart. Torch that burns once. An heir who must burn. The puzzle pieces cut sharper than the assassins’ blades.

Finally, the last masked figure fell, his cry swallowed by the cavern’s echoes. Kaelen staggered, a shallow cut bleeding across his shoulder, but his grip on his sword never wavered until he was sure they were alone.

Only then did he turn to Serenya, his breath ragged. “You heard her prophecy. Tell me what she said.”

Serenya’s lips trembled, but she forced the words out. “She said I cannot have both the crown and… you. If I claim my throne, I lose you. If I choose love, the kingdom falls.”

Kaelen froze, his eyes dark as storm clouds. “So I am the price of your crown.”

Her chest clenched. “No. I will not accept that.”

“Serenya—”

“No!” Her voice cracked, echoing against the cavern walls. “I will not choose between you and the kingdom. I will find another way. I have to.”

Kaelen’s gaze softened for a moment, his hand brushing against her cheek despite the blood staining his fingers. “You’ve always carried hope like a sword. But if fate demands this sacrifice—”

“Then fate will bend,” she cut in fiercely.

But her heart trembled at her own defiance. The Oracle’s final words weighed like iron chains, impossible to cast aside.

Kaelen’s eyes searched hers, and though his lips formed no promise, the silence between them throbbed with unspoken vows.

The cavern stilled once more, but the prophecy lingered, sharp and merciless: one choice, one sacrifice, no escape.

And as they left the cavern, Serenya could not shake the feeling that the torch had already been lit—and soon, it would burn.