The halls of the Shadow Keep burned with tension, both literal and metaphorical. Flames crackled from the torches mounted along the corridor walls, but beneath their warm glow, Aurora felt the coldness of truth sinking into her bones.
She had barely slept since her confrontation with Lucien. The revelation about her mother had shattered something inside her—something vital. She wasn’t just a hidden royal. She was Shadowborne. The very blood that flowed through Lucien, through the ones she was told to fear, also coursed through her veins. And now… they were coming for her. But who? “Focus,” she whispered to herself, standing alone in the training yard as dawn broke over the snow-dusted peaks. “You can’t fall apart now.” She tightened her grip on the wooden staff in her hand, taking deep, measured breaths. The air was crisp, biting at her skin, but she welcomed the discomfort. It kept her grounded. Across the yard, Lucien stepped out from the shadows, dressed in black battle gear, his expression unreadable. “You should be resting,” he said. “I should be preparing,” she shot back. “You said they’re coming. I won’t be a helpless Queen who hides behind warriors. I want to fight.” Lucien’s gaze softened for the briefest second before he crossed the yard. “Then I’ll train you. But you have to promise me something.” “What?” “That you won’t let your anger cloud your control. That you’ll remember who you are.” Aurora narrowed her eyes. “And who exactly am I, Lucien? Because it seems even you don’t know the full answer.” His jaw clenched. “You are mine.” The words were barely audible, more a plea than a statement, but they struck her harder than any blow. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, to tell him he had no right to claim her after hiding so much. But instead, she said nothing. Lucien tossed her a blade. “Then let’s begin.” Hours passed. Sweat soaked through her clothes, and her muscles screamed with exhaustion. But with each swing, each block, each parry—she grew stronger. Not just in skill, but in resolve. Lucien pushed her, harder than anyone ever had. But there was care in his cruelty. Precision in his punishment. He wasn’t just teaching her how to fight. He was preparing her for war. Finally, as the sun dipped behind the horizon, they collapsed in the snow, breathless. “You’re stronger than you know,” Lucien murmured, his voice husky. Aurora turned her head to look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? About my mother. About me.” “Because I didn’t want you to feel what I feel,” he said quietly. “Haunted. Torn between two worlds. One foot in the shadows, one in the light.” She stared at the twilight sky. “Too late for that now.” Lucien turned toward her, his golden eyes glowing faintly. “There’s something else I need to tell you.” She tensed. “Another secret?” “No.” He exhaled sharply. “A warning. The Council of Ancients—those who rule the hidden bloodlines—they’ve learned of your existence. And they see you as a threat.” Aurora’s heart sank. “They’ll do everything they can to destroy you,” he continued. “Unless you claim your full power before they reach us.” She sat up, her voice steady. “Then we don’t wait. We strike first.” Lucien looked at her, surprise flickering in his eyes. “You’re ready for that?” “No,” she admitted, then clenched her fists. “But I’m not running anymore.” At that moment, the wind shifted. A howl rang out in the distance—not a warning, but a call. Lucien shot to his feet. “They’re closer than I thought.” Aurora stood beside him. “Then let them come.” But neither of them noticed the figure watching from the shadows—a girl with midnight eyes and a crescent scar. And she knew the truth about Aurora’s bloodline. Because she carried the other half of the prophecy. Aurora twisted as Lucien’s sword nearly grazed her ribs. She stumbled back, gasping, sweat clinging to her brow. “You said this was just a warm-up!” Lucien smirked. “I lied.” They’d been training for over an hour under the pale moonlight. Every muscle in Aurora’s body ached, but her mind was sharp—too aware of the way Lucien’s eyes lingered a second too long. Their movements were starting to sync—one step, one breath, one rhythm. But then something shifted. Lucien suddenly halted, body tense. “We’re being watched.” Aurora spun. “Where?” He didn’t answer. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, ears attuned. She followed his gaze to the shadows near the edge of the courtyard. A flicker of movement. Someone—or something—slipped through the trees like a ghost. Without thinking, Aurora ran. Lucien shouted after her, but the pounding in her chest drowned out his voice. Whoever that was… they weren’t just spying. They were calling to her. She darted into the forest, dodging branches, leaves crunching beneath her boots. The figure ahead moved fast, their cloak fluttering like a wraith. Finally, the trees parted into a clearing—and the girl stopped. Young. Maybe sixteen. Cloaked in silver, hood hiding most of her face. “You’re fast,” Aurora panted. The girl turned, her voice soft. “So are you.” “Why were you watching us?” “Not you,” she whispered. “Him.” Aurora tensed. “Lucien?” The girl didn’t answer. Instead, she raised her hand, and fire—icy blue—sparked around them in a perfect circle. A protective ward. “Who are you?” The girl pushed down her hood. Aurora’s breath caught. Same cheekbones. Same eyes. “I’m your sister,” the girl said. “The twin who wasn’t supposed to survive.”The stars above the Spire hadn’t looked this clear in years. A fragile silence spread across the camp like dew, settling into bones that had forgotten peace. For a moment, the war felt far away. But peace, Serena had learned, never came without a cost—and it never stayed long. She stood alone at the edge of the platform, eyes on the horizon where the last light of the Gate had vanished. Her breath fogged faintly in the night chill, but her pulse was warm. Alive. Behind her, the child sat cross-legged near the campfire, still watching, still unmoving. Its presence unsettled even the wind. Mira approached from behind, tossing Serena a strip of dried meat. “You need to eat.” “I’m not hungry.” “You didn’t eat last night either.” Serena glanced at her. “You’re starting to sound like Lyra.” “Don’t insult me,” Mira muttered, sitting beside her. “Where is she, anyway?” “North wall. Making Kael nervous with her sword twirling.” A beat of silence. Then Mira asked, “You ever wonder
The ash settled slowly.For the first time in hours, maybe days, there was silence atop the Spire.The wind carried the smell of charred stone, burnt blood, and fading magic. The Gate’s silver wound in the sky had finally begun to seal—its edges flickering shut like the last breath of a dying beast.Serena sat in the center of it all, knees drawn to her chest, hair tangled, armor scorched.Elias knelt beside her, watching the horizon cautiously as Mira, Lyra, and Kael made their rounds.His voice was soft. “You did it.”Serena shook her head. “We did it.”“No,” Elias said. “You were the reason the Gate closed. It answered you. Not Darian. Not the Spire. You.”She met his gaze—and for a moment, the weariness in her limbs gave way to something warmer. Something more dangerous.Hope.“You kissed me,” she whispered.Elias didn’t flinch. “You were being impossible.”“You could’ve just yelled.”“I considered it.” He leaned closer. “But then I thought—what if I never got the chance again?”H
The mirrored Spire groaned.Cracks webbed across its surface, snaking up walls and down into the ground, as if the very bones of the realm were breaking.Serena watched as Darian stepped away from her outstretched hand. His refusal wasn’t a declaration of power—it was a choice born of fear. He didn’t trust the Gate’s change. And now, the realm rejected him for it.“Darian,” Serena called, voice steady even as the world around them trembled. “This realm is collapsing. You’ll be trapped here.”His eyes locked on hers, unreadable. “Better a cage I understand than a world I can’t control.”The floor beneath him gave way. A swirl of silver light, like a whirlpool of time and thought, opened beneath his feet. He teetered—his power flickering—then fell backward into it.Gone.Just like that.Serena exhaled, chest tight. Part of her had wanted to save him. Another part knew he had never truly wanted to be saved.Behind her, Elias called out. “Serena!”She turned—just as a fissure tore through
The mirrored Spire shimmered around them, cracked stone beneath their feet and silver flame dancing across the arching ceiling like veins of light in the void. This version of the world was distorted—haunted by memory, warped by the Gate’s gaze.Serena stood at the heart of it, her flame pulsing around her like armor. Elias stood by her side, blade drawn, his free hand twitching with tension.Across the fractured hall, Darian stood beneath the mirrored throne, the shadows behind him stretching unnaturally. His eyes glowed with cold certainty.“This is not your domain,” he said.Serena didn’t flinch. “It’s not yours either.”A beat of silence passed, the realm humming like a string pulled taut.Then, Darian lifted his hand—and the mirrored Spire came alive.Shards of glass spun through the air, forming specters—phantoms shaped like people Serena had known and lost. Her mother. An old tutor. Lyra, bleeding out in the snow. Mira, broken. Kael, silenced.And worst of all—Elias, dying in h
The silver glow in Serena’s eyes wasn’t hers.Not entirely.Elias stepped closer, blade lowered but ready, his voice taut with worry. “Serena?”She blinked.Once.Then twice.And slowly, the light dimmed—like a curtain being drawn behind her gaze.Her lips parted. “It spoke to me.”Caine moved beside Elias. “The Gate?”Serena nodded. “It’s not just a portal. It’s a presence. Ancient. Watching. Judging.”Kael scowled, glancing over his shoulder as more distant shadows moved in the far ridges. “Well, tell it to judge faster. We’ve got more of those things circling.”Mira wiped blood from her mouth and joined them. “What did it say?”Serena’s voice was hollow. “It said I was too soft. Too mortal. But also… that I could become something else. Something… terrifying.”A hush fell over the circle.It wasn’t just what she said.It was how she said it.Deep within the Gate’s energy, the realm between realities still shimmered. Though her body had returned to the physical plane, part of Serena’
The Gate pulsed—slow and deliberate, like the heartbeat of something ancient and watching.Serena stood at the edge of the light, its ripples dancing around her boots. Her fingers trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer pressure of the choice before her.Behind her, Elias reached for her wrist. “Are you sure about this?”She looked back. “No.”He nodded. “Good. If you were, I’d think you’d lost your mind.”Serena almost smiled. Almost.But the moment shattered when Darian's voice echoed from the heart of the Gate.“Step forward, Spire-born. The realm awaits.”The ground vibrated beneath her. The sigils around the Spire flickered as if reacting to the pull of the Gate. Lyra drew her blade again, taking a defensive stance at Serena’s side. “We’ll guard your body. You make sure you come back in it.”Serena met her gaze. “I will.”And then she stepped forward.The world fell away.There was no wind. No sky. No ground.Only light.And then—darkness.It wasn’t cold or painful. It was… n