Chapter 19: Delphine

The path to the West Tower was different this time.

It wasn’t just that the route had changed again—though it had. The corridor curved where it hadn’t before, and the lanterns overhead lit themselves a few seconds before I stepped beneath them, not after.

It wasn’t even the faint warmth in the floor as I walked, as though the castle’s bones were humming beneath my boots.

It was the feeling in my chest.

Like something was reaching up to meet me.

Theron walked beside me in silence. He hadn’t touched me since the garden, but his presence was all over me. I could still feel the imprint of his mouth, the heat of his hands, the weight of his restraint finally breaking. I knew he felt it, too—whatever wall he’d kept between us had cracked, and the castle knew.

The castle had felt it.

Now it wanted more.

We stopped at the door to the West Tower vault.

It looked the same—tall, black wood reinforced with ancient sigils carved deep into the grain. But the air around it pulsed now. Magic coiled along the surface like smoke, slow and steady, waiting to be drawn in.

My family’s crest shimmered faintly at the center. The circular Ashwood glyph, once dormant, now glowed softly, like it was breathing.

Theron turned to me. His jaw was tight, but his eyes had softened, the usual sharpness tempered by something quieter—regret, maybe. Or fear.

“We don’t open it,” he said. “Not all the way.”

I nodded.

We both knew it was already too late for caution.

I stepped forward and placed my hand on the seal.

The response was immediate.

The glyphs ignited beneath my fingers, not with heat, but with recognition. A thrum ran through my arm, up my spine, until I felt it bloom behind my eyes.

The world lurched.

The seal unraveled—not violently, not like a lock breaking—but like a ribbon being untied by invisible hands.

The door didn’t creak open.

It exhaled.

And then it opened.

Only a few inches.

But that was enough.

The air that poured out was ancient. Thick with the scent of old magic, crushed herbs, and something deeper—something metallic and strange. The shadows inside curled upward like smoke responding to sound.

I stepped back. Not in fear. Just in instinct.

From the center of the chamber, something pulsed.

A circle of glyphs burned faintly into the stone floor. The same glyphs from my dream. The same ones from the blood-scrawled ledger. And at the center of it all—rising like a breath held too long—was the mirror.

It wasn’t glass.

Not really.

It shimmered like black water under moonlight, the surface shifting, never still. I moved toward it, even as Theron reached for my arm.

“Wait—”

But I was already there.

The mirror rippled.

And then it showed me myself.

Not a reflection—an echo.

I stood in the vault, dressed in ceremonial black and silver, with blood on my hands and power radiating from every inch of my skin. My eyes glowed. My sigil blazed.

In the reflection, I didn’t look afraid.

I looked like I belonged.

The vision vanished.

I staggered back, breath catching.

Theron caught me.

“What did you see?” he asked, voice low, controlled.

“Me,” I whispered. “Or what it wants me to become.”

The seal pulsed again—stronger this time.

Around the mirror, the glyphs began to shift. Just slightly. As if testing themselves. As if preparing.

The chamber was waking.

Theron pulled me back another step. “We need to close it.”

“Can we?”

He didn’t answer.

Because we both felt the same thing.

The castle had chosen.

And the vault wasn’t asking anymore.

It was welcoming me home.