The fire in her veins hadn't gone out. Even as the crowd dispersed, whispers following her every step, Seraphina felt it—alive and pulsing beneath her skin. Not rage. Not fear. Power.
Dren escorted her back to the eastern wing, his silence heavier than usual. He said nothing until they reached the grand double doors of her chamber.
"You should rest. The next trial begins at moonrise."
She turned to face him. "What's it called?"
His silver eyes flicked toward the lanterns hanging above them. "The Trial of Echoes."
"That sounds… vaguely ominous."
"It should." He hesitated. "It doesn't test your body. It tests your soul."
Seraphina's stomach tightened.
Dren gave her a look she couldn't quite read—something between concern and resignation. Then, without another word, he turned and left.
The room was cold despite the roaring fire. Someone had replaced her bloodstained gown with another—this one a rich violet trimmed in obsidian thread. A color of royalty. Of shadow.
She didn't wear it.
Instead, she stood by the window, staring out at the cliffs beyond the Obsidian Maze. The fog had returned, swirling like fingers around the rocks. She wondered what lived in that mist. If her fate had truly been sealed the moment she stepped through the border of this strange world.
The pendant at her throat warmed.
She touched it absently. She still didn't know what it meant, only that when Lucien touched her, it pulsed brighter. Magic tied them together now. Ancient and primal.
Was it fate?
Or a curse?
Her eyes drifted shut.
And without meaning to, Seraphina fell asleep standing by the window—into dreams she could not escape.
---
It was dusk when she awoke.
The summons came swiftly.
Two warriors in ceremonial armor waited at her door. Without speaking, they led her down a spiral staircase she hadn't seen before, carved deep into the mountain beneath the castle.
The deeper they went, the colder it became.
At the bottom was a circular chamber, dimly lit by blue fire torches and a dome of ancient glass overhead. Runes covered every inch of the stone walls. In the center stood Lucien, arms folded, eyes fixed on the altar of bones behind him.
She shivered.
He looked at her, then stepped forward.
"This trial is different," he said, voice low. "You will not face beasts. You will face yourself."
"I already know who I am."
"No. You know who you were told to be. This trial doesn't care about lies."
She swallowed hard.
The Elders appeared in the outer ring of the room, silent and still as statues.
The gray-eyed woman raised her hand.
"Begin."
Without another word, the altar flared to life.
Light exploded around Seraphina—blinding, searing. Her body dropped, her spirit lifted. It was like falling through stars and shadow at once. Her thoughts unraveled.
And then she was somewhere else entirely.
---
She stood in a forest.
Not just any forest—this one she recognized. The birch trees. The moonlight. The sound of cicadas humming in the air.
The place where she had died.
But this time… she wasn't burning.
She was watching.
And in the clearing ahead, another girl knelt beside a fallen figure—her foster brother, Jace. Blood soaked his chest. Arrows jutted from his side. And the girl—herself, her past self—was screaming for help.
"No," Seraphina whispered. "Don't call out. It's a trap."
But the scene unfolded anyway, inevitable as the tide.
Figures emerged from the trees—hunters cloaked in red, armed with silver and steel. They descended like jackals. Her younger self raised her hands, pleading. Begging.
"I didn't kill him," she cried. "He's my brother! He's—"
An arrow struck her thigh.
Then another.
The girl fell. The hunters advanced.
Seraphina felt it all over again—the helplessness, the betrayal, the hatred in their eyes. They didn't care that she was innocent. They saw only a girl with strange eyes and fire that flared when she was scared.
A witch, they called her.
A monster.
A mistake.
But then the scene shifted.
This time, she wasn't the victim.
She was the flame.
Fire exploded from the ground, engulfing the attackers. Their screams echoed through the forest as she rose—eyes burning gold, skin pulsing with runes.
"You will not take me," she snarled.
Power tore through the trees.
But when the smoke cleared, her brother was gone.
And so was her humanity.
---
Seraphina fell to her knees.
It wasn't real. It was memory. But the pain was.
"You let them die," a voice whispered from the shadows. "You always let them die."
She looked up.
Across from her stood another version of herself—older, darker, wrapped in flame and shadow. Her eyes were gold, lips stained crimson.
The cursed Luna.
"Who are you?" Seraphina gasped.
"I am who you will become," the shadow self replied. "If you keep denying what you are."
"I'm not a monster."
"No," the other said, stepping closer. "You're a queen. And queens do not weep for the weak."
Seraphina recoiled. "I won't become like you."
"You already have."
And then suddenly—Lucien appeared.
But he wasn't the man she knew.
This version's eyes were black as ink. His hands dripped with blood. His mouth curved in a cruel smile.
"She is mine," he growled, pulling her dark twin close. "And she burns for me."
"No!" Seraphina screamed.
Flame erupted around them.
She fought it.
Fought herself.
And in that moment, with both hands raised, she screamed with everything inside her—and shattered the illusion with a blast of pure light.
---
She landed on the stone floor of the chamber, gasping for air.
Lucien was beside her in an instant.
"Seraphina—"
She reached up and clutched his collar, eyes wild.
"Tell me I'm not her," she whispered. "Tell me I'm not the thing I saw."
He didn't flinch.
"You are more than what they fear."
"I could've destroyed everything."
"But you didn't," he said. "You chose mercy. That's what makes you different."
The Elders watched, silent.
Then the gray-eyed woman stood.
"The Trial of Echoes is complete. The Luna has faced her truth—and endured."
A murmur rippled through the stone hall.
Some nodded. Some turned away.
But the decision had been made.
She had passed.
---
That night, as the castle quieted and the moon hung low and full in the sky, Lucien found her again in the garden.
This time, she didn't run.
She waited.
"I saw you," she said softly, as he approached.
"I know."
"I saw what you could become."
"So did I," he replied.
"And?"
Lucien stepped close, his presence intoxicating.
"I saw power. I saw fire. I saw a mate who will challenge me. Temper me. Burn the world beside me if I ask."
She stared up at him, heart racing. "And if I refuse to burn?"
"Then I'll protect the flame myself."
It wasn't a promise.
It was a vow.
His hand brushed her cheek—warm, gentle, reverent.
She didn't pull away.
And when his lips found hers, it wasn't fire or fury—it was something deeper. Something that felt like home.
Seraphina didn't know what tomorrow would bring. The third trial awaited. War brewed beyond the mountains. The curse still whispered in her blood.
But in that kiss, she remembered who she was.
Not cursed.
Not broken.
A queen in the making.
And the storm was just beginning.