Lucien placed a shard of onyx against her palm. Cold. Sharp.
“Give it blood,” he said.
“Yours or mine?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
She bit her palm and let it bleed.
The room spun.
Magic ignited. Shadows danced.
The past…spoke.
She saw a woman—tall, beautiful, eyes made of flame.
A queen. Drakar. One of her ancestors.
Then betrayal.
Chains made of whitefire. A man screaming as his soul was torn from his chest and sealed beneath the Veil. His blood turned to storm. His fire… unnatural.
He looked like Cassian.
The queen’s voice echoed in Seraphine’s ears:“The Hollow feeds on memory. And so we will bury it in lies.”
Seraphine dropped to her knees.
When it ended, Lucien was the one who steadied her.
Evryn watched quietly, arms crossed.
Seraphine’s voice shook. “We erased them.”
Lucien’s silver gaze sharpened. “Your House did.”
“And now it’s coming back. Because we didn’t kill it. Welocked it away.”
Evryn tilted her head. “You thought the Heartblade would seal it again.”
Seraphine nodded. “It was supposed to. That’s what I was told.”
Lucien stepped back. “They didn’t lie, Dragonborn. But they didn’t tell you everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“The blade doesn’t seal the Hollow.” Evryn’s voice was soft. Pained. “Itchoosesthe one who will.”
Seraphine’s breath caught. “What if it’s not me?”
Lucien’s mouth twisted. “Then the one you’re chasing will die for nothing.”
Hours later, she sat in the windowed alcove of a forgotten tower, staring into the mist-veiled forest.
Evryn approached quietly, offering a cup of honey-laced wine.
“He’s not dead, you know.”
