The silence in the Hollow was deeper than before.
Eira stood before the Obsidian Mirror, her breath fogging the cold air, her reflection flickering between her own face and another—one with golden eyes, sunfire hair, and a crown of ash and flame.
Vaelaria.
The name echoed in her bones like a drumbeat.
Her knees buckled.
Lucien caught her before she hit the ground, his arms wrapping around her as if to pull her back from the chasm she teetered on.
"I saw everything," she whispered. "I saw… me."
Lucien lowered them to the cracked stone floor, shielding her from the whispering wind that swept through the ruined spire. His voice was steady but laced with worry. "What did the mirror show you?"
She looked up at him, eyes glazed with tears she didn't remember crying.
"I was someone else. My name was Vaelaria. I… I was the Flame."
Lucien tensed, his hands tightening slightly. "You remembered."
"It wasn't just memory," she said, voice hoarse. "I was her. I saw through her eyes. I felt everything. The fire, the burden, the love…" She closed her eyes. "And I saw Valtherion. He wasn't just a threat. He was… something more."
Lucien's jaw clenched. "What do you mean?"
She swallowed. "He loved her. Loved me. And when I chose to die to save the world, he couldn't accept it. He cursed me—not to punish me, but to keep me from dying again. To trap me in an endless cycle… of forgetting."
Lucien didn't speak for a long moment.
The only sound was the soft rustling of Eira's cloak in the cold wind.
"Do you still love him?" Lucien finally asked, his voice low. Tense.
Eira opened her eyes, startled. "What?"
Lucien's gaze met hers—dark, ancient, burning. "You loved him once. Deeply. Enough to nearly unravel the Veil. You chose death over staying with him. That's not a small thing."
Eira didn't answer immediately.
Her hands trembled in her lap.
"I loved him," she said. "But that love died with her. With Vaelaria."
She placed her palm gently over Lucien's chest.
"This heart beats for you now."
Lucien searched her face for any trace of doubt—but found none. He exhaled, tension fading from his shoulders as he pressed his forehead against hers.
"And if he comes for you?"
"Then we stop him. Together."
They returned to camp by twilight.
The others were waiting—Ravien sharpening his blades, Lyselle perched on a rock watching the horizon like a hawk, and Kairen tending to a small fire. Their eyes snapped to Eira the moment she emerged, pale and visibly shaken.
"What happened?" Lyselle asked, rising.
Eira met her gaze with new clarity. "I remembered who I was."
Kairen stilled. "So the rumors were true."
"It's not just power," Ravien murmured. "You are the Flame reborn."
Eira nodded. "My name was Vaelaria. I was a protector. A destroyer. A queen."
"And Valtherion?" Lyselle asked.
Eira's lips tightened. "He was my equal… once. But now? He's twisted by grief and obsession. He wants to bring Vaelaria back. Not me. He doesn't see the difference."
Lucien crossed his arms. "Then we make him see it—with fire and steel."
There was a grim silence.
Lyselle turned to Eira. "What do we do next?"
Eira looked to the east, where the stars now shimmered above the skeletal trees.
"The mirror showed me more than memories. It showed me a path."
She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small crystal—black as ink, thrumming with a faint inner pulse. It had appeared in her hand when she stepped away from the mirror.
"The city beneath the bones," she said. "That's where Valtherion is waking. The crystal is a key. It will lead us there."
Ravien gave a sharp whistle. "Wonderful. A cursed relic from a cursed god leading us to a cursed ruin. Just another day in paradise."
Kairen smirked. "Can't wait."
Lyselle sheathed her dagger. "When do we leave?"
"Soon," Eira said. "But not tonight. We rest. I need time to… adjust."
The others nodded, moving quietly back to their tasks.
Only Lucien lingered by her side.
As the camp settled into uneasy sleep, Eira sat beside the dwindling fire, the crystal resting in her hand. Lucien watched her from a few feet away, but gave her space.
Her mind spun with fragments.
Vaelaria.
The war.
Valtherion's touch.
His sorrow.
You will love others. And I will wait.
It was never supposed to be this way.
She curled her fingers around the crystal and whispered into the flames.
"I'm not yours anymore."
Later that night, she dreamt.
Not of fire or gods or war.
But of Lucien's hands in her hair.
His voice in her ear.
The way his presence chased back the cold.
He was her anchor now. Not the past. Not the crown of ashes.
But the man who saw her not as a weapon, or a goddess reborn—
—but as a woman worth loving for who she was now.
Eira.
Not Vaelaria.
And that was enough.