The temple ruins bled silver beneath the twilight. Seraphina stood at the threshold of what was once the House of Vale, her bare fingers brushing the broken stone arch, sensing the thrum of forgotten magic humming beneath her skin.
She didn't know what had drawn her here tonight—only that sleep felt suffocating, her dreams plagued with voices calling from fire and snow. Visions of Rowan's bloodstained hands and Julian's sorrow-drenched eyes danced through her restless thoughts like a curse.
The night wind swept through her long hair, carrying with it a whisper.
"He's watching you."
She spun around, the dagger at her thigh drawn without thought—but it wasn't a threat. It was Julian.
He stepped into the moonlight, his white coat fluttering behind him like wings. "You shouldn't be here alone."
"Neither should you," she said. Her voice cracked on the edge of something she hadn't named yet.
Julian's gaze softened, catching the way her hands trembled before she tucked the blade away.
"There's something you should see," he murmured, eyes downcast. "Come."
---
They walked in silence deeper into the ruin, past statues half-swallowed by ivy and faded murals that told stories of a world Seraphina had never seen. And then he stopped.
At their feet lay a crest—burned into the stone.
A phoenix.
Seraphina blinked. "What is this?"
"Your family's mark. The real one. Before the royals buried your history in favor of a lie."
Julian reached into his coat, pulling out an old scroll. It crackled like dried leaves as he unrolled it.
"You were marked from birth, Sera," he whispered. "Not just by fate. But by prophecy."
She stepped back. "Don't speak like Rowan."
Julian flinched, just slightly. But enough.
"You don't trust me either."
She looked away. "I don't know who to trust."
---
The moment broke when fire lit the horizon.
Rowan's presence arrived before he did—like a storm building in her chest.
He stalked through the broken arches, all shadow and menace, his dark coat billowing with purpose. His blade was sheathed for now, but his voice was sharper than steel.
"What are you doing with him?"
Julian stood tall, but there was something brittle in his stance.
"She has the right to know."
"You don't get to decide that," Rowan growled.
Seraphina stepped between them, her heart a live wire. "Enough. Both of you. I'm not yours to fight over."
They froze. For a moment, even the wind dared not speak.
Rowan's gaze found hers. And something cracked.
"You were never supposed to see this place," he said, voice low. "It changes things."
"It already has."
She turned to Julian. "Is it true? About the prophecy?"
He nodded once.
Rowan's silence was answer enough.
The betrayal hit differently this time. Not loud. Not cruel. Just cold.
She felt the distance between them open like a canyon.
---
Later, Seraphina sat alone by the broken fountain, her fingers tracing the carved phoenix wings.
Julian had left first—quietly, respectfully. Rowan stayed just long enough to pretend he wasn't watching her. But she knew. He never truly left.
She closed her eyes.
What was love when soaked in lies?
What was loyalty when everyone had a motive?
Her heart warred within her: Rowan, with his brutal honesty and unshakable desire to protect her—even from truth. Julian, with his gentler betrayal, offering her freedom wrapped in secrets.
But love?
Love was the slow death of certainty.
---
Somewhere, deep in the mountains, a creature stirred.
One not seen in centuries. Cloaked in moonlight, it opened its eyes.
The Vale had been marked.
And the prophecy had begun.