The chamber pulsed with power.
Ariella could barely breathe.
The moment her foot crossed the glowing circle beneath her, something ancient stirred to life—an energy that curled around her like smoke, like memory, like prophecy. Symbols lit across the stone, veins of fire tracing their way toward the center of the ritual floor.
Her knees hit the ground with a hard thud.
A voice, not her own, whispered through her mind.
You are the First Flame reborn. The chosen mother. The crowned queen of the lost bloodline. The key to what comes next.
"No," Ariella hissed, clawing at her own chest like she could rip the words out. "I didn't ask for this."
But her skin was burning. Her blood screamed. And Eleanor's voice—
"Mama!"
She turned.
Eleanor was still seated near the throne, flanked by robed figures. The child's eyes were wide and glistening, her lower lip trembling.
"Let her go!" Ariella roared, struggling to her feet.
