They reached the ruins by midday.
Hidden deep in the Northern Vale, the ancient temple had long been forgotten by time and man alike. Overgrown with ivy and half-swallowed by the forest, it stood silent, weathered, and pulsing faintly with a magic that Eira could feel in her bones.
"This is where the first Flames were crowned," Lucien said as he stood before its shattered gates. "And where the last one died."
Eira stepped beside him, staring up at the carvings etched into the cracked stone. Winged beings with crowns of fire. A woman kneeling before a circle of black thorns. And beneath it all—an image of the Veil itself, drawn as a serpent with a mouth full of stars.
"Why bring me here?" she asked.
Lucien turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Because it's time you remembered what you once were."
Eira's breath caught.
"You want me to relive her death?"
"I want you to reclaim your truth."
She looked away, uncertain. But the warmth in her chest—the pull she'd felt since crossing into this world—was strongest here. It was as though her very soul recognized this place.
Lyselle stepped forward, placing a small iron mirror in Eira's palm. "Drink this," she said, offering a vial of silvery liquid. "It will connect your magic to the memory stored in these stones. But it may be painful."
Eira didn't hesitate.
She drank.
At first, nothing happened. Then the world tilted.
The sky rippled like silk in water. Trees faded into ash. The ruins around her crumbled further until she was standing in the center of the temple as it had once been—whole, radiant, alive with flame.
She was no longer Eira.
She was the first Flame.
And she remembered everything.
A throne of obsidian. A council of winged creatures. A war tearing apart realms. And at the center of it all—a man cloaked in darkness, with silver eyes and a voice that bled sorrow.
Lucien.
But not the Lucien she knew. This one was younger, angrier, his heart still raw from betrayal. He had come to her once, pleading. Not as a king—but as a man in love.
"Don't do this," he had begged. "Don't seal yourself away."
"If I don't, they'll come through," she'd replied. "And your kingdom will fall."
"I'd rather lose my kingdom than lose you."
She had smiled—a tragic, radiant thing.
"But if I don't do this, you'll lose yourself."
And then she'd stepped into the circle. Flames had risen. Her name—her true name—had been spoken in the language of gods. And she'd burned, not to die, but to become a barrier between worlds.
When Eira's vision cleared, she was on her knees in the ruins again, gasping.
Lucien was beside her instantly.
"What did you see?"
Eira met his gaze, tears in her eyes. "You."
Lucien looked away, his voice rough. "Then you saw what I did."
"You loved her."
"I did."
"And now?"
He turned back to her, brushing the damp hair from her face.
"Now, I love you."
She blinked, stunned. "But I'm her. I mean—I was her—"
"You carry her. But you are not her. And the part of me that grieved her… that part has healed. Because you gave it something new to feel."
His words landed deep, settling into her chest like a key in a long-locked door.
Before she could respond, Ravien called from the edge of the ruins. "We've got movement!"
Lucien rose, sword drawn in an instant. Eira followed, fire flickering at her fingertips.
They ran to the broken courtyard, where shadowy figures moved through the trees—dozens of them. Too many for it to be coincidence.
"The Order," Kairen growled. "They've found us."
Sure enough, armored figures in silver-and-red robes emerged, weapons drawn, eyes glowing with corrupted magic. At their head stood a man with skin like cracked stone and golden runes etched down his arms.
"Lord Malric," Lucien said grimly.
Eira stared. "You know him?"
"He was once my advisor. Before he betrayed me and joined the Order."
Malric smiled, his voice like honey over razors. "Lucien. Always so dramatic. And you've brought her to the ruins. How poetic."
Eira stepped forward. "What do you want?"
"You, of course," Malric said. "Or more accurately—what's inside you. The Flame. The Veil's greatest key."
"You'll never have it."
He raised a hand, and dark fire coiled in his palm. "Then I'll take it by force."
The battle that followed was chaos.
Lucien clashed with Malric in a storm of blood magic and steel, their movements like lightning—violent and beautiful. Ravien, Kairen, and Lyselle held the line against a dozen zealots. And Eira…
Eira fought like fire incarnate.
Her magic danced with precision now, not wild bursts but controlled arcs of light and heat. She burned through spells with ease, spun between strikes like a wind-fed blaze, and lit the ruins in gold.
But Malric was powerful. Too powerful.
He struck Lucien down with a blast of cursed light, sending him crashing through a stone column. Eira screamed, turning toward him.
Malric grabbed her by the throat.
"Let's see what kind of god you really are," he snarled.
Eira gasped, trying to summon flame—but the magic fizzled. Her vision blurred. Malric raised his hand, preparing the killing blow.
Then came a sound like thunder.
Lucien.
He rose from the rubble, blood dripping from his brow, eyes glowing red and gold.
"Touch her again," he growled, "and I will erase your soul from every realm."
Malric laughed. "You can't even stand."
"I don't need to stand."
He flung his hand forward—and shadows surged from the ground like a tidal wave. They consumed Malric, dragging him into the earth with a scream that echoed for miles.
Silence fell.
Eira collapsed beside Lucien, pulling him into her arms. "You're bleeding."
"So are you."
They laughed—broken and breathless.
"You saved me," she whispered.
Lucien leaned in, forehead to hers. "Always."
As dawn rose over the ruins, the remaining Order members scattered. The battle was won, but the war was far from over.
Still, in that moment, with Lucien's arms around her and her fire still warm in her chest, Eira allowed herself to hope.
Because together, they were becoming something unstoppable.