The night whispered secrets through the ancient trees as Ava stood beneath the boughs of the woodland path. Cloaked in black, her steps soundless on the mossy ground, she followed Damien deeper into the thicket that bordered the southern wall of Midston's castle. No guards patrolled here. No servants wandered. Only moonlight and mist bore witness.
Damien moved with surety, his hand never far from the hilt of his blade. Ava kept pace, her fingers brushing the folds of the letter from Queen Lysara. She had read it again that morning, hidden beneath her pillow like a talisman. The words still pulsed through her.
"When the stars scream and the garden burns..."
They reached the crumbling remains of an ivy-choked gate. Beyond it, broken statues leaned in crooked angles around a stone arch, half-sunken into the earth. Damien brushed aside the overgrowth and knelt, revealing a metal grate beneath dead leaves and soil.
"Help me," he said.
Together, they pulled the rusted grate open. A ladder descended into darkness.
"No light," Damien warned, slipping into the hole.
Ava followed, lowering herself into the cold. The descent was steep and the air damp, laced with the smell of old stone and forgotten magic. At the bottom, the narrow tunnel opened into a vault of carved stone. Ava lit a small flame in the lantern Damien handed her. It flickered pale blue—the same hue as the magic he'd shown her the night before.
"This was once a sanctuary," he whispered. "Before her memory was erased, Queen Lysara built this place in secret—half tomb, half refuge."
The corridor stretched ahead, its walls engraved with symbols that shimmered faintly. Ava brushed one, feeling warmth in the runes.
"She enchanted them," Damien said. "Protection... or warning."
They walked in silence until the corridor opened into a chamber shaped like a crescent moon. The walls were lined with old tapestries—mostly rotted, but one remained, preserved by magic. It depicted a woman in dark robes holding a blade of light in one hand and a scroll in the other. Her face was eerily similar to Ava's.
"She looks like me," Ava whispered.
Damien nodded. "Lysara was your great-grandmother. Her blood flows through you. The kingdom buried her memory, yes—but they could not erase the legacy."
At the far end of the chamber stood a stone dais. Upon it rested a sealed sarcophagus, its lid carved with symbols that shimmered when Ava stepped close.
Damien moved beside her, lowering his voice. "This is the heart of it. Her true tomb."
Ava reached out—then paused.
A gust of air stirred the chamber, though no wind should have touched it.
From the darkness, a voice rose. Not words. A whisper, old and layered, like wind brushing dry bones.
Ava froze.
Damien stiffened, his eyes darting.
"Someone's here," Ava murmured.
"No. Something," he replied grimly.
The air rippled. One of the symbols above the sarcophagus flared crimson, and the temperature dropped sharply. From the shadows, a shape emerged—neither spirit nor beast. It moved like mist but carried weight. Its form shimmered, like cloth in water. Eyes opened—glowing violet, without soul or pupil.
A ward.
Ava stepped back instinctively, but the thing didn't advance.
"It's bound here," Damien said. "An old spell. A test. It only attacks those unworthy."
Ava's voice trembled. "What makes me worthy?"
"Only one way to find out."
The ward turned its gaze on Ava, and a sound echoed—low, guttural, like a question in a forgotten tongue. Ava didn't understand the words, but she felt the meaning.
Prove yourself.
She stepped forward.
The ward shifted, tendrils of mist swirling around her. It extended one limb toward her chest—not touching, but hovering above her heart.
Ava's body tensed. Then, her vision flashed.
She stood again in the dream-ruined Midston, ash falling like snow. The crown upon her head burned. Behind her, the Revenant whispered—tempting, cruel.
But then—light.
From within, it bloomed. Warm. Steady.
Ava raised her hand. In her palm, a flicker of silver fire sparked—her fire.
She turned toward the ward in reality.
"I am not her yet," Ava said aloud. "But I choose the path. Not because of prophecy—but because I must."
The silver fire appeared again, dancing in her hand like a loyal memory.
The ward studied her. Then—bowed.
It vanished.
Damien exhaled.
"You did it," he said, awe in his voice.
Ava swayed slightly. He caught her.
"It pulled something from me," she murmured. "Something deep."
"That's the price of legacy."
Together, they approached the sarcophagus.
Ava pressed her hand to the seal. The runes shifted. The lid slid open with a low groan.
Inside lay the mummified remains of Queen Lysara—robed in black, her hands folded over a crystal vial.
At her feet, a leather-bound book rested.
Damien took the book gently. The title read: Noctis Lux – The Grimoire of Light and Shadow.
"This is it," he whispered.
Ava reached for the crystal vial. The moment her fingers closed around it, a jolt ran through her. Images—memories—flashed.
A garden burning.
A star falling.
A silver stag beneath a crimson tree.
She stumbled.
Damien caught her again.
"Visions," she gasped. "Like pieces of her memory."
"She's speaking to you."
The weight of it settled in Ava's chest—not just the knowledge, but the burden. The responsibility. She had opened a door she could never close.
They left the tomb in silence, the grimoire and vial hidden beneath Ava's cloak.
At the top of the tunnel, dawn had begun to edge the sky with lavender and rose. The stars faded. The wind stirred.
"Ava," Damien said before she slipped away, "when the time comes... you must not hesitate."
She looked at him—eyes clearer than they had been in days.
"I won't."