CHAPTER 9

Chapter 9: The Shattered Sigil

The Vault of Thorns echoed with silence after Kael's final words. The mural of the girl with fire in her hands loomed large, casting a flickering glow from the lanterns across the chamber like the flames themselves were alive.

Liora couldn't tear her eyes away.

Her fingers brushed the painted flame, and a low hum vibrated beneath her skin, as if the wall were breathing—waiting. As if some ancient part of her recognized the moment it had been shaped to fulfill.

Behind her, Riven stood stiffly, arms crossed, but his eyes betrayed a rare hesitance.

"This prophecy," he said finally. "It's not just some ancient myth, is it?"

"No," Kael answered. "It was recorded in blood and sealed by flame—woven into the very bones of Wyrmere."

"And now it's waking in her," Riven said softly.

Liora turned, a tremor in her voice. "If the Council finds out—"

"They already know," Kael cut in, gaze sharpening. "Some of them, at least. The fire in the eastern wing—that wasn't just destruction. It was a warning. Someone is accelerating this."

"Why?" Riven asked. "Why now?"

Kael's expression darkened. "Because something older than Wyrmere is stirring. And your awakening is the first crack in the seal."

He stepped closer to Liora, lowering his voice. "You must be prepared. If you die before the flame fully awakens, the seal will shatter in a way no one can contain. But if you survive long enough…"

Liora swallowed. "Then what?"

"Then you might have a chance to stop it."

---

The next few days passed in a blur.

Riven and Liora kept to themselves, working in silence, training together when they could. They reviewed forbidden texts Kael slipped them under the table, each revealing more about the Flameborn lineage, the old magics of Wyrmere, and the war that had ended it.

But nothing unsettled them more than what they found on the seventh night.

It was an old report, half-burnt and written in code. Liora decrypted it slowly, piece by piece, until the name at the bottom finally emerged:

Councilor Varent Lysaire.

Riven cursed, shoving away from the desk. "Julia's father. Of course."

"He was part of the original inquisition," Liora murmured, reading the faded text. "He helped hunt down the last of the Wyrmere line."

Riven paced. "Then Julia has every reason to hate you."

"But she doesn't know," Liora said. "She can't. Not fully."

"Doesn't mean she won't be used."

They shared a look.

The danger was no longer in the shadows.

It was in the halls.

---

The next morning, Riven disappeared.

Liora searched the usual places—training halls, the archives, even the eastern cliff where he often brooded when he thought no one was watching.

Nothing.

She finally found Kael, his face pale, his tone grave.

"He was summoned to the Council chamber early this morning," Kael said. "Alone."

Liora's heart dropped. "Why?"

"They said it was a disciplinary matter. But that's a lie."

"Then where is he now?"

Kael's silence was answer enough.

"They're holding him," she whispered. "Because he knows."

Kael nodded once. "And because he protected you."

---

Liora couldn't wait.

That night, she slipped into the lower levels of the academy, cloaked in illusions and shadow. The prison cells were buried deep in the underwings, guarded by enchantments, enchanted blades, and worse.

She evaded two sentries, bypassed a warded archway, and finally reached the holding corridor.

To her surprise, there was no one.

The cell doors were lined in obsidian and silver—a material designed to suppress power. Most were empty.

Except one.

Riven sat inside, his back against the wall, shirt torn, bruises painting his arms. He looked up at her with a scowl.

"Took you long enough."

She rushed to the bars. "What did they do to you?"

"Just asked questions. The bruises came when I refused to answer."

She hissed under her breath. "I'm getting you out."

"They've sealed the door with a bloodlock. It needs Council lineage."

Liora's brows furrowed. "Wait…"

She fumbled in her satchel and pulled out a ring. Golden, with a ruby in the center.

It had once belonged to her mother.

And her mother had been Wyrmere royalty—descended, at one point, from a line that had intermarried with the Warborn elite.

She pressed it to the lock.

The sigil flared—then clicked.

The cell door creaked open.

Riven stared at her, stunned. "You really are full of surprises."

"No time for compliments," she said, pulling him to his feet. "Let's go."

---

They fled into the shadows, slipping through a side passage into the outer court. But as they crossed the threshold, a figure stepped into their path.

Julia.

She was dressed not in her usual silk, but in battle leathers, her hand on the hilt of a dagger that gleamed with emerald enchantment.

"You really are a traitor, Riven," she said, voice cold. "I should have known."

He stepped in front of Liora. "Move, Julia."

"I told the Council you were compromised. That you were too close to her. That you'd betray everything we were raised to believe."

"I am betraying it," Riven growled. "Because it was all a lie."

Julia's lip curled. "You used to be smarter than this."

"You used to be less of a snake."

She lunged.

Riven deflected her easily, but Julia wasn't aiming to kill. She was buying time.

Liora felt the shift in the air—the sudden pull of magic. A flare in her gut.

A binding spell.

She yanked Riven back just as five robed figures appeared around them—Council enforcers, cloaked and masked.

"She's awakening," one of them hissed. "Take her."

Liora felt the fire surge through her chest—wild, untrained, desperate.

"No."

The flame erupted from her hands in a burst of golden light.

The blast threw the enforcers back, scorching the grass and cracking the ground beneath her feet. Julia staggered away, eyes wide in disbelief.

Liora swayed, the energy coursing through her like molten rivers.

Riven caught her as she nearly collapsed.

"We have to move," he said urgently. "They'll regroup."

Together, they ran—through the western gate, down the hidden path Kael had once shown them, and into the wilderness beyond the academy walls.

---

By dawn, they reached the edge of the Thornwood, a forest older than kingdoms, dense with magic and legend.

They stopped beneath a twisted ash tree, breath ragged.

Liora leaned against the bark, eyes burning. "What now?"

Riven was quiet for a moment, then finally said, "Now we stop running."

She looked at him, confused.

"We go to the source," he continued. "The place where the flame was first bound. The ruins of Wyrmere."

Liora's breath caught.

"No one's been there in a generation."

"Then it's time someone returned."

He met her eyes.

"You are the last heir. The fire chose you. But you won't face this alone."

She stared at him—at the boy who had once mocked her, tried to break her, and now stood beside her like a blade drawn for war.

"You're not what I thought you were," she whispered.

A flicker of something crossed his face—grief, maybe, or hope.

"Neither are you."

They turned toward the forest, where ancient power slept beneath roots and stone, and began their journey—together.

---

Far behind them, in the crumbled remains of the old mirror vault, the cracks spread wider.

And the thing within—the thing bound in silence and shadow—opened its eyes.