The steps wound downward like a spiral into the soul of the earth.
Each one Ariana took felt like walking into a memory not her own—flashes of fire, war, and a woman cloaked in light and shadow flickered behind her eyes. Her bare feet brushed ancient stone as she descended deeper, past time and truth.
Damian and Kairo followed, but even they sensed the shift.
It wasn't just silence.
It was reverence.
Finally, the staircase ended. Ariana stepped into a vast chamber carved of obsidian and bone-white marble. The air was thick with the scent of ash and roses, and a strange warmth pulsed in the walls—like the heartbeat of a sleeping god.
At the center of the chamber stood a mirror.
But it didn't reflect.
It showed a woman.
Her.
Yet not her.
This version of Ariana had white hair like moonlight and eyes that flickered gold and crimson. Fire danced at her fingertips, and her crown wasn't of gold, but of flame. She stood with tears running down her cheeks, and when she opened her mouth, her voice spoke into Ariana's soul.
"You are me, and I am all the women who burned before you."
Ariana couldn't move.
The vision continued, images racing behind the woman's words—generations of flamebearers, each one hunted, each one betrayed. Some went mad. Some turned cruel. Others sacrificed everything to keep their fire from consuming the world.
"Our blood was forged from the breath of the first star," the woman said. "But power that burns too brightly... is feared."
"That's why they broke us. Hid us. Called us witches. Demons. Unworthy."
Ariana's knees gave out. She dropped before the mirror, hands pressed to the floor, shaking.
"I didn't ask for this," she whispered. "I just wanted to be free."
"And now you must decide what kind of fire you will be. Will you scorch the world that tried to bury you—or warm it despite the pain?"
She felt arms around her.
Damian.
He was on his knees beside her, silent, no trace of the cold prince left in his gaze—only a man watching someone he loved break beneath the truth.
Kairo stood a few steps back, face torn with emotions he couldn't voice. He wanted to reach for her too, but knew—this pain wasn't his to carry.
Ariana turned to the mirror. Her reflection had returned. Her real one. Bruised. Worn. Eyes rimmed with red.
"I don't want to become a monster."
"Then don't," the voice answered gently. "The fire only becomes cruel when the heart forgets why it burns."
And with that, the mirror shattered.
But no shards hit the ground. They became embers—rising upward, spinning around Ariana like stars, whispering every name of every woman who came before her. Her bloodline wasn't a curse.
It was a legacy.
And it had chosen her.
Damian helped her stand. She swayed once—but stayed upright.
"You saw everything, didn't you?" she asked softly.
"I saw enough," he murmured. "Enough to know... I was wrong to fear you."
Ariana looked up at him. "I'm still afraid of myself."
He took her hand. "Then I'll be brave for both of us. Until you are ready."
Tears welled again. But this time, they were different.
Not from fear.
From hope.
The three of them ascended the stairs again.
Ariana's fire dimmed to a warm glow beneath her skin. The world hadn't changed.
But she had.