THE CATACOMBS BENEATH

The ride to St. Elora's was silent. Tense. The storm clouds above the city mirrored the ones building inside Aurora. Her fingers tapped nervously against her thigh as she sat beside Zayne, Fiona and Ethan in the back seat. The streets passed by in blurs of grey and gold, the glow of the streetlights dimmed by the approaching blood moon.

"This archivist," Aurora said at last, breaking the silence. "What's he like?"

Ethan glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "He's... unpredictable. But he owes me. And if there's anyone who understands forbidden magic, it's him."

Zayne's jaw tightened. "What's his name?"

Ethan hesitated. "They call him Magister Croix. He used to be a seer for the High Circle before he was exiled."

Zayne scoffed. "Of course he was."

Fiona leaned forward between the seats. "Why was he exiled?"

"For speaking truths no one wanted to hear."

St. Elora's Chapel

They parked near the abandoned chapel ruins of St. Elora's, cloaked in vines and shadow. Once a haven for sanctified magic, it had been sealed after the last Witch Trials—when the council buried their sins beneath stone and scripture.

Ethan led them down a hidden stairwell at the altar, past broken pews and dust-covered relics. The air grew colder with each step, the scent of old incense and decay thickening.

"Welcome to the catacombs," he muttered.

They reached a rusted iron gate, covered in runes. Ethan pressed his palm to a sigil. The metal glowed faintly and creaked open.

Inside, the catacombs opened into a vast underground chamber filled with books, relics, and floating candles. Scrolls hovered midair, turning their own pages. Ancient tomes whispered incantations to themselves.

At the center, a figure hunched over a table, scribbling with a quill that moved too fast to be human. The man was gaunt, his hair long and silver, his eyes milky-white. He wore a patchwork robe of stitched-together scriptures.

"You brought guests," he rasped without turning. "How rude, Ethan."

Ethan stepped forward. "We need your help, Croix. It's about the curse of the first flame."

Croix froze. The quill stopped mid-word.

Slowly, he turned.

And smiled.

The Archivist's Warning

Croix studied Aurora for a long moment, then tilted his head. "You carry her fire. The Matron's brand. But it hasn't consumed you... not yet."

"I want to break it," Aurora said firmly.

Croix chuckled. "You cannot break what was never bound. The curse was not a prison. It was a seed."

Zayne frowned. "What do you mean?"

Croix reached for a dusty scroll, unfurling it. On it was an old depiction of a woman standing in a ring of fire, six shadows behind her, and a serpent eating its own tail above them.

"The original curse was not meant to punish. It was meant to prepare."

Fiona stepped closer. "Prepare for what?"

Croix's eyes gleamed. "The Awakening. When the flame-blooded would rise again—and decide the fate of both kin and kind."

Aurora's voice trembled. "Me?"

"Yes," Croix said. "But not just you. There is another. The flame was split in two at birth. One light. One shadow."

Zayne turned to Aurora. "You never mentioned—"

"I didn't know," she whispered.

Croix nodded. "The blood moon brings the veil down. The twin will rise. And only one can survive."

Silence fell like a guillotine.

A Hidden Prophecy

Croix walked to a locked cabinet and drew out a tattered manuscript. "This," he said, "is the true prophecy. The one the High Circle buried."

He laid it out before them. It was written in a forgotten dialect, but the illustration was clear: two girls born of fire, one marked with light, the other wrapped in shadows. Behind them, the world burned. Below them, a heart pierced by a blade.

"There is a ritual," Croix continued. "Ancient. Dangerous. It allows one twin to absorb the flame of the other—binding their power completely."

Zayne scowled. "You want her to kill her own blood?"

Croix shrugged. "I offer knowledge. Not judgment."

Aurora stared at the image. "I don't even know if this other half exists."

"She does," Croix said. "And she's already looking for you."

The room darkened. A wind howled through the catacombs, extinguishing every candle at once.

Croix's voice dropped to a whisper. "She's coming."

The First Attack

The ceiling above them cracked. Dust rained down.

Then a shriek—high and piercing—ripped through the air. Shadows poured through the broken walls like smoke, twisting and clawing with spectral fingers.

"Wraiths," Fiona hissed. "She sent them!"

Aurora reached for her magic instinctively—and flames burst from her hands, illuminating the chamber in gold and red.

Zayne stepped in front of her, sword drawn from the ether, slicing through the shadows as they charged. Ethan backed him up, summoning sigils that exploded with kinetic force.

Fiona transformed—her eyes glowing silver, fangs bared. She tackled one of the wraiths with primal fury.

Aurora's fire surged, brighter, hotter—until the entire catacomb blazed with her power.

The wraiths screamed.

And then vanished.

Croix stood at the edge, unharmed. "Well," he said calmly, brushing ash from his sleeve. "That confirms it."

"Confirms what?" Aurora asked breathlessly.

"You've awakened fully," he said. "And your twin... has too."

End of Chapter 19