Kaelira didn't return to her room. She couldn't. Instead, she wandered the castle like a ghost—through the old chapel halls, through the abandoned east wing, until she found herself standing in front of a sealed wooden door marked by a faded sigil: a sun bleeding into a crescent moon.
The symbol of the Eclipsed. A lost faction. A myth. The last witches who walked both day and night. She didn't remember ever learning about them. But her hand moved on its own. She pushed open the door.
---
Dust coated everything. Books. Bones. A cracked mirror against the far wall. She stepped forward. The air felt thick, like it held breath of its own. Then—her reflection shifted. Just slightly. A blink of a figure in the mirror who wasn't her. Not quite. The face was the same. But the eyes… were gold. Flames danced behind them. Kaelira gasped, stumbling backward. Behind her, the candles on the wall flickered to life—all at once. A presence moved in the room. Not Dorian. Older. Hungrier. Then a whisper: "You are not ready to remember. Yet."
---
She fled. Out of the wing, down the corridor, breath catching in her throat. When she reached her room, Marek was already waiting, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "I've received word," he said. "Bride Seven has arrived. From the mountain clans." Kaelira swallowed. "When's the ceremony?"
"Tomorrow night. You'll be bound before witnesses. After that… your window closes." She looked away. "Dorian knows everything." Marek stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Then end this. During the binding. In front of them all. Strike fast. Strike clean." She hesitated. "What if they're right?"
"Who?"
"Everyone. What if I was her? Anira?"
Marek stiffened. Then said coldly, "Then you owe it to this life to do what she failed to: finish the war she started."
---
That night, Kaelira dreamed in fire again. But it wasn't the usual dream. This time, she was bound in red silk, standing in a circle of flames. Dorian knelt before her—his hands bleeding, his eyes pleading.
"Don't do it," he said.
But she couldn't stop. The blade in her hand glowed like a star. She looked down at him and whispered:
"You should've killed me when you had the chance."
Then everything turned white.
---
She woke up gasping. Her sheets were damp. Her hands—trembling. The sun was setting. One more night before the binding. One more day to choose who she was— Kaelira the assassin.
Or Anira the flame.