The dream returned the night after Lucien left.
It always came on the edge of sleep—like memory twisted into prophecy, wrapping around her thoughts like ivy choking stone.
Seraphina stood at the threshold of a chamber made of obsidian.
The walls were alive—etched with glowing runes that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. The air buzzed with energy, thick with something older than magic. Something watching.
At the center of the room sat a crown.
Not gold. Not jeweled.A thing woven of thorns and starlight.It flickered in and out of form, as if it didn't belong in any one world.
She stepped toward it.
Her bare feet touched the glass floor, sending ripples of light beneath her.
The crown shimmered.
And then—she felt him.
Lucien.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. He stood in the shadow of a rune-marked pillar, eyes like a moonless night, watching her with something unreadable.
"How are you here?" she whispered.
"I followed your shadow," he said, voice soft, distant.
"You always follow. Never lead."
"Because you always walk toward danger."
She turned away. "It's not danger I seek. It's truth."
The crown began to glow brighter, humming like a song trapped beneath water. Symbols curled around it—sigils she'd seen before.
The same ones etched into Lucien's gloves.
"Do you know what it is?" she asked, not looking at him.
"I've dreamed of it, too," he said after a pause. "Before you returned."
Her breath caught. He remembered. Not everything. But something.
"Then tell me," she said, turning to face him fully, "what are you?"
He didn't move.
And the crown flared—so bright it forced her to close her eyes.
When she opened them, Lucien was gone.
And in his place stood a shadow wearing his face.
The runes screamed.
And Seraphina woke—gasping, heart pounding, sweat beading at her temple.
It was still night.The candle beside her bed had burned down to a stub.
She sat up slowly, running a hand through her tangled hair.
That dream… it wasn't just a memory. Not anymore.
It was a warning.
She climbed out of bed, wrapping herself in a cloak, and crossed the room to her writing desk. Her fingers trembled slightly as she lit a fresh candle and opened the notebook she'd started filling since her return.
She turned to a blank page and wrote in bold, slanted script:
The Crown is real.Lucien has seen it too.The runes match.He knows something.He remembers something.He's hiding the truth.
She stared at the words for a long moment before adding one more line beneath them:
I still feel him.
The next morning, the sun rose red.
Seraphina sat alone in the library, wrapped in a robe, sipping bitter tea she hadn't sweetened. The fire crackled behind her, but it brought no warmth.
She turned a page of the tome she was reading—an ancient manuscript on lost royal relics—and paused.
There it was.
A faint sketch.
A crown made not of metal, but of thorns and light.
The Crown of Continuance.
She traced the faded drawing.
"Said to appear only in dreams shared by those cursed by time…"
"…those marked by prophecy, betrayal, or unfinished fate."
Beneath it, a passage:
If two souls dream the same dream, one has already died, and the other has yet to awaken.
Her breath stilled.
Lucien had seen it too.And that meant… he had been touched by death. Or by her.
Maybe both.
"You look troubled," came a voice from the door.
Seraphina didn't turn. "Good morning, Lucien."
He entered without ceremony, his presence dimming the room even in daylight. "Studying relics before breakfast? How very unromantic of you."
"Romance is wasted on the damned," she replied, closing the book gently.
He stopped beside her chair. "And are we damned, Seraphina?"
She looked up. "One of us died. The other let it happen. You tell me."
He didn't flinch.
"You were dreaming last night," he said. "I felt it."
"You felt it?" she echoed, heart jumping.
"I woke at midnight," he murmured. "With the taste of ash and stars on my tongue."
Her hands tightened around the book.
"You've been to the chamber too," she said.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he sat across from her and picked up the open book. He read the passage, eyes narrowing faintly.
Then, softly: "You think this crown is real?"
"I think it's more real than anything else in this cursed court."
Lucien traced the sketch with a gloved finger. "If it is… then we're already in its grip."
For a moment, they said nothing.
The fire popped behind them. The wind outside howled through the stone arches.
"You once told me," Seraphina said slowly, "that love was a battlefield."
"I meant it."
"Well, this time, I'm armed."
"I know."
She rose to her feet, the robe swirling behind her.
"I'm going to find the crown," she said. "I'm going to find the truth."
He stood too. "And what if the truth damns us both?"
"Then we'll burn together," she said.
Lucien's eyes darkened. "You've always been dangerous."
"And you've always wanted danger."