bChapter /bb148 /b

*Jiselle

The fire in the Gatekeeper camp didn’t crackle. It pulsed.

Each flicker moved with purpose, as if responding to unseen rhythms I couldn’t hear. The mes were violet–tinged like my own but quieter–measured, ancient. They didn’t threaten. They watched.

So did the people.

Dozens of eyes followed my every step through the stone–etched corridor behind the veiled leader’s tent. No one spoke. Not one finger twitched toward a de, but still, I felt the weight of a thousand unspoken warnings. I wasn’t wee.

I wasn’t unwee either.

I was something else entirely.

At the end of the corridor, a tall arch awaited–etched with more of the sigils that had begun appearing everywhere since my awakening, I recognized a few now: bnce, threshold, origin, memory. But others were still a mystery. Symbols not drawn from the academy’s texts, nor even the rogue scrolls Bastain had shown me. Older.

The veiled man who had dered me “threshold” gestured without speaking. The p beside the arch lifted.

She stepped through it.

Serina.

She looked almost exactly as I remembered her from the visions–tall, angrb, /bethereal in that quiet, unshakable way. Her cloak brushed the floor like smokeb, /bband /bher hair was loose, woven with starlight strands that shimmered when she moved.

But her eyes–those were the same. Familiar. Too familiar.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t rush to embrace me.

“Hello, Jiselle,” she said.

Her voice was low. Fluid. A current hidden beneath calm waters.

“I-I thought you died,” I managed.

She tilted her head. “I did. In some ways.”

“I saw you burn,” I whispered. “In the memory. On the cliff. I felt it.”

“You felt a moment,” she said. “Not an ending.”

That was when I realized the truth.

This wasn’t resurrection.

It was return.

b“/bYou’re not just some echo,” I said slowly. “You’re alive.”

Her gaze didn’t shift. “Alive enough.”

The silence between us stretched, threaded with something neither of us wanted to name.

b09:18 /bbWed/b, 4 Jun

b“/bbI /bthought you’d be bd/b,” I said after a moment. “To see me. To see that I livedb.” /b

b“/bbI /bbam/bb,/bb” /bshe said. “But you misunderstand. I didn’t shape your path. I didn’t leave you clues. You were never meant to follow me

b“/bbThen /bwhy am I here?”

She walked closer, slow and deliberate. “Because you are what I could not be.”

I took a step back. “What does that mean?”

She didn’t answer directly.

Instead, she extended a hand. “Walk with me.”

Thesitated–but followed.

The path twisted beneath the mountain. No torches. Just veins of glowing violet running through the stone, like the leyline itself had curled into the earth here to sleep.

“Why did you let them think you were dead?” I asked.

“Because being Serina is dangerousb,/b” she said. “Even now. Especially now.”

“But if they knew you lived-”

“They would try to use me. The same way they’ll try to use you.”

Her words hung heavy.

“I’m not theirs to use.”

She nced at me. “A tool rarely knows it’s a tool until it’s already broken.”

We stopped in front of a sealed door. No lock. No handle. Just a smooth b of star–metal and sigils etched deep into its surface. She ced her palm over one of them.

The door hissed open.

The air that poured out was colder than I expected–old air, untouched by time.

Inside was a chamber carved into raw obsidian. The walls glowed with embedded runes–each one distinctb, /bbut each one part bof /bba /bpatternb. /bCircles. Spirals. me. Chains. Memory. Echo. Veil. Origin.

And names.

So many names.

Some were smudged. Some burned into the wall. Some still glowed with fresh light.

My eyes scanned until I saw it.

JISELLE.

Etched beside names I couldn’t pronounce, names I hadn’t heard. Some repeated. Some circled. All tied together.

“What bis /bthis?b” /bI asked, voice hoarse.

b“/bThis is where they record the ones they think matter,” Serina said.

b09:18 /bbWed/bb, /b4 bJun /b

b“/bThey?” I whispered.

“The ones who pretend to guard bnce,” she replied. “The Gatekeepers.”

My chest tightened. “They knew about me? Before I was born?”

She turned toward the wall. “They’ve always know

They care that you open the door.”

My pulse echoed in my throat.

someone woulde. Someone whose me would not burn alone. They don’t bcare /bbif /bbyou /bbsurvive /b

“You said I was never meant to follow you,” I said. “But here I am.”

She turned back to me, eyes shadowed. “You’re not my descendant, Jiselle. You’re my continuation.”

The words didn’t make sense at first.

“Continuation?”

She nodded. “I wasn’t meant to carry the me to its final reckoning. I was the first breath. You bare /bthe second.”

“So I’m not a new Sovereignb,/b” I whispered. “I’m the same.”

“Not the same,” she said. “The next.”

I reeled back, hand hitting the wall for bnce.

It pulsed beneath my touch.

I ripped my hand away.

“This is why the Gatekeepers follow me,” I said. “Because they think I’ll finish what you started.”

“No,” she said. “Because they think you’ll open the gate.”

“Didn’t you try to stop it?” I demanded. “Didn’t you burn yourself to stop what was behind it?”

She stared at me.

“I tried,” she said. “And I failed.”

The walls dimmed slightly as her words settled.

“But I didn’t die,” she finished.

I didn’t realize I was crying until a tear hit the floor.

“You’re telling me I can’t stop it either?”

She walked toward the far wall and ced her hand against a sigil shaped like a spiral cracking openb. /b“I’m telling you not bto /bmake bthe /bbsa /b

didb./bb” /b

take bl /b

“And what mistake was thatb?/bb” /b

b“/bbI /bbtried /bbto /bbear bit /balone.”

Silence again.

bBut /bthis timeb, /bit didn’t feel sharp. It felt… reverent.

516

b09:18 /bWed

We bstood /btogether in the glow of forgotten names. Names that had lived and died for a cause they barely understood. Names bthat /bbhad /bbopened /bclosed bled, screamed.

And one name still glowing brighter than the rest.

Mine.

Serina stepped away from the wall. “There’s more.”

I blinked. “More?”

She nodded. “Deeper still.”

The floor beneath us trembled.

And a spiral stairwell uncoiled from the rock.

She descended.

I followed.

The passage was narrow. ustrophobic. Each step echoed like it was being recorded by something ancient. The deeper we wentb, /bthe colder the air became but my me didn’t rise in defense. It pulsed gently, like it was listening.

ein other

At the bottom of the stairwell was another chamber.

Smaller.

But somehow more sacred.

At the center stood a single pedestal.

Upon it: a mirror.

Not ss.

Stone.

Polished obsidian etched with me–like cracks that shimmered with violet light.

My reflection wasn’t mine.

It was hers.

Serina’s.

But not the Serina beside me.

A version of her consumed by fire, mouth open in a silent scream, arms outstretched as bif /bshielding something behind bher/bb. /b

bI /bcouldn’t look away.

“Why are byou /bshowing me this?b” /bI asked.

“Because you’ve seen the pastb,/bbi” /i/bshe said. “But you haven’t yet seen bthe /bchoiceb.”/b.

I reached for the mirror

And the light within it red.

09:18 Wed, 4xlu

Runes bloomed across the surface.

Words formed from fire.

bNOT /bALL FLAMES CONSUME. SOME GUARD.

I stumbled back.

Serina caught me.

“You don’t have to die to win,” she said softly. “But you do have to choose.”

“Choose what?”

She stepped aside.

Revealing another door.

Unmarked.

But breathing.

Like something behind it was alive.

Waiting.

Watching.

“I can’t go in there,” I said.

b“/bNot yet,” she replied. “But soon.”

The door pulsed again.

And in that pulse—I felt it.

A presence.

Not dark.

Not cruel.

Just…vast.

And patient.

“You said you failed,” I whispered.

“I didb./bb” /b

“What did you lose?”

Her voice cracked for the first time.

b“/bEveryone.”

The room grew still.

My chest burned.

A

weu,

b“/bbThen /bbI /bbwon’t/b,” bI /bbsaid/bb. /bb“/bI won’t lose them.”

She didn’t smile.

But she stepped closer and ced her hand on my shoulder.

“Then don’t be me,” she said. “Be what I couldn’tb./bb” /b

We stood in the violet dark.

The names on the wall above still glowing.

The door still breathing.

And the fire inside me–no longer roaring.

But watching.

Just like the me that surrounded the pedestal.

Alive.

Waiting.

And ready.

Serina stepped away, whispering-“This isn’t a prophecy, Jiselle. It’s ba /bpattern. And it’s about bto /brepeat.”