Chapter 3: The Stranger in the Mist
Seraphina's muscles tensed, her magic thrumming beneath her skin. The man—no, the creature—stood before her, wrapped in shadows that moved unnaturally, shifting and curling like living tendrils of darkness.
The air between them crackled with something unfamiliar.
"Who are you?" she repeated, her voice steady despite the unease clawing at her spine.
The stranger tilted his head, studying her. His eyes, a burning crimson, gleamed in the dim light of the mist-covered forest. There was something almost inhuman about the way he moved—fluid, effortless, like he belonged to the darkness itself.
Then, he laughed.
Low. Deep. Mocking.
"A better question would be, who are you now, little empress?"
Her fingers twitched at her sides, resisting the urge to summon the magic that now burned within her veins. She didn't know what he was, but she could feel it—his presence was like a storm, coiled and waiting to strike.
"I am Seraphina Valienne, rightful Empress of Ashkar," she said, voice cold as steel. "And I don't take kindly to riddles."
The man smirked. "Rightful? Interesting choice of words for someone who died."
Seraphina stiffened. He knew.
"How do you know that?" she demanded.
The stranger took a step closer, and the mist seemed to shudder around him, retreating like a frightened animal.
"Because," he murmured, his voice like silk and smoke, "I was there when the gates of death rejected you."
A chill ran through her.
Impossible.
Seraphina clenched her fists. "You're lying."
"Am I?" He arched a brow, amusement flickering in his crimson gaze. "Tell me, Empress—why do you think you're here? Why do you think you're alive?"
Her breath hitched.
She didn't know.
The last thing she remembered was the execution—the moment the blade had touched her skin, a burst of unimaginable power had surged through her, and then… darkness.
Now, she was here, standing in a world she did not recognize, speaking to a man who was not human.
Her heart pounded.
"Where am I?" she demanded.
The stranger's lips curled. "Somewhere between fate and the end of the world."
Frustration burned in her chest. "Enough with the riddles!"
A chuckle rumbled from him, dark and velvety. "Very well, little empress. You are in the Vale of Echoes, a place where the dead do not rest, and the living do not belong."
The Vale of Echoes.
She had never heard of such a place, not in all her years of study, not in any of the empire's histories.
Seraphina squared her shoulders, refusing to let her confusion show. "And you? What are you?"
The stranger's smirk deepened. "Ah. That, dear Empress, is a story for another time."
She bristled at his arrogance. "Then why are you here?"
His gaze darkened, something almost hungry flashing behind his crimson eyes.
"Because, Seraphina Valienne, you are not the only one who has returned from death. And if you wish to reclaim your throne…" He leaned in slightly, the mist curling around his form like it was part of him.
"You will need my help."
Seraphina's breath caught.
She didn't trust him.
But she had no choice.
If she wanted her empire back—if she wanted revenge—she had to survive this world first.
And for that, she needed to know exactly what she had become.