The trees remembered her.
As she ran, barefoot and burning with new magic, the forest seemed to move for her. Branches parted. Roots curled protectively. She was born of this place. Of old blood.
And she wasn't alone.
In the mist, a figure waited.
Tall. Pale. Eyes like moonless night.
"Welcome home, Elira," he said.
She stepped back.
"Who are you?"
He smiled with fangs.
"Your past. Your future. Your twin flame."
And when he kissed her, she saw visions of war.
Of Kaelen bleeding.
Of kingdoms burning.
Of herself—on a throne of bones.