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The moment Serin's feet touched the ground again, she knew the world had changed.
She stood in the middle of an abandoned street, the air electric with leftover magic. The rain had stopped, but the clouds still hovered like ash, casting the city in a grey that didn't feel natural anymore. Lucien stood beside her, his eyes narrowed as if listening to something only he could hear.
"Where are we?" she whispered.
"The veil between realms is thin now," Lucien said. "We're still in your world… for now."
Serin's fingers tingled. The light that had exploded from within her was gone, but something had replaced it. A weight. A presence. As though someone—or something—was inside her chest, watching, waiting.
"I feel… different," she admitted.
"You are," he said. "You're no longer just Serin."
She looked at him sharply. "But I am Serin."
Lucien turned to face her. His expression softened, and for a brief moment, she saw him not as the creature the world feared, but as the boy he could've been—before damnation.
"Yes," he murmured. "You are. And that's what makes you dangerous."
The wind stirred. A crow cawed in the distance.
Lucien's jaw tightened. "They'll come again. Stronger this time."
"The executioners?"
"No," he said grimly. "Something worse."
A chill rippled down her spine. "Then teach me. Help me fight."
He shook his head. "You're not ready."
"I don't care. I won't be helpless again."
Lucien studied her for a long time, then finally nodded. "Fine. But you have to understand something—what's inside you… it isn't pure. You weren't just given Seraphic grace. Something else is buried in you. Something older."
Serin blinked. "What do you mean?"
"There's a reason the Seraph fell for you in the first place," he said quietly. "Because you were already part of the war. Even before you were born."
She stepped back. "That doesn't make sense—"
"You don't remember because you were reborn. But your soul…" He reached out and gently placed a hand over her heart. "Your soul is a battlefield."
Her breath caught.
I'm not just a girl with power… I'm part of a war I never asked to join.
A sudden pain sliced through her skull. Images burst behind her eyes—flashes of wings burning, a sword dipped in blood, a scream echoing in a language she didn't understand. A woman with silver eyes, crying as fire consumed the sky.
Serin collapsed to her knees.
Lucien was beside her in an instant, gripping her shoulders. "Serin!"
"It's—inside me," she gasped. "Memories. Not mine—someone else's. It hurts—"
Lucien's hands pulsed with dark energy, and the pain eased.
He held her until the trembling stopped. She looked up, eyes wide. "What was that?"
"Fragments," he said. "The more your power awakens, the more you'll see. Pieces of your past life—of the Seraph who died to protect you."
"Why me?" she asked, voice shaking. "Why would someone like that give everything for someone like me?"
Lucien looked away. "Because once… you were in love."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"What?"
"The Seraph wasn't protecting you for duty. She was protecting you. Because your soul called to hers." Lucien's eyes met hers again. "Just like mine does now."
Serin's heart thundered in her chest.
"Lucien…"
"I'm not asking you to return it," he said quickly. "I just want you to know what you mean to me. Even if you walk away."
She stared at him. Torn. Her fingers twitched with energy that wasn't hers, her heart carried memories of a love she didn't remember, and yet—everything in her screamed to stay close to him.
"I'm not walking away," she whispered.
Lucien's eyes darkened with something unreadable. "Then we don't have much time."
He helped her up, and together they walked deeper into the city. It was eerily empty—no cars, no people, only the wind and the lingering feeling of something watching.
They reached a run-down building with shattered windows and a door hanging off its hinges. Lucien waved a hand, and the illusion peeled away, revealing a glowing archway. They stepped through it into what looked like an underground sanctum lit by violet flames.
"This is one of the last safe places left," he explained. "Wards strong enough to hide you. For now."
She looked around. The walls were lined with ancient weapons, faded sigils, and books bound in materials she didn't dare identify. "You've been preparing for this?"
"For centuries."
Lucien pulled a long blade from the wall. It shimmered with black steel etched in glowing runes. "Training starts now."
Serin arched a brow. "You're seriously giving me a sword?"
Lucien smirked. "You'll need more than just your magic if you want to survive."
He tossed her the blade. She nearly dropped it—it was heavier than it looked, cold and humming with something alive.
"Focus," he said. "Your power reacts to your will. You must want control."
She closed her eyes, gripping the hilt. The blade pulsed once—then steadied. A faint glow shimmered along the runes. She opened her eyes, breathless.
"I felt it," she said.
Lucien nodded. "Good. Again."
They trained for hours. Lucien taught her to move with the blade, to channel energy into it, to defend herself even when outmatched. Every step pushed her to the edge of exhaustion, but she didn't stop. Couldn't. Not when the fate of her soul—and his—hung in the balance.
By the time they finished, her hands were blistered, her muscles aching. She collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving.
Lucien sat beside her, tossing her a canteen. "You did better than I expected."
"Thanks… I think."
He smiled faintly, watching her. "You're stronger than you know."
She looked at him. "So are you. But you hide it."
Lucien's smile faded. "Because strength alone didn't save the people I cared about."
Serin's voice softened. "You never talk about your past."
"There's nothing worth remembering."
"Liar."
Lucien looked away.
After a pause, he finally spoke. "I was human once. A long time ago. Before I was turned."
Serin blinked. "Turned?"
"I made a deal," he said bitterly. "To save someone I loved. My sister."
Her eyes widened.
"She was dying," he said. "And I was desperate. I offered my soul for hers. They accepted. She lived… and I became this."
"I'm so sorry."
"She died years later, anyway. Peacefully. Surrounded by family." His voice broke. "And I was left behind. A monster."
Serin reached out, touching his hand. "You're not a monster."
Lucien looked at her with such raw emotion that it nearly undid her.
Before he could reply, the air shifted again.
Darkness spilled into the room. Not the creeping kind—but the violent, crashing kind that shattered light and sanity.
Lucien jumped to his feet. "They found us."
Serin scrambled up, her blade back in hand.
A figure stepped through the shadows—taller than the executioners, cloaked in black and red. A crown of bone rested atop his head. His eyes glowed like twin suns about to implode.
Lucien's voice was a whisper of dread. "Malrik."
"Lucien," the figure rasped. "You've betrayed your kind."
"I was never your kind."
Malrik's gaze landed on Serin. He smiled.
"So this is the girl," he said. "The cursed miracle. The blood of the fallen Seraph."
Serin stepped forward, defiant. "I'm not yours to take."
Malrik chuckled. "Not yet. But you will be."
He lifted a hand. Black chains erupted from the ground, aiming for her.
Lucien moved faster than thought, slashing through them with his blade.
"Run!" he shouted.
"No!" she screamed. "Not again—I'm fighting this time!"
Lucien snarled. "You're not ready!"
"Maybe not," she growled, lifting her sword. "But I'm done being prey."
She slashed at Malrik. Her blade lit up with golden flame. He recoiled, hissing.
Lucien's eyes widened. "That's Seraph fire—"
"I don't know how I did it!"
"Don't think. Just feel."
Together, they charged. And for the first time, Serin wasn't running from the war.
She was running toward it.
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