Seraphine sat in the Vale’s stone circle, the journal open in her lap, her thoughts tangled around Elias Granger. He had been her only light in a house built on fear. Her adoptive brother—not by blood, but by bond. He was the one who shielded her from their parents’ cruelty, who whispered stories of wolves…

The Ember Gate was hidden deep within the volcanic caverns of the Hollow Vale, sealed behind obsidian stone and ancient runes. Only fire-blooded beings could enter without being consumed. Ronan led the way. Seraphine followed, her tattoos glowing faintly with flame. The heat didn’t burn her—it welcomed her. The gate pulsed with dormant power, and…

Seraphine sat cross-legged in the Temple’s moonlit atrium, the journal open before her, its pages breathing with magic. Her fingers trembled as she reread the line: “The mortal boy with the quiet soul. He will be her first anchor. Protect him.” Her brother. Not by blood, but by circumstance. His name was Elias Granger—the son…

Seraphine hadn’t thought of him in years. Her “brother.” Not by blood, but by circumstance. A boy with soft eyes and a crooked smile. He was older by a few years, quiet, kind—until he wasn’t. Until the day he vanished. She remembered the way he used to sneak her sweets when their “parents” weren’t looking.…

The Temple of Thorns pulsed with ancient magic, and Seraphine could feel it in her bones. Kael stood beside her, silent as ever, his silver hair catching the moonlight. He had led her here, not with words, but with instinct. The moment she touched the altar, her tattoos shimmered, and the forest seemed to breathe…

The memory came in fragments—like moonlight through shattered glass. Seraphine stood in the Temple of Thorns, her fingers brushing the obsidian altar. The moment she touched it, the spell unraveled. Her mind flooded with images not her own: a woman with hair like starlight and eyes like hers, cradling a newborn wrapped in silk. A…

Seventeen years in Ebonreach under the roof of strangers. They called themselves her parents, but their love was a brittle thing—conditional, cold, and cruel. Her “mother” flinched when Seraphine’s lavender eyes glowed. Her “father” punished her when her emotions stirred the wind or made the lights flicker. They kept iron near her bed, salt around…

The forest whispered her name. Seraphine Vale had always felt like a stranger in her own skin—and in her own home. The people who raised her, who called themselves her parents, never held her with warmth. Their love was brittle, their words sharp, their eyes full of fear. She learned early that silence was safer…