The city behind them groaned and screamed like a dying beast as Seraphina and the girl raced through its decaying veins. Each alley felt like a trap, each shadow like the reach of some ancient curse. And all the while, that monstrous cry echoed—deep, guttural, and maddeningly familiar, as though the darkness itself had grown a voice.
Seraphina's legs burned with effort, but she didn't dare slow down. Her magic pulsed just beneath her skin, responding not to command but to instinct. Every flicker of flame at her fingertips seemed to light the way forward, and still, the world darkened around them.
The girl—this strange, pale reflection of herself—led with eerie confidence. "The Vault isn't far," she said, her voice strained. "It's the only place left where the memories can't follow."
"What memories?" Seraphina asked, panting.
The girl glanced over her shoulder. "Yours. Mine. All the ones that died trying to change the story."
They turned sharply, ducking under an archway choked with black vines that pulsed like veins. The stone beneath their feet hummed, alive with magic Seraphina couldn't yet comprehend. Finally, they came to a halt before a massive door carved into the mountainside—a door covered in sigils and glowing with faint blue light.
The girl placed her hand against the stone. The door didn't creak or groan. It vanished. Simply… dissolved.
Inside was a vast chamber, and Seraphina gasped.
It was filled with mirrors.
Hundreds—maybe thousands—lined the circular walls, each one reflecting a different version of her. Some wore crowns. Others wore chains. Some were smiling, others screaming. And some… were dead.
Seraphina took a step back. "What is this place?"
"The Vault of Echoes," the girl said quietly. "Where all the versions of you—of us—are kept. Each one tried to change fate. Each one failed."
"And you brought me here why?" she asked, trembling.
The girl turned, her violet eyes solemn. "Because you might be the first who won't."
Before Seraphina could respond, one of the mirrors cracked. Not from within—but as though something was breaking in from the other side.
The girl froze. "That's not supposed to happen."
A voice—low, velvet-smooth and ancient—spoke from the mirror.
"She is not yours to guide."
Seraphina stepped back, staring as the figure within the mirror emerged—tall, draped in obsidian robes, with eyes like smoking stars.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice trembling.
The figure raised its hand.
"I am the author of your ruin."
Then the mirror exploded.
Shards rained around them, and a wave of force sent Seraphina hurtling back. Her vision blurred, ears ringing, heart pounding like war drums. As the dust settled, she lifted her head and realized—
The girl was gone. Only the darkness remained. And in the heart of it, the figure waited.
Seraphina staggered to her feet, breath shallow, her limbs shaking from the blast. Her eyes darted through the Vault, searching for the girl—her past self, or whatever she was—but the space had shifted. The mirrors were no longer quiet reflections. They screamed now—silent, voiceless screams as versions of her banged on the glass from inside, as if trying to warn her or claw their way into reality.
The figure stepped forward from the shattered mirror, gliding rather than walking, the hem of its cloak never touching the floor. Darkness radiated off him like heat, and his features, though sharp and beautiful, were unnerving in their stillness. His eyes were not human—they didn't glow, they consumed.
"I have watched you," he said in a voice so calm it unnerved her more than a shout would have. "Across lifetimes. Across choices. You are the ripple that never stills. The storm born in a quiet pond."
Seraphina clenched her fists, her magic still raw and uncontrollable under her skin. "Who are you?"
He tilted his head. "A better question would be: what am I?"
She narrowed her eyes, taking a slow, defensive step back. "Fine. What are you?"
He smiled, and it was cold enough to freeze her bones. "I am the memory your world tried to erase. The prophecy buried in blood. I am every failed version of you… fused into one truth."
The air around her vibrated. Seraphina's instincts screamed at her to run, but there was nowhere to go. The Vault's once safe walls were now a prison, each mirror reflecting her panic, her past mistakes, her coming doom.
"You shouldn't exist," she whispered.
"And yet… neither should you," he replied. "You were meant to die, Seraphina. In the car crash. In your first night in this kingdom. In every loop before this one. But something chose you—pulled you back—and now, reality is unraveling to compensate."
She could barely breathe.
The power inside her stirred, more awake than ever, feeding off her fear. It didn't burn now—it throbbed like a second heartbeat, louder than her own.
"You're lying," she said, her voice cracking.
"I never lie," the figure said, stepping closer. "I only show truths. You are the disruption. And disruptions are… corrected."
He lifted a hand, and the shattered pieces of the mirror rose from the floor, spinning around him like deadly glass stars. Seraphina braced herself, but before he could strike, a surge of blue fire erupted between them, forming a barrier.
Another voice echoed across the vault, low and fierce. "Not yet. She still has a part to play."
Caius emerged from the broken archway, robes tattered, eyes glowing with something ancient. He looked different—older, maybe, or simply more dangerous. His magic crackled around him like lightning bound in flesh.
Seraphina blinked, stunned. "Caius?"
He didn't take his eyes off the dark figure. "Run, Seraphina."
She hesitated, torn between fear and the magnetic pull of the mystery unraveling before her.
"RUN!"
And so, she did.
The Vault began to collapse behind her, mirrors shattering, screams echoing into nothingness. As she stumbled through the narrowing corridors, heart in her throat, one final thought pierced through her terror:
Who—or what—was she really? And why did the world fear her so much?