The stars were different that night.
Above the Hollow, the constellations had shifted—subtle, yet undeniable. As if the heavens themselves recognized what had been awakened beneath the trees.
Aelira stood at the edge of the glade, watching the shimmer of magic drift like fireflies through the branches. Her skin still pulsed with warmth from the altar's touch. The sigil hadn't faded; if anything, it had rooted deeper, a living part of her.
She wasn't afraid of it anymore.
But she was afraid of what it meant.
Behind her, Kaeln hovered, keeping his distance. The guilt in his eyes hadn't dimmed, but the way he looked at her had changed. No longer as a girl he needed to protect. But as a force he couldn't deny.
"You're stronger," he said quietly.
"I'm becoming who I was," she replied. "Who I'm meant to be."
He took a step closer. "Then it's time we stop hiding."
---
The Hollow stirred with unease. Word of Aelira's awakening had spread—not by mouth, but by magic. The energy she'd released echoed through the blood of every witch still bound to the ancient order.
And not all were pleased.
Deep in the council chamber, Vyra sat alone, her hand clenched around the stem of a goblet. Wine sloshed at the edge, untouched.
"She's awakened," murmured a voice from the shadows.
Vyra didn't look up. "I felt it."
"You said the curse was irreversible."
"I said the bind was irreversible. But curses… they bleed."
The shadow stepped forward into the candlelight—It was High Priest Thalen, his face drawn, his robes scented with ash.
"You said she would forget. That her power would die with Saelwyn."
"She was supposed to," Vyra snapped, her voice shaking. "Unless something interfered."
Thalen's eyes narrowed. "Kaeln."
Vyra's silence was answer enough.
Thalen slammed a hand on the table. "You should have killed him."
"You don't kill the blade you hope to use."
"He's not a blade. He's a storm."
Vyra stood slowly. "Then let the storm come. I'll be ready this time."
---
Aelira, Kaeln, and Elandor stood around the ancient altar. The magic it radiated had begun to attract things—creatures from the edges of old wards, memories woven into the soil itself.
Elandor drew a circle in the dirt with his staff. "The bindings that once held you are unraveling. But unlocking the full truth will come at a price."
"I don't care about the cost," Aelira said. "I want the truth."
He looked at her sadly. "That's what you said the last time."
The wind stilled. The trees held their breath.
Elandor began to chant, low and rhythmic, in a tongue Aelira didn't know—but somehow understood. The mark on her skin burned, not with pain, but with knowing.
Flashes slammed through her mind:
A stone temple beneath a blood moon.
The circle of sisters, chanting in grief.
Her own hands raised, not in surrender—but in defiance.
"If I burn, let it be the fire that remembers me."
---
She staggered back, breath caught in her throat. Kaeln was beside her in an instant.
"I saw it," she gasped. "I… chose to die. I walked into the flame."
Kaeln nodded slowly. "You did it to protect something. Someone."
Aelira's eyes widened. "Not someone. Everyone."
She turned to Elandor. "There's more, isn't there? I didn't just die to spite the coven. I sealed something."
Elandor's voice was grim. "Yes. Your final spell locked away a god-blooded power. Something ancient and hungry."
"And now?"
"You've begun to unseal it."
---
That night, she dreamed again.
But this time, she was not the victim.
She stood on a pyre, her dress billowing like smoke, eyes burning with light.
The crowd screamed, but she raised a hand—and the fire obeyed.
Flames danced around her like pets. The wood refused to burn beneath her feet. She was not destroyed by the fire.
She commanded it.
And just beyond the crowd, Kaeln watched, not as her executioner—but as her sword.
---
She awoke with a single truth burning in her chest:
She hadn't been cursed by her coven.
She had cursed herself to sleep—to forget—until the world was ready to face her again.
And now, it was time to remember.
---
In the Hollow, Vyra moved through the halls like a shadow. Her most loyal sisters fell into step beside her, each wearing their old ceremonial cloaks, each armed with sigil-blades from the sacred vault.
"Call the circle," Vyra said. "Aelira won't come quietly."
"And if she does?" one witch asked.
Vyra's lips curved into a cruel smile.
"Then we remind her why she feared us."
---
Back in the forest, Kaeln reached into his satchel and retrieved something wrapped in black silk.
He offered it to Aelira.
She took it carefully and unwrapped the cloth.
A dagger.
But not just any dagger—it was silver-gilded, etched with her mark, and it shimmered like moonlight woven with fire.
"This was yours," he said. "Your blood forged it."
She gripped the hilt and felt it sing in her bones.
A weapon made not to kill—but to remember.
---
They walked together out of the woods as dawn broke, toward the Hollow.
Toward the past.
Toward the reckoning.
Aelira was no longer afraid.
She was ready to reclaim everything that had been stolen.
And this time, she would not burn alone.