The silence in the chamber was unlike any Eira had ever known.
It wasn't merely quiet—it was as if the walls themselves held their breath, as if time had been sucked from the air. Her footsteps, though careful, echoed far too loudly. She felt exposed, like something ancient and unseen was watching her every move.
Lucien walked just behind her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His presence grounded her, but even his usual quiet confidence felt strained. He hadn't spoken since they passed the seventh seal. Neither had she.
The descent into the Hollow Heart had been long, filled with markings on the walls that pulsed with eerie red light. Each sigil hummed as they passed, responding to her blood, her presence. It was as though the city itself recognized her.
Eira didn't know whether to be comforted or afraid.
They reached a set of obsidian doors. Unlike the others, this one bore no markings. It was plain, yet something about it unsettled her more than anything else in this cursed city.
"This is it," Lucien said quietly, stepping to her side.
She looked up at him. "You've been here before?"
His jaw tightened. "Once. A long time ago, before it was sealed fully. But only Valtherion ever entered the heart chamber itself."
Eira turned her gaze back to the doors. "He's in there, isn't he?"
"I think so," Lucien replied. "He's always been tied to this place. His soul, his power—it anchors the city. And the Hollow Heart is the core of it all."
Eira reached out, fingers brushing the cold surface. A soft click echoed from the center. The door responded to her touch. The blood in her veins pulsed in rhythm with the chamber beyond.
"I have to go in alone," she said.
Lucien's head snapped toward her. "No."
She met his eyes. "Lucien, you've seen what this place does. If something happens to me—"
"Then I'll be with you," he interrupted. "I won't leave you."
Eira stared at him, her heart aching.
This man—this vampire—had risked everything for her. He had led her through shadow and ruin, fought beside her, shielded her from forces that should have broken her. And now, in the face of Valtherion's domain, he was still by her side.
"You always protect me," she whispered.
He stepped closer, gently brushing her cheek. "Not because I have to. Because I want to."
Her breath caught in her throat.
She leaned into his touch. For a moment, everything else faded—the ancient magic, the thundering pressure of the Hollow Heart, even the ghost of Valtherion's memory.
It was just her and Lucien.
And in that fragile sliver of stillness, he kissed her.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was soft, deliberate, the way dawn breaks after a storm. His lips were cool against hers, but they made warmth bloom in her chest. She melted into him, her hands curling into the fabric of his coat.
When they finally parted, her forehead rested against his.
"I don't want to lose you," she murmured.
"You won't," Lucien said. "Whatever happens in there… we face it together."
Eira nodded.
Then, with both hands, she pushed open the doors.
The chamber beyond was vast—an endless expanse of stone and void, lit only by a pulsing crimson crystal suspended in the air at its center. Tendrils of dark energy curled from it like smoke, brushing the walls and floor, feeding the life of the city above.
The Hollow Heart.
It beat slowly, like a slumbering god.
And beneath it—on a raised platform of bone and silver—sat Valtherion.
He was as beautiful and terrifying as the stories had described.
Long white hair spilled over his shoulders like moonlight. His crimson eyes glowed with restrained power, and his form radiated control, elegance, and something deeper. Something dangerous.
He rose from the throne as she entered, cloak billowing behind him like the wings of a raven.
"Eira," he said, voice like thunder wrapped in velvet. "At last."
Lucien's hand tightened on his sword, but Eira placed a calming hand on his arm.
Valtherion's gaze flicked to Lucien, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.
"You've come far," the king continued. "Crossed blood and bone, storm and spirit. Tell me, what do you seek now that you stand before the heart of the city?"
Eira stepped forward, her voice steady despite the tremor in her limbs. "Answers."
Valtherion descended the steps, boots silent on the stone.
"Then ask."
Eira clenched her fists. "Why me? Why am I tied to all this? To you? To this curse?"
"You were not meant to be a part of this world," Valtherion said, now only a few feet away. "And yet fate pulled you through. Because you are her. And you are not."
"Vaelaria," Eira whispered.
"Yes." His eyes softened, just for a moment. "The soul that once stood beside me in life and death. You carry her spark. But you are not bound by her past."
Eira's heart pounded. "So what am I to you? A replacement?"
"No." His voice dropped. "You are my chance to make things right."
The crystal above them pulsed brighter, responding to his rising emotion.
Lucien stepped forward. "If you think she's here to fix your past—"
"She is here," Valtherion snapped, "because destiny wills it. As much as you loathe it."
Lucien growled low in his throat, but Eira placed herself between them.
"No more fighting," she said, breathless. "Please."
Valtherion's gaze lingered on her.
"You feel it, don't you?" he said softly. "The pull. The heart recognizes you. It awakens for you."
Eira looked up at the crystal. It pulsed again—matching the rhythm of her heartbeat.
"What does it mean?" she whispered.
Valtherion looked at her with something between sorrow and reverence.
"It means you are the key."