The moon hadn't moved, and neither had she.
Aria stood at the edge of the courtyard, the iron gates groaning shut behind the cloaked man. Riven. His presence sucked the warmth out of the night, like even the wind thought better of getting too close.
He didn't bow. Didn't smile. Just turned on his heel.
"Follow."
She hesitated.
This was her last chance to run.
But she didn't take it.
The estate was ancient. Not ruined, but tired—like it had watched too many centuries pass and didn't care for any of them. Vines clawed up stone walls. The torches lining the corridors flickered with blue flame. Magic, obviously.
They walked in silence.
She expected questions. Or warnings. Or even a scolding for her tone outside. But Riven offered nothing but footsteps and closed doors.
Eventually, he stopped in front of one.
"This is your room," he said. "Small. Cold. Safe. If anything tries to kill you in the night, scream. I probably won't come."
"Comforting."
"Lesson one," he replied without turning. "Comfort is for nobles and corpses. You're neither."
He walked away.
She stared at the door.
Inside was a plain bed, a trunk she hadn't packed, and a window with no view. She sat on the edge, stared at her hands. No spark. No glow. But her veins itched with magic.
She didn't sleep.
A knock came just before dawn.
Not loud. Just firm.
Riven stood there, holding a worn leather tome and a strange, single-handled blade that curved like a crescent moon.
"We begin now."
They didn't speak as he led her through the manor into a chamber hidden beneath a false bookshelf. The room below was wide and circular, with a ceiling so high it vanished into shadow. Runes lined the walls. Some pulsed faintly. Others looked dormant… or dead.
He set the book on a pedestal and handed her the blade.
"What is this?"
"Your focus."
"I thought I was a mage."
"You are. But mages die."
He stepped back.
"Draw the circle."
She frowned. "What circle?"
He didn't answer.
Her magic flared, frustrated. Heat built in her palm. She closed her eyes, willed the energy down into her feet, imagining the arc, the sigil, the shape she'd seen carved into her mind ever since she was born into this world.
A line of glowing white scorched the stone beneath her, curling into a perfect arc. Then another. Then symbols formed, jagged and unfamiliar, and when she opened her eyes, a circle surrounded her—crackling with life.
Riven raised an eyebrow.
"Not bad. That would've taken a guild apprentice five years."
"It took me five seconds."
His gaze sharpened. "No. It took you one reincarnation."
Her breath caught.
She hadn't told him.
He smiled—cold, knowing. "Magic leaves fingerprints. You're not from here. Your soul vibrates wrong. Don't bother hiding it."
Aria tightened her grip on the blade. "Are you going to kill me?"
"If I wanted to, I'd have done it before the moon rose. You're too valuable."
He stepped forward, into the circle.
The air shifted. Pressure dropped. The runes flared, but didn't repel him.
That shouldn't have been possible.
He stopped inches from her.
"Lesson two. Power is truth. If you want to survive what's coming, you'll have to bleed your old self dry."
She didn't look away. "What's coming?"
Riven's face darkened.
"Something ancient. Something broken. It's waking. And when it does, it'll burn names, nations, and bloodlines alike."
He placed a hand over her heart—just above the fabric of her training robe.
"And it's looking for you."