The morning after her return felt like walking through fog with cuts on her feet. Amara sat near the hearth in Dora's small wooden hut, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Rain tapped on the roof like restless fingers. Her skin still smelled of damp earth, but the fire's warmth had started to chase the grave-cold from her bones.
She stared into the flames, but the past was what flickered in her eyes. It came in bits, fragments and flashes.
Elias. His face, soft with laughter. The curve of his mouth when he whispered against her neck. The bathroom…
Yes. The bathroom. Their laughter echoing as she tried to reach for the soap and accidentally knocked over a vase. The sink cracked that night. Water sprayed everywhere. They slipped, laughed, kissed. She remembered his hands around her waist. Her heart beating like a drum in her chest..
And then, it came, unexpected, vivid. An old moment buried so deep. It had escaped her until now.
A memory of the last time.
The final night they made love.
The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut. The cold tiles beneath her feet. Elias leaning her gently against the door, his breath hot against her skin.
She remembered the way his hands held her breasts, firm, reverent. One hand… then the other… then his mouth. Slow, deliberate. He kissed her like she was the last woman he'd ever touch.
Then he knelt.
She remembered the way his fingers explored her, tender and knowing, like he'd memorized every part of her. His mouth followed, drawing sighs from her lips. Her hands tangled in his hair. Her hips lifted instinctively, wordless, aching.
And then, they moved together.
Her hands reached for him, stroked him. He groaned her name, a sound so raw it echoed in her soul.
Then he turned her around, slowly, carefully. Bent her forward. She gasped as he entered her from behind, their bodies syncing in a rhythm that spoke of years, of love, of something too sacred to name. Her hands braced against the door, his breath hot on her neck, his arms around her waist, keeping her grounded.
And just when the memory swelled….
It broke.
Amara blinked, breath caught in her throat, her body trembling. Ten years. Ten years since that night.
She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, trying to hold together the pieces of a woman reborn, and a lover still mourning.
Then…moments later, her memory twisted. Smiles faded. This time, there was a fire. Chains.
She remembered being tied during the ritual. Cold hands grabbing her arms. Her legs forced still. Her mouth stretched open in a scream no one heard.
And then..
His face..Not that of Elias but Magnus Blackthorne.
He was the last face she saw. His expression calm. Almost...kind. As if what he was doing was mercy. Her belly was round, her baby nearly due.
He had smiled at her as he lit the fire.
"Monster," Amara whispered aloud, her fingers curling into fists.
"More than that," Dora said from the corner of the room, her voice low. She had been watching Amara carefully."
Amara's lips trembled, rage and grief battling in her throat. "I was pregnant."
Dora nodded once. "You carried his grandchild. That made your death all the more potent. The blood of the Blackthornes demands sacrifice to grow. That's how he taught them. That's how Elias inherited it all."
"No," Amara said quickly, her chest tightening. "Not Elias. He wouldn't..."
"He didn't need to know," Dora said softly. "Magnus made sure of that."
Amara stood abruptly, her chair scraping back. She paced across the hut, barefoot, still sore. She ran her hand through her tangled hair. Her breath came quick.
"He loved me. I know he did. Elias wouldn't, he wouldn't have let this happen."
"Maybe not," Dora said gently. "But he benefited from it. He carries that man's blood. And now, Blackthorne Corporation. The name. The wealth. The magic. It's all his now. He may not have lit the fire, Amara, but he walks on the ashes."
Amara stopped walking. Her jaw firmed. Her eyes danced, not with tears, but power.
"Then I'll walk through the fire. And I'll bring it back to them."
Dora smiled. "Good. Because you'll need that fire to get inside."
Amara turned, confused. "Inside?"
"Blackthorne Corp. Their fortress. Their sanctuary. It's the heart of their empire, hidden under beauty and guarded by spells. You can't bring it down from the outside. You must go in. Like smoke."
Amara narrowed her eyes. "How?"
Dora walked over to a table and pulled out a folder. Inside were documents, credentials, forged identification papers.
"A new name. A new life. You'll pose as a housekeeper. It's the only way in."
Amara stared at the papers. The name read: Mara Vale.
She reached out slowly but didn't pick them up. Her lip curled. "No."
Dora blinked. "No?"
Amara looked up, her voice calm but firm. "I won't hide. I want to walk through the front door with my name. My voice. My laugh. My scent. No one will know. This face..."
She touched her cheek, staring at her reflection in a cracked mirror near the door.
"This isn't the face I died with. I don't know whose it is. But the rest of me? Still mine. The way I speak. The way I sing. My soul. That didn't change."
Dora folded her arms. "It's risky. Someone might sense you."
"Let them try," Amara said. "Let them feel my shadow and wonder why the air has grown colder. I want them to be haunted."
Dora studied her. Then, slowly, she nodded. "Very well. But at least let me provide you with some enchantments, protection charms. Spells to mask your aura. Just enough to keep suspicion low."
Amara gave a small nod. "That, I'll accept."
Dora went to a wooden box near her shelf. Inside were talismans, vials of herbs, and stones that pulsed faintly with warmth. She began assembling a small satchel.
Meanwhile, Amara walked outside.
The rain had stopped. The sky was now a deep gray, the sun just a ghost behind thick clouds. Trees swayed gently in the wind. Amara stepped barefoot onto the damp grass, her toes sinking into the wet earth.
She looked around. The world had changed.
Cars that moved without drivers. Lights that lit up without fire. Phones that held people's lives.
She had been dead a long time.
And yet... her magic felt alive. Her body hummed with it. It buzzed beneath her skin like a thousand bees.
Dora stepped out beside her, carrying the satchel. "The modern world is loud. It will overwhelm your senses at first. But you'll adjust."
"It feels wrong," Amara murmured. "Like the world moved on without me."
"It did," Dora said softly. "But now it's your turn to pull it back. One thread at a time."
Amara turned to her. "This power I feel... it wasn't mine before. Not like this."
"That's the tether," Dora explained. "The spell that brought you back, the Womb of Return, it didn't just give you life. It gave you power tied to your pain. Your death. It's wild and dangerous. It listens to your rage."
Amara tightened her hands and watched as a faint glow danced across her fingers.
"Use it wisely," Dora said. "Don't let it consume you."
Amara took the satchel. It felt heavy. Real. A symbol of the journey ahead.
She turned back to the forest, toward the world she would soon enter.
"What do I do first?"
Dora's eyes darkened. "Find a way into Blackthorne Corp. Don't go for Elias yet. Study him. Understand what part he played. If his heart is as black as his father's... you'll know."
Amara gave a firm nod. Then, with one last look at the hut, the only place whe
re death and life had danced so closely, she stepped forward.
Toward vengeance and truth.
Toward the empire she would destroy from within.