The sky above them was bruised with grief—dark clouds swirling like the mourning robes of the gods.
No one said a word.
Not even Seraphina.
She stood at the edge of the crumbled temple ruins, her cloak billowing slightly in the wind, but her body unmoving. Mira stood across from her, pale as snow, with tears already trembling on her lashes.
Arabella's voice broke the silence—fragile and shaking.
"What… what do you mean he's gone?"
Mira's lips quivered. She couldn't seem to get the words out at first. Then—like an arrow loosed too fast—it came.
"His body… it was swallowed by the curse. The soul thread was shattered. There's nothing left. Mason… he's dead."
The words cracked something in the air.
Arabella staggered back as if she had been struck. Mira buried her face into her hands. The only sound left was the wind.
And Seraphina—still.
Still like stone. Still like death.
Her eyes didn't widen. Her mouth didn't move. She simply turned her back to them and began walking away.
"Seraphina?" Arabella called, but Seraphina didn't stop.
Three days passed.
The glade had been prepared. The only thing they had left of Mason were fragments—his sword hilt, the ashes of his cloak, a silver band that bore his family crest. They placed them gently in a carved wooden box lined with black silk. A blade without a bearer. A grave without a body.
As Mira stepped forward to say her goodbye, she nearly collapsed from the weight of sorrow.
"You said we'd all return together… you liar…" she whispered, voice cracking.
Arabella followed, her tears flowing freely as she placed a folded note from Mason into the box—something he had once written to her when she was afraid.
And then… Seraphina.
She didn't cry. She didn't tremble.
She only stood over the box, and said nothing.
There was no eulogy. No poetry. Just silence.
And sometimes, silence is the loudest grief.
---
That night, the world felt empty.
Seraphina stood at the edge of a hill, overlooking the distant horizon. The moon had buried itself behind the clouds, and the stars blinked weakly like dying embers.
She stared upward for a long time. Long enough that her feet went numb. Long enough that the cold dug into her skin.
And then—without warning—
A single tear escaped her eye.
Followed by another.
She didn't reach to wipe them.
She hadn't even realized they fell.
"You were so loud… always talking. Now everything is too quiet…" she whispered to the wind.
Her voice cracked.
And for the first time… Seraphina looked breakable.
---
The fever hit her before morning.
Arabella found her slumped on the floor, her skin burning hot and her lips dry. Panic surged in her chest.
"Help! Mira!"
Together, they carried Seraphina to her bed. She tossed and turned, drenched in sweat, whispering Mason's name.
"Don't leave me… I waited for you…"
Mira sat beside her, wiping her forehead, her own tears falling.
"You didn't cry when we buried him… now your body is doing what your heart couldn't."
Arabella turned away, unable to bear the sight.
---
The next day, Seraphina stirred awake, weak and pale. Her eyes fluttered open slowly—emptier than they had ever been.
Mira came to her side, gently holding her hand.
"I… I didn't know when to give you this. But he told me to."
She pulled out a carefully folded handkerchief—white silk with a single flower embroidered in gold thread. The moment Seraphina touched it, something inside her shuddered.
"The Ironroot Blossom," she whispered.
Arabella leaned forward.
"You know it?"
Seraphina nodded slowly, eyes locked on the flower's bold petals.
"It was my favorite when I was young. People mocked it for being too delicate… but it grows through stone. Storms. Even fire."
She clutched the handkerchief tighter, her knuckles whitening.
And in that moment, her heart cracked open.
"He remembered… even that."
A small, shaking breath left her lips—one that held both love and unbearable loss.
The handkerchief felt warm in Seraphina's trembling hand. Not just from her fevered skin—but from something else.
Something... alive.
She stared at the embroidered Ironroot Blossom, her eyes softening, yet glistening with tears.
"He said it was the only flower that reminded him of you," Mira whispered, "because no matter what tried to destroy you, you bloomed right through it."
That broke something in Seraphina.
The tears came this time—not gentle, not poetic. They came hard and ugly. Her shoulders shook as she bent over, sobbing into the fabric he left behind.
Arabella rushed to her side, hugging her from behind, tears falling too.
"Why did he leave?" Seraphina cried, muffled. "Why him? Why now—when I started to believe I could feel again?"
The room was silent except for her weeping. Mira stood near the window, fists clenched at her sides. Her heart ached too, but something gnawed at her mind—a splinter of suspicion she hadn't voiced yet.
---
That night, as Arabella helped Seraphina lie down, Mira lingered outside. The wind was gentle, but something in the air felt... off. Unnatural.
She looked up at the moon, full and glowing unnaturally red.
"A blood moon…?" she whispered. "Wasn't it supposed to be a half crescent tonight?"
The sky shimmered, just faintly—like a ripple across still water.
Mira's heartbeat quickened. She turned toward the forest edge. The trees were too quiet.
She stepped forward once—then again.
Suddenly, a flutter of white passed by her ear. A small petal. No, a piece of cloth.
She caught it.
It was from the handkerchief.
She turned it over—
And saw something glowing faintly beneath the embroidery thread.
She squinted.
"Wait… this isn't just a flower design…"
Her eyes widened.
"It's a seal."
---
Morning arrived with a strange calm.
Seraphina, though still weak, sat upright on her bed, staring quietly at the Ironroot handkerchief.
Arabella stirred tea in a cup beside her.
"We'll get through this. We always do."
Seraphina didn't reply. Her gaze remained distant, but not lost.
Mira rushed into the room, breathless.
"Seraphina. Arabella. I need to show you something."
She laid the handkerchief flat across the table.
"Look closely beneath the embroidery."
They leaned in.
As Mira whispered an incantation she hadn't realized she knew, the thread shimmered—and a second pattern emerged beneath the flower: a sigil.
Arabella gasped.
"That's not just any seal… that's Soulroot Binding. It's ancient. Forbidden."
Seraphina's lips parted slightly.
"Why would Mason embed that into something for me… unless…"
Mira's eyes glowed with urgency.
"Unless he knew. Unless he planned something. Unless he wanted you to find this."
They stared at each other.
For the first time since his death… a fragile hope entered the room.
---
Later that night, Seraphina slipped away from the others, the handkerchief pressed to her chest.
She stood under the stars once again. This time, she looked up—not to cry—but to speak.
"Mason… if you can hear me…" her voice cracked, "I'm not letting you go. Not yet."
Just then, the wind shifted.
A soft whisper passed her ear.
A voice.
"Don't… forget… the library…"
Her breath caught. She froze.
"Mason…?"
Nothing.
But she knew that voice. Every syllable carved into her bones.
---
She ran back inside.
"Arabella! Mira! Get your things. Now."
Arabella jumped.
"What happened—"
"He left a trace," Seraphina said, eyes blazing now. "There's a way to bring him back. And it begins with the Library of the Lost Flame."
Mira's hand shot to her chest.
"That's impossible. The Library doesn't appear unless—"
"Unless your soul is tied to a dying flame," Seraphina interrupted. "And Mason's isn't gone. It's fading. There's still time."
Arabella grabbed her cloak.
"Then we go. We fight the fire. We find him."
Mira nodded, determination burning in her eyes.
"We're not losing anyone else."
---
As they rode through the midnight winds, the mountains loomed ahead—sharp, cold, and unknowable.
And in the shadows of the forest far behind them…
A hooded figure stood, clutching a sword with a shattered hilt—Mason's hilt.
The Soul Keeper smiled faintly.
"Come find your ghost, Seraphina... if you dare."
The forest loomed like a beast—silent, watchful, breathing shadows.
Seraphina rode ahead, her eyes locked forward, ignoring the biting wind, the ache in her limbs, the fever still lingering beneath her skin. She only clutched the handkerchief tighter, like it could tether her to the hope she refused to lose.
Mira and Arabella followed close behind, the silence between them thick with tension and prayer.
"Are you sure the library even exists?" Mira asked finally, voice barely louder than a whisper.
"I heard his voice," Seraphina replied without turning. "Not in a dream. Not in grief. His voice. Mason's."
Arabella's fingers tightened on her reins.
"Then we'll find it. Even if we have to burn through the entire forest."
---
They reached the edge of a blackened hill where no trees grew, only ash and twisted stone. The ground was cracked, smoldering in places—like the earth itself had cried fire.
At the center of the dead land stood an archway made of molten glass, glowing faintly with runes no one had seen in a thousand years.
Seraphina stepped down first.
"The Library of the Lost Flame," she murmured.
"But… where's the door?" Mira asked.
"There isn't one," Arabella answered slowly. "It's not a place you enter. It's a place that enters you."
As Seraphina stepped beneath the arch, the world twisted.
Colors inverted.
Sound disappeared.
And suddenly—they were inside.
---
The library was enormous—infinite rows of bookshelves suspended in midair, floating like stars in an eternal night sky. There was no floor, no ceiling. Just space… and books… and fireflies that whispered secrets in forgotten tongues.
"This place is made of souls," Mira said, awestruck. "Every book... is a life."
"Then Mason's story must be here," Seraphina whispered.
Arabella ran her fingers over the spines of passing books.
"How do we know which one is his?"
A whisper answered.
"The book cries when the soul is lost but not gone…"
They froze.
Then, faintly—like a sob in the wind—a single wail echoed through the library.
It was not loud. It was quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of cry that came when someone had screamed too long and had nothing left.
Seraphina followed the sound.
They passed thousands of books, floating like broken promises. But one hovered alone in the distance, bound in cracked leather, dripping ashes instead of ink.
She reached for it.
The moment her fingers touched the cover—she collapsed.
---
Her vision blurred into gold.
Flashes of a memory not hers.
It was mason.
He was lying on stone, his chest barely rising.
Someone stood over him—the Soul Keeper—holding a jagged blade made of darkness.
"Your soul's too pure to consume," the Soul Keeper snarled. "But I'll bury it where no one can find it."
"Seraphina will," Mason said, blood in his mouth but fire in his eyes. "She always finds me."
And then darkness.
---
Seraphina gasped back into reality, the book clutched to her chest.
"He's alive," she cried. "His soul—it's not destroyed. It's hidden. Imprisoned."
Arabella knelt beside her.
"Then we free him. What do we do?"
Mira opened the book. On the first page was a map—and one word glowing red:
"Nevalon."
"What is Nevalon?" Mira asked.
Seraphina's lips trembled.
"The final realm. Where no light reaches. Where no one returns."
Arabella stood slowly.
"Then we go."
As they exited the Library, the arch behind them shattered into fire.
They had one path forward.
But none of them saw the figure watching from the flames.
The Soul Keeper turned the hilt of Mason's broken sword in his palm.
"Let them come," he whispered.
"Hope… makes the breaking so much sweeter."
The wind howled like a mourning mother.
As Seraphina, Arabella, and Mira descended the scorched hill from the ruins of the Library, silence weighed heavier than any sword they had ever lifted. The map from Mason's soul-book glowed faintly in Mira's hand, its ink pulsing with sorrow and urgency.
Ahead of them, across a wasteland of charred bones and cracked stone, lay a rift in the earth.
Nevalon.
The realm of no return.
The graveyard of forgotten souls.
Seraphina stopped at the edge of the chasm. Her fever had subsided, but her body trembled—not from weakness, but from something deeper. From the storm within her. From the ache of knowing he was almost gone.
"He's in there," she said quietly.
Arabella's voice was low.
"We're going in blind. The Soul Keeper wants us to."
"Let him want," Mira replied, tightening the scarf around her shoulders. "Let him wait. We're not the same girls we were."
Seraphina said nothing.
But she stepped forward—and jumped.
---
Nevalon was not a place. It was a feeling. A breath that never came. A heartbeat that hesitated. They landed in black water and sank through cold that clung to their bones.
When they surfaced, they were standing in a field of glass. Each blade cut at their feet but made no sound. A sky without stars loomed above.
A whisper echoed.
"To find what you seek… give up what you love."
The map burned to ashes in Mira's hands.
---
They moved slowly, each step carving grief into their heels.
Statues lined the road ahead—frozen souls turned to stone. Faces twisted in agony, hands reaching toward a light that wasn't there.
"What… what is this?" Arabella murmured.
"People who tried… and failed," Seraphina whispered.
One of the statues had eyes like Mason's.
She looked away.
---
A storm rose without wind.
In the center of the path, something moved—a shadow that flickered like memory. It formed into a figure. A boy. Barefoot, bruised, wearing the same cloak Mason once wore.
"Mason?" Seraphina stepped forward.
"No!" Mira grabbed her hand. "It's not him!"
But it was too late.
The shadow-boy turned.
His face—was Mason's.
But his eyes were empty.
He opened his mouth and screamed—
Not a sound.
Just a surge of soul energy that blasted Seraphina backward.
Arabella caught her before she hit the glass.
"It's a puppet," she spat. "A mockery."
Seraphina slowly stood, blood trailing from the corner of her lip.
"He used Mason's image… to break me."
She stepped forward again.
"But you picked the wrong girl to shatter."
With a wave of her hand, fire erupted from her palm—blue, angry, alive. The flames struck the shadow-boy. He screamed again—but this time, not like a puppet. Like something in pain. Like something that remembered.
For a split second, his eyes flashed real.
Mason's soul.
Still fighting.
Still there.
"Did you see that?" Mira cried.
"He's alive," Arabella said, her voice cracking. "He's fighting."
But the moment was over. The figure vanished into black dust.
Seraphina dropped to her knees.
"He's suffering… every second… and we're too late."
Mira bent beside her, shaking her head.
"No. We are not late. We're here. And we saw his soul fight back. That's all we need."
Arabella knelt beside them, her hand resting on Seraphina's back.
"We'll tear Nevalon apart. We'll burn down the Soul Keeper's throne if we must."
Tears finally spilled down Seraphina's cheeks.
"Why does it hurt so much?"
Mira answered softly.
"Because love is not soft. It is a blade. And right now, yours is cutting you from the inside out."
---
They moved on.
The further they walked, the colder it became.
Until they reached it.
A cathedral made of bones and black feathers. Hanging above the gate was a sign carved in bleeding crystal:
"Here Lies Power. Buried in Pain."
They stepped inside.
And there, in the center of the cathedral, stood a pedestal.
On it lay a necklace.
A silver chain with a glowing stone the color of dawn.
Seraphina reached out.
But before her fingers could touch it—
A voice boomed through the cathedral.
"TOUCH IT—AND HE DIES."
They spun.
And there he was.
The Soul Keeper.
Mason's sword in his hand.
His face hidden by a mask of molten gold.