Speaker 1: There are nights when the wind doesn't move, it waits,
Speaker 1: when the stars don't shine, they listen, and when the
Speaker 1: sky itself seems to ripple, it remembers. Armani felt it
Speaker 1: before she saw it, a vibration, a humming beneath the
Speaker 1: soles of her feet, as she stood at her balcony,
Speaker 1: wrapped in velvet woven with ancient sigils. Her eyes traced
Speaker 1: the horizon where twilight melted the last of the sun
Speaker 1: into deep indigo. But above the eastern cliffs, the air
Speaker 1: bent like silk catching fire, like a whisper breaking through
Speaker 1: the veil. Her breath hitched behind her. A mirror leaned
Speaker 1: against the wall, not ornate, just tall, dark obsidian. But
Speaker 1: in it she no longer saw a queen. She saw
Speaker 1: a flicker of someone else, eyes that gleamed, violet, veins
Speaker 1: that shimmered gold, a presence not entirely hers. She parted
Speaker 1: her lips and let the name rise again, Aramentheel. It
Speaker 1: slid off her tongue, like a memory rediscovered. The moment
Speaker 1: she said it, the air shifted. Something stirred behind her,
Speaker 1: not footsteps, not even sound, just a knowing, A quiet
Speaker 1: presence entering like dusk itself. Come in, Armani said, softly,
Speaker 1: not turning, Leora stepped into the moonlight. Her hands were
Speaker 1: hidden in long black sleeves, but beneath the fabric, something
Speaker 1: faintly pulsed. Her expression was calm yet urgent, like someone
Speaker 1: carrying a truth too heavy to hold alone. You felt
Speaker 1: it too, Armani whispered. Leora nodded and withdrew a scroll
Speaker 1: from within her sleeve. It was tied in twine, sealed
Speaker 1: not with wax, but a glowing glyph, a crescent moon
Speaker 1: curled around a small flame. It's time, Leora said, The
Speaker 1: mirror calls you. The mirror, Armani asked, though part of
Speaker 1: her already knew, the mirror of two bloods. It stands
Speaker 1: deep within the forest, where the veil between realms thins.
Speaker 1: It does not show who you are, but who your
Speaker 1: blood remembers. Armani stared at the scroll, her fingers itched
Speaker 1: to touch it, yet trembled. And if I see something
Speaker 1: I cannot carry, she asked. Leora's gaze did not waver.
Speaker 1: Then you must choose which blood to follow. That night,
Speaker 1: the palace slumbered, but Armani did not. She moved through
Speaker 1: its halls like a breath in a storm. The guards
Speaker 1: did not stir, even the torch flames dimmed in her presence,
Speaker 1: as though the castle itself bent around her passage. In
Speaker 1: the gardens, moonflowers bloomed in silence, The healing river shimmered silver.
Speaker 1: The trees leaned in, whispering with leaves instead of tongues.
Speaker 1: And then the forest opened. At its heart, Hidden behind
Speaker 1: a curtain of moss and whispering willow branches, lay a
Speaker 1: circular grove. Lights billed into it, not from stars or moon,
Speaker 1: but from something pulsing at its center. The mirror. It
Speaker 1: had no frame, no base, no reflection. It simply stood tall, alive,
Speaker 1: like molten blood mixed with starlight. As she stepped toward it,
Speaker 1: her body vibrated, her bones remembered, her blood quickened. Then
Speaker 1: the surface of the mirror changed. It no longer shimmered.
Speaker 1: It showed her, but not as she was. Her reflection
Speaker 1: moved first, eyes glowing violet, their pupils narrowed like the
Speaker 1: core of a flame, wild ancient, knowing, skin luminous but
Speaker 1: laced with crimson and gold, veins that pulsed with something
Speaker 1: more than blood, something sacred, something cursed mouth parted as
Speaker 1: if breathing in the secrets of forgotten realms, lips darkened
Speaker 1: by a hunger, She could no longer deny her expression
Speaker 1: divine and danger, not the danger of death, but the
Speaker 1: danger of awakening, of remembering, of stepping into a power
Speaker 1: that could either heal a kingdom or set it ablaze.
Speaker 1: It was the look of someone touched by gods and
Speaker 1: haunted by purpose, the kind of beauty that made angels
Speaker 1: weep and demons kneel. Then it spoke, not aloud, but
Speaker 1: deep in her bones. You are the daughter of the
Speaker 1: flame and the thirst, the bridge between the light and
Speaker 1: the abyss, the last born of two truths. Armani stepped back, gasping,
Speaker 1: And then came the surge. Memories that were not hers,
Speaker 1: and yet were her mother weeping over an ancient scroll,
Speaker 1: her grandmother Isabelle, whispering lullabies in a language of stars,
Speaker 1: and her great aunt Nuru, the Royal Queen Warrior, a
Speaker 1: vision of Nuru beneath a blood moon, chanting over a
Speaker 1: sword wrapped in silk and bone. You will finish what
Speaker 1: I began, her aunt whispered. But the darkness you must
Speaker 1: face will know your name. It will tempt you, test you,
Speaker 1: try to love you, and it will wear many faces.
Speaker 1: Suddenly the mirror rippled again, and from it stepped another figure,
Speaker 1: cloaked in shadows and silver fire, crowned with snakes and
Speaker 1: crescent light. Hekati. Armani collapsed to her knees. Goddess Hecata's
Speaker 1: voice voice was like thunder, braided with honey rise daughter.
Speaker 1: Armani stood, but her voice trembled. Why do I feel
Speaker 1: torn in two? Why does my heart pull me toward
Speaker 1: the very darkness I was warned against? Hekty touched her forehead,
Speaker 1: and in that instant flashes of Jake his touch, his eyes,
Speaker 1: his pain, his kiss, his flame. Because he is part
Speaker 1: of your mirror, Hecate said, your reflection, your opposite. You
Speaker 1: were born to walk the line between shadow and flame.
Speaker 1: Love is not your enemy, but it must not blind you.
Speaker 1: Tears welled in Armani's eyes. Hekatay whispered an incantation over
Speaker 1: her heart, and a warmth spread through her chest. Then
Speaker 1: from nowhere, another voice joined them. Mail ragged, urgent branches
Speaker 1: cracked Jake. He stumbled into the grove, shirt clinging to him,
Speaker 1: eyes burning soft red and silver. He looked like a
Speaker 1: storm had breathed him out. I felt you, he said,
Speaker 1: ARMANI turned slowly. You shouldn't be here. I had to come,
Speaker 1: he said. I saw things, felt things. I crossed the
Speaker 1: wall of flame, and I remembered. What did you remember?
Speaker 1: She asked. Jake stepped closer. That I'm not just lost
Speaker 1: between two worlds. I am the key to one of them,
Speaker 1: the dark realm. She staggered back behind her. The mirror
Speaker 1: rippled again and showed Brandon. He stood in the war chamber,
Speaker 1: blood soaked his hands, a broke blade at his feet,
Speaker 1: his face contorted in grief, in rage, and desperation. He
Speaker 1: screamed a name, aramentheel and behind him, wings, feathers, black
Speaker 1: and gold, ashes falling. The mirror cracked down the center,
Speaker 1: and the grove screamed. Armani dropped to her knees, clutching
Speaker 1: her chest as the mark on her wrist flared red
Speaker 1: and gold, pulsing with pain. Jake caught her, held her
Speaker 1: and whispered, what do you see? Her voice shook a war,
Speaker 1: a betrayal, a love that could burn the world or
Speaker 1: heal it. She gasped, I'm not just Armani anymore. Jake
Speaker 1: cupped her cheek. You never were, And somewhere deep within
Speaker 1: her Armani heard the voices of her ancestors, not in words,
Speaker 1: but in a chant, a spell, a prophecy. Let the
Speaker 1: flame rise, let the blood remember, Let her name be
Speaker 1: known again. The mirror lay cracked behind her. The forest
Speaker 1: fell silent, but the veil, it was still thinning, and
Speaker 1: the storm had only just begun.