Chapter 1 The Return

Someone was watching her again. She could feel it.

Seraphina Vale stood on the rooftop, her eyes on the dark streets below. Trine was restless tonight. The city glowed beneath her like a trap; too many lights, too many lives, too much noise hiding what really moved in the shadows.

She didn’t breathe, didn’t blink, just waited. The feeling came in waves. It wasn’t fear. Fear was for the living. This was instinct, an old kind that whispered when danger was near.

But when she looked again, the streets were empty. Nothing but rain, reflections, and the slow pulse of the city.

She almost laughed. Maybe she was being delusional, and eternity was finally making her paranoid.

Still, she didn’t move right away. Her eyes scanned the area, trailing over the slick cobblestones that shimmered beneath the streetlamps. The air smelled of rain and smoke—Trine’s scent, a mixture of beauty and decay. The kind of city that never truly slept but pretended to.

After a long minute, she turned and went inside, shaking the rain from her coat. The clock downstairs read past midnight.

The antique shop was quiet, filled with the familiar scent of wax and dust. Vail Antiquities looked like any other small business, a safe place tucked away from the chaos of the modern world. It was her way of hiding in plain sight.

This shop gave her the perfect cover and the fresh start she had always wanted.

She surrounded herself with shelves lined with relics: tarnished coins, cracked mirrors, and jewelry that still remembered the ambience of time. Every object had a story—souvenirs of a life she no longer lived. The past made sense, but the present never did for her.

She poured herself a cup of tea and tried to focus on the steady rhythm of small things. She’d learned that peace was something you built, not something you were given. And she was desperately trying to build it.

Then the ring around her neck began to glow.

She froze. The light was faint, just a shimmer, but she felt it to her bones.

The ring was silver, engraved with a serpent curling around a rose. It was older than Trine, older than most of the world, and it belonged to him. She didn't want to keep it but it was the only thing that keep his memory in her heart. A memory of the man she used to love so dearly.

Caelum Draven.

The name came like a whisper she hadn’t meant to think.

He was the one she’d loved before the fire, before the hunts, before everything fell apart. He’d been her only weakness, and her last memory before death.

The ring pulsed once more. It wasn’t random. It was calling.

Her hands trembled slightly as she set down the cup. The glow faded, but she could still feel its echo under her skin.

After all these centuries, he was alive.

She told herself it didn’t matter, that the past should stay buried. She’d spent a thousand years running from what they’d been. But no part of her truly believed that.

He was a memory she wished she had forgotten.

A curse

Outside, thunder rolled through the sky.

She turned the shop lights off one by one, telling herself she’d deal with it tomorrow. But the air had shifted. Something was moving toward her, something old, familiar, and dangerous.

The bell above the door chimed.

Seraphina turned quickly. A tall and pale man stood in the doorway, his coat heavy with rain. His eyes caught the dim light and glowed faintly red.

“We’re closed,” she said, with a flat voice.

“I know,” he answered quietly. “But I needed to see you.”

He stepped forward, and for a moment she thought she saw a ghost. His face carried the wear of centuries—tired eyes, but sharp. The kind of man who’d seen too much and survived anyway.

“It’s been a long time, my lady.”

Her chest tightened. “No one calls me that anymore.”

He smiled, but it was sad. “My name is Lucen Vadrel. I served you once, before the fall.”

She searched his face, memory stirring. “Lucen… You’re supposed to be dead.”

“So are you,my lady” he said softly.

Silence filled the room. The air between them felt fragile, like a thread stretched across years of forgotten blood and loyalty. Lucen had once been her shadow—her second in command, a loyal soldier of the old court. She remembered his laughter before battle, his vow to protect her even when the world turned against them. She remembered finding his name carved into the ruins after the fire and believing that was the end of him.

Yet here he stood, a relic like her, worn out but unbroken.

Lucen took a slow breath. “He’s returned.”

Seraphina’s eyes darkened. “Who?”

“You already know.”

The ring around her neck pulsed again, as if answering for him.

“Caelum Draven,” Lucen said. “He rules the court now. The Eternal Court follows him. The witch Elysande stands at his side. The balance is slowly breaking.”

Seraphina swallowed hard. “I thought they were long gone.”

“They were waiting,” Lucen said. “And now they’re watching. You need to be careful.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not as hidden as you think.”

Seraphina’s hands tightened on the counter. “If they’re coming, they’ll find me ready.”

Lucen looked at her with something like pity. “He’ll come for you himself. You know he will.”

Her jaw clenched.

“Then he’ll find what he made.”

Lucen’s expression softened. “You always did have fire in you. I just hope it’s enough this time.”

She wanted to ask him more—how he’d survived, what he’d seen, whether he still dreamed of the court they’d lost—but the words caught in her throat.

Lucen bowed his head. “Be safe, my lady. The night has started to remember your name.”

When he left, the door closing echoed through the room.

Seraphina stood still, the candle flickering beside her. The storm outside rumbled again, and the ring on her chest glowed once more.

She touched it lightly, whispering his name to the empty air. “Caelum.”

It was not a prayer. It was a warning!