The pin pulsed like a second heartbeat in my palm, alive with power. I had reached for it instinctively, unable to resist its inexplicable pull. Not just an artifact. Not just a relic. It was alive.
And it recognized me.
As my fingertips brushed its cool surface, the air thickened, vibrating with an energy older than time itself. The chamber air pressed against my skin as though the walls breathed in response to the pin's awakening.
I stumbled back, bumping into the woman beside me. I barely registered the woman stiffening in horror, her lips parting in a prayer I couldn't understand
Her gasp was sharp, filled with fear, eyes locking onto the pin as though I held coals in my palms. "The pin-"
"Chooses its owner." I finished, my voice barely above a whisper. A cold chill slithered down my spine, lifting the fine downy hairs on my arms.
My gaze scanned the chamber. I only noticed him. The man standing in the doorway. His dark eyes gleamed like polished obsidian; his gaze locked onto the pin with an intensity that made my stomach twist.
He was not shocked that I had it. He was furious.
"Some may consider this an ill omen," he said, voice smooth as silk, though there was a tremor beneath it. "But I see it for what it truly is—a moment of destiny."
The words were calm. The tension that played across features, etched his shoulders was not.
I forced a smirk. "Let me guess. There's a prophecy? Am I the Chosen One? The realms are in peril?"
Even as I said it, I could hear my mother's voice whispering from the depths of memory.
"The Phoenix does not choose lightly. It does not burn for mortals. It does not kneel. It does not love, unless loved first."
I'd always thought it was just a myth. A bedtime tale wrapped in embers and legend.
But the pin—no, the Phoenix—was awake in my hands.
And the man before me? He wasn't looking at me like I was chosen. He was looking at me like I was a problem.
A threat.
His lips curled into something like a smile, though his fingers twitched at his side. "You have no idea what you are, do you?"
I raised my chin, "A woman with a fancy hairpin and a severe lack of patience?"
His smile sharpened as if he spoke to cut and subdue me. "You are incomplete."
The pin in my grasp flared, a sudden jolt of heat coursing through my veins, and for the briefest moment, I wasn't in the chamber anymore.
I was standing in an endless field of fire.
Wings stretched across the sky—wings too vast to belong to anything mortal. Each feather burned with golden-red light, their edges flickering as though barely tethered to reality.
And at the center of it all, a voice—deep, ancient, a whisper that thundered through my bones.
"You are not the first. You will not be the last. But you are now."
The vision collapsed.
I staggered, breathless, as the chamber slammed back into focus.
The man took a slow step forward. "You feel it, don't you?" His voice was softer now, coaxing. "The pull of eternity."
The woman at my side shifted nervously, her eyes darting between me and the man. "My Lady," she whispered with reverence and urgency. "We must continue the wedding preparations. There is no turning back now."
Another woman behind the man dropped to her knees, forehead touching the cold stone. "She remembers," she whispered.
The man exhaled sharply, something like relief flickering across his face. "Then there may still be time."
I clenched the pin so tightly it cut into my palm. "Time for what?"
He studied me, as though debating how much he could say.
Then, carefully, he spoke.
"The Phoenix is not a creature of mercy," he said. "It is not a saviour. It is power incarnate—deathless, unyielding, a force that reshapes the world with each rebirth. Every lifetime, it chooses a vessel. And every lifetime, that vessel is consumed, piece by piece, until there is nothing left of the woman—only her."
I swallowed hard.
He took another step closer. "But it does not have to be this way."
The realization slammed into me.
He wasn't here for the Phoenix.
He was here to contain it.
To own it and me.
"You can't stop what's already happening," I said, my voice stronger than I felt.
His expression didn't shift. "No. But I can guide it."
I nearly laughed. "Guide it? Don't you mean control it?"
Something flickered across his face. "Your power is vast, but it is raw. Unrefined. You are strong, yes—but alone, you are chaos." He gestured to himself, to the chamber, to the kneeling woman. "With me, you could be order."
Oh.
Oh, this was rich.
I let out a slow breath, tilting my head. "So what? I'm supposed to let you put a leash on me? Play the obedient little bride while you wield my power like a weapon?"
His jaw clenched.
"Without guidance, you will burn," he said, voice low. "Every past vessel has. They begin as women, but they do not stay that way. Their souls erode. Their minds fracture. Their bodies—" He let out a slow, deliberate breath. "They become it."
A trickle of doubt slithered into my chest.
I had felt it, hadn't I? That vast, endless power. That thing whispering from the flames.
Would I become just another vessel in an endless cycle?
Would I be erased?
The Phoenix Pin hummed, as if sensing my hesitation.
The man's eyes gleamed. "Let me help you."
I stared at him.
And then—
I laughed.
Sharp. Defiant.
His face darkened.
"You still don't get it," I said. "You think this is about power? About control?" I stepped forward, the pin's warmth threading through my veins. "You're afraid of what I could be. But it's too late."
The pin flared.
Heat surged through me—not burning, not destroying. Becoming.
I saw it now—the truth buried beneath centuries of silence.
The Phoenix was not a curse.
It was not a prison.
It was mine.
And the man before me?
He was nothing in comparison.
His expression shifted—not anger now. Not even hatred.
Pure, unfiltered fear.
The doors to the chamber burst open, and figures in ceremonial robes rushed in. But I did not turn.
I kept my gaze on him.
"You should have let me have my moment," I murmured.
And then, with the Phoenix burning in my chest, I rose.
The moment I accepted the Phoenix's power, memories came rushing in.
Not a vision. Not a whisper.
A thousand cycles of time, playing in my mind all at once.
Women, young and old draped in gold and fire, eyes alive and burning with the same power I felt now.
The first was a queen, adorned in silks that shimmered like the dawn. She was strong, and fearless. When she wielded the Phoenix's flame, armies knelt, and kings trembled. But power is a lonely throne. It burned through her court, through her heart, until even those she loved feared to stand beside her. She lived for three hundred years before becoming a name in the wind.
The second was a warrior, sword ablaze, her voice carrying across the battlefield like the roar of a storm. She did not bow to kings—kings bowed to her. But battle after battle, war after war, the Phoenix consumed her victories, leaving only ashes. When her body fell, she lingered between life and death, a living inferno, until the world forgot her name.
The third was a seer, quiet and wise, using her gift to guide empires. But the fire is not meant for silence. It is not meant to be caged. Over time, her visions turned to madness, and when she could no longer bear the burden, she walked into the sea, hoping to drown. But the waves could not take her.
Repeatedly, the cycle continued.
They were powerful, but they were mortal.
And so, they fell.
Not by blade. Not by time. But by their inability to assume her mantle. Like an ember flickering to life in the depths of my soul. I realized each woman had been a vessel, but not a match. Their bodies too fragile, their minds too breakable, their souls unable to hold eternity.
But I was different.
I was not just a vessel.
I am her.