Seraphina's blade clashed against the steel of her opponent's, the force sending sparks into the air. She gritted her teeth, pushing back with a surge of strength before twisting her body, dodging the incoming strike. Her opponent lunged again, but she was faster—pivoting on her heel, she delivered a sharp kick to his chest.
The soldier stumbled, panting. "Damn it, Seraphina. Do you ever hold back?"
Seraphina lowered her sword, smirking as she reached down to help him up. "You'd be dead if I did."
The other warriors training in the courtyard chuckled, but beneath their amusement was deep respect. Seraphina was one of the best fighters in the Order of the Silver Flame. A warrior, a mage, a leader—but above all, a survivor.
She sheathed her blade and pulled her hood over her long, dark hair. The wind carried the scent of damp earth and distant rain, making her pause. A familiar unease settled in her chest, as if something unseen was shifting in the air.
The dreams had been growing stronger lately.
Not just fleeting nightmares, but visions—of battles she had never fought, faces she had never known, and a man she had never loved.
Yet somehow, in the deepest parts of her soul, she felt like she had.
She never spoke of these dreams, not even to her closest allies. They felt too real, too raw. And there was one figure in them that haunted her more than the rest.
A man with burning silver eyes.
A demon, standing at the edge of a battlefield, reaching for her as fire consumed them both.
Seraphina pressed a hand against her temple, pushing the memory away. They were just dreams. Shadows of a past that never existed.
And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that something—or someone—was coming for her.
—❖—
Later that evening, Seraphina stood at the edge of the city's walls, gazing out at the darkened horizon. The capital of the human realm, Eldreon, was safe for now. But war was always lurking, just beneath the surface.
"You seem lost in thought," a voice spoke behind her.
She turned sharply, her hand instinctively going to her dagger—only to find herself face-to-face with Lysander.
He leaned against the stone railing, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. His golden hair caught the moonlight, his features sharp and unreadable.
"Another dream?" he asked.
Seraphina hesitated. Lysander was the only one who had ever noticed. "It's nothing."
"You say that every time," he mused, tilting his head. "You've been restless for weeks, Seraphina. Tell me—what do you see?"
She exhaled, her fingers tightening around the cool steel of the railing. "Fire. Blood. A war that doesn't belong to me. And…" She hesitated.
A man.
A demon.
Lysander's smirk faltered for the briefest moment, but it was gone before she could dwell on it.
"If it's troubling you that much, maybe it's more than just a dream."
Seraphina looked at him, studying his face. There was something in his expression—something distant, like he, too, was remembering something long forgotten.
Before she could respond, a deep, chilling wind swept through the city. The torches flickered. A whisper echoed in her mind, low and unfamiliar.
I found you.
Seraphina's breath caught in her throat.
And in that moment, far beyond the city walls, Raziel opened his eyes.
Their fates had been entwined once before. Now, they would collide once more.
—❖—