They stopped at a circular door—runed and sealed. Raphael ran a hand over the symbols.
"This is the one. The same door the rebels opened."
Hope pulled out a charm. "I copied the signature when we saw them vanish."
With a whisper of ancient words, the lock clicked—and the door opened.
Behind it was a chamber… but not the one from the prophecy.
It was smaller.
Personal.
A secret vault with a mirror in the center, glowing faintly.
London stepped forward and froze.
"That's—me."
The hallways were quiet at midnight.
Too quiet.
Hope crept past the enchanted hallway paintings, her cloak drawn tight, her heart pounding. She was meeting London and Raphael at the East Wing stairwell—where the forgotten tunnels began. The only entrance that wasn't warded by the faculty.
She reached the stairwell, and Raphael was already there—half-shadowed, ears perked.
"You're late," he teased.
Hope rolled her eyes. "I had to hex a hallway monitor."
London arrived seconds later, wearing a mischievous grin and a coat with glowing flame-runes.
"You're wearing that?" Hope smirked.
"It's protective," he said, spinning. "And it makes my fire flare less... unpredictable."
London gave a sheepish smile. "I didn't know I could."
"You still don't," she said, nudging him. "But it suits you."
He looked at her, slower this time. "You do too."
Hope felt her breath catch.
There was a weight in the moment—gentle, unspoken, but real. For the first time since arriving at Blackmoor, she didn't feel like the girl with too many pieces stitched together.
She felt like herself.
And London saw her.
---
They stopped at a circular door—runed and sealed. Raphael ran a hand over the symbols.
"This is the one. The same door the rebels opened."Hope pulled out a charm. "I copied the signature when we saw them vanish."
With a whisper of ancient words, the lock clicked—and the door opened.
Behind it was a chamber… but not the one from the prophecy.
It was smaller.
Personal.
A secret vault with a mirror in the center, glowing faintly.
London stepped forward and froze.
"That's—me."
Inside the mirror was him—but older, wreathed in fire, wings of flame behind him, eyes burning gold. He looked broken. Powerful. Alone.
Hope reached for his hand. "London…?"
The mirror shimmered and whispered:
"The Phoenix burns brightest before the fall."
Raphael touched the frame and hissed. "This mirror—it's showing your future. Or… one possible future."
London's hands trembled.
"I don't want that."
Hope held his hand tighter. "Then don't choose it. We'll fight it together."
He looked at her then—really looked—and something passed between them. A silent promise. A magnetic pull.
And in the heat of it, he leaned in.
So did she.
Their lips met—gentle, warm, steady. Fire danced softly around them but didn't burn. It welcomed.When they pulled apart, Hope whispered, "We're stronger together."
Raphael cleared his throat dramatically. "I'm happy for you both, but... that mirror's humming again."
They turned.
The mirror's image had shifted.
Now, it showed Hope, standing in front of the school in flames—alone.
And behind her… a shadowed figure, wearing a Blackmoor student crest, but cloaked in dark magic.
London whispered, "That's the one."
Raphael nodded grimly. "The traitor."
The hallways were quiet at midnight.
Too quiet.
Hope crept past the enchanted hallway paintings, her cloak drawn tight, her heart pounding. She was meeting London and Raphael at the East Wing stairwell—where the forgotten tunnels began. The only entrance that wasn't warded by the faculty.
She reached the stairwell, and Raphael was already there—half-shadowed, ears perked.
"You're late," he teased.
Hope rolled her eyes. "I had to hex a hallway monitor."
London arrived seconds later, wearing a mischievous grin and a coat with glowing flame-runes.
"You're wearing that?" Hope smirked.
"It's protective," he said, spinning. "And it makes my fire flare less... unpredictable."
Raphael opened the old grate behind him with a grunt. "Let's go. Before anyone else wakes up."
---
The tunnels beneath Blackmoor were older than the school itself. They twisted like veins, carved into black stone, pulsing with hidden power. Strange glyphs lined the walls—some dead, some softly glowing as they passed.
"Are we sure we're not walking into a trap?" Raphael whispered.
"We're already in one," London replied. "We've just been pretending we're not."
They moved deeper.