She hadn't left her room in twelve days.
They stopped knocking on the third day. Stopped asking her to eat on the fifth. By the seventh, the servants began leaving trays outside her door like offerings to a vengeful god. Some knelt. Some prayed. None spoke when she passed by the door—because she didn't walk anymore. She simply existed, a presence that pulsed beyond the stone and wood and whispered of something ancient.
The light had returned.
But not the soft kind.
Not the warm hum she once carried in her skin when she touched flowers and made birds follow her steps.
Now, it shimmered from her skin like starlight on the edge of breaking.
Her hair had turned gold.
Not golden—not like Kael used to say when he called her "sunshine."
Gold.
Like metal melted down and poured through her curls.
And her eyes—
She'd seen them in the mirror once.
Once was enough.
They were no longer just blue. They swirled like storms, clouds and stars turning behind her pupils. A priest had collapsed the first time he looked her in the eye. Said she'd looked into his soul.
She hadn't meant to.
She hadn't meant for any of this.
They told her on the second day.
When she finally woke from the exhaustion of the blast, when her limbs stopped twitching, when her breathing returned to normal, they sat beside her in silence and said the words.
"Kael is gone."
She didn't understand at first.
She waited for him to walk in with his sword on his back and that tired smile he always wore when she'd asked too many questions. She waited for his boots to echo down the hallway. For the way he always smelled of iron and sunlight and—
He never came.
And that's when it broke.
She screamed for three hours.
No light. No power.
Just screaming.
The kind that turned the air sharp.
After that, she stopped speaking.
Now
She sat on the floor, in the middle of her vast chamber, knees drawn to her chest, arms around them tightly. The silk robe they'd dressed her in was too heavy. The embroidery scratched her skin. Her hair glowed faintly in the shadows, curling around her shoulders like sunlight trapped in sorrow.
She stared at the candle in front of her.
It was lit.
Its flame was still.
She hated it. Aveline id gone and now Kael too.
She wanted it to flicker. To fail. To burn out. Like him.
She reached a hand toward it—and the flame bowed to her, bent sideways as if pulled by a storm only she could feel.
She clenched her fist.
The flame went out.
Omel came to visit her once.
He didn't step far inside.
Didn't meet her gaze.
Just said, "The people are afraid… but they're also in awe. You saved the city."
She didn't respond.
He added, "You've been granted time. All the time you need. No one will disturb you."
Then he left.
She hadn't looked at him.
Couldn't.
Because the only face she saw anymore was Kael's—twisted in pain, sword through his middle, blood on his lips, and his final whisper—
"My little star."
She whispered to the wall sometimes.
"If I hadn't asked to go outside…"
"If I hadn't run…"
"If I was stronger…"
If. If. If.
The words curled around her like chains.
On the twentieth day, she walked to the mirror.
Not to see herself.
Just to look.
To confirm.
That she would never again be that small girl who cried when frogs died or chased petals in the wind.
Her reflection stared back—haloed in light, eyes like galaxies, lips silent.
She wasn't human anymore.
She had killed with her light.
She had burned people away.
Even if they were bad. Even if they had hurt Kael. Even if they had meant to take her.
They were gone, and it had come from her.
Her chest ached.
Her hands trembled.
She whispered, "I won't ever leave again."
And the mirror fogged.
That night, she dreamed of the garden.
Not the one outside. Not the hill or the park or the canal.
Her garden.
The one in the sanctuary.
The willow tree. The pond. The crickets. The sun on her back.
Kael was there, sitting with his boots off, sleeves rolled up, polishing a blade that didn't need polishing.
He didn't look at her.
She didn't go to him.
She stood there, barefoot, heart heavy.
"Are you mad at me?" she asked.
He smiled—soft, distant.
"Never."
"I did it."
"I know."
"I killed them."
"I know."
"I killed you."
His eyes finally lifted to meet hers.
"No, Seraphina. You saved me."
She sobbed. Fell to her knees. Hugged herself.
"I don't feel saved."
Kael knelt in front of her, like he used to when she was scared.
"Then we wait."
"For what?"
"For the day you forgive yourself."
She shook her head. "I don't want to leave the temple ever again. I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want them to look at me like I'm—"
"Divine?"
She nodded, crying harder.
"I just want to be me."
Kael reached out, and for a moment, she felt his touch.
Felt warmth.
He wiped her cheek. "Then be you. Be kind. Be small. Be scared. Be anything you need."
"But not divine?"
He smiled again. "Even the Divine had fear once."
She looked up at him.
"Will I see you again?"
"Not for a while."
"But you'll come back?"
"When you need me most."
She whispered, "I always need you."
He didn't answer.
He just kissed her forehead—
And the dream ended.
When she woke, the sun was rising.
She stood, alone.
Her powers hadn't gone away.
But now, they hummed quieter. Not with rage. Not with panic.
With mourning.
The light was part of her now.
But so was the grief.
She pulled the curtain closed, returned to the cold bed, and whispered to herself:
"I won't run again."
And the wind outside bowed against the glass, as if listening.