The visions no longer came only in dreams.
They invaded.
One moment, Lina would be walking through the palace, fire trailing her footsteps. The next—she was her, but not. A woman draped in ancient gold, bare feet stained in ash, standing before a throne long before Andra ever ruled.
She screamed awake in the night, breath trembling, skin glowing like embers beneath her flesh. Andra was always there, holding her through the burn—but not even he could touch what was awakening.
The truth was clawing its way through her soul.
She wasn't the first.
She was the same.
Reborn. Rewritten. Again and again.
In a hidden chamber beneath the Heart, Lina found it. A mural etched in volcanic stone—faded, cracked, ancient. A woman who looked like her. Not similar. Identical. Wearing the same fire-bound crown now resting on her head.
And beside her… not Andra.
But a man made of shadow and void. Not flame. Not rage. Silence.
"Do you see it now?" a voice whispered behind her.
She turned. Andra stood in the doorway, his face unreadable.
"She was you," he said. "Once. Ages ago. Before the thrones. Before me."
Lina's throat tightened. "You knew."
He nodded slowly. "I didn't understand it until I brought you here. Until the Heart started speaking again. You weren't just chosen, Lina. You were returned."
She stared at the mural, voice low. "What happened to her?"
Andra's eyes darkened. "She loved the wrong god. Gave her soul to a flame too pure, too wild. The Heart devoured her to contain it. To keep her from burning through reality itself."
A silence settled between them. Not cold. Not cruel. Just… final.
"She is you," he said. "But you're stronger. You've already surpassed her."
Lina turned to him, fire rising behind her eyes. "Then why do I still feel like something is missing?"
Andra stepped forward, his hand finding her waist, his voice low with heat. "Because your soul has always burned for something beyond this realm. Beyond me."
Her breath caught. "And if I burn through it all again?"
His lips grazed hers, voice breaking. "Then I'll follow you into the fire. Even if it destroys me."
She kissed him—not softly, but like she was branding him. As if marking him into every version of herself—past, present, and whatever came next.
Because now she knew: this wasn't their first story.
But it could be their last.
And this time, she wouldn't be devoured.
She would devour back.