The doors of the Hall of Records swung open with a deep, ancient groan.
A wind—warm, glowing, almost alive—swept through the chamber, swirling around Amila and Claire as if welcoming them… or warning them.
Claire tightened her grip on Amila's wrist.
"Do you feel that?"
Amila nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's… calling us."
The Golden Path leading out of the Hall was illuminated with floating runes, each symbol flickering like a heartbeat. Claire felt each pulse echo through her bones.
The Archivist's voice followed behind them:
"Once you leave this hall, your ancestral power will begin to awaken.There is no turning back."
Amila and Claire exchanged a look—fear mixed with a fierce, shared determination.
Together they stepped onto the glowing path.
THE MARK OF THE RADIANT
As soon as Claire's foot touched the first rune, light shot up her arm.
She gasped.
A symbol—delicate, ancient, shaped like a winged star—etched itself onto her forearm in golden flame. It didn't burn. It felt… right.
Amila stumbled back as her own arm ignited with light.
But her symbol was different.
Claire's was a star.
Amila's was a sunburst—wild, fierce, radiant.
The Archivist lifted his staff.
"Claire, the Star-Bearer—you are the Heir of Guidance,the one who leads through darkness."
"And Amila, the Dawn-Blooded—you are the Heir of Wrath and Protection,the fire that shields the innocent."
Amila blinked. "Wrath? That… sounds violent."
The Archivist smiled faintly."Wrath in the hands of the righteous becomes justice."
Claire looked at her glowing arm, heart pounding.
"And these marks… what do they mean for us?"
"They are your birthrights," the Archivist said. "And your weapons."
A NEW POWER RISES
A sudden heat rolled through Claire's chest, spreading through her body like sunlight filling a cold room.
Her breath hitched.
"Amila… something's happening—"
Amila's eyes widened as her own aura flared, bright and fiery, lifting her hair like a rising storm.
The Archivist raised his hands.
"Your bloodlines are awakening.The Radiant Clan has accepted you."
Claire felt a rush of emotion—fear, relief, destiny—twist inside her.
"So… that means we're ready to face her?"
The Archivist's gaze dimmed.
"Not yet. You have inherited power—but not control."
He gestured toward the far end of the glowing path, where a shimmering gateway flickered like a portal of sunlight.
"There is one who can guide you.One who knows Seraphiel better than any."
Amila stiffened.
"Who?"
The Archivist spoke a single name:
"Your mother."
Amila's heart stopped.
"My—my mother? She's waiting for us?"
"She awaits your arrival," the Archivist confirmed. "Training. Preparing for war. And now… preparing to train the two of you."
Claire looked at Amila with wide eyes.
"Amila… you're going to see her again."
And for the first time in a long time, Amila didn't know what to feel.
Fear.
Hope.
Relief.
Grief.
But one thing was certain:
She wasn't the same girl who had last seen her mother.
And her mother wasn't the same woman, either.
THE PATH TO THE RADIANT CLAN
Claire took Amila's hand, squeezing gently.
"No matter what happens there… I'm with you. We'll face this together."
Amila nodded, though her voice shook.
"I know."
Together, they stepped toward the shimmering gateway—toward the clan they had never known but were born to belong to.
As the light enveloped them, the Archivist spoke one final warning:
"Seraphiel's forces move faster than we expected.Your mother may be preparing…but so is she."
The girls vanished into the Radiant Gate.
And far away, in the shadowed mountains, Lady Seraphine smiled as her dark army rose from the earth.