The gate shattered.
It didn't creak. It didn't swing. It exploded, like something had swatted it aside with a casual flick of wrath.
Aria barely had time to react before she and Riven were halfway down the west stairwell. The manor's alarms—a dull red glow pulsing through the walls—flared to life.
"I liked that gate," Aria muttered.
"Tell them that when they're prying your corpse off the lawn," Riven said grimly.
She cracked a smile. "You're bad at pep talks."
"I'm not here to inspire you," he said. "I'm here to make sure you don't die before you become someone terrifying."
They reached the courtyard. The air reeked of ozone and scorched earth. Already, magical residue danced over the stone like faint auroras.
And then she saw them.
Four of them. Cloaked in shadowy robes, faces masked in silver. They moved like predators, soundless, synchronized.
One stepped forward.
"Aria Valeth. Child of Gold. You are not meant to exist."
Aria stepped beside Riven, golden eyes unblinking. "You should really get over that. I'm very much here."
They didn't laugh.
Didn't move.
Just stood, as if waiting.
Until one of them extended a hand.
A circle flared beneath Aria's feet.
She recognized it instantly.
A suppression seal.
Without thinking, she kicked backward, slamming into Riven and pushing him out of the radius—just as it triggered.
The circle snapped shut. Her magic… dimmed.
The golden aura around her flickered.
Muted.
Smart, she thought. They planned this.
Riven was already drawing his blade—the real one this time—but the masked figures ignored him. Their attention never left her.
"Aria Valeth," another one intoned, voice distorted. "You are to be taken into the custody of the Sealbearers. Resistance will be met with purification."
"Wow," she said. "You people really don't know how to talk to twelve-year-olds."
They moved.
Fast.
The first one struck low, aiming for her legs—meant to cripple, not kill.
She ducked, narrowly missing the swipe, and twisted into a roll. Her body felt heavier—slower. The seal was working.
But it wasn't perfect.
Because Aria wasn't just magic.
She was memory.
And her body remembered Riven's movements.
She copied the footwork. The weight-shifting. The perfect parry motion that left just enough opening to—
Crack.
Her fist connected with the masked figure's side, sending him skidding back.
The seal pulsed again, tightening.
The others advanced.
Riven leapt into the fray, blade a blur. "Three on two," he growled. "Fair odds."
"Says the guy with actual combat training."
"Says the girl who mimics forbidden techniques in her sleep."
Aria inhaled deeply.
Focus.
She reached within—beyond the place the seal could reach.
Her golden fire… gone.
But something else shimmered just beneath the surface.
New.
Foreign.
Borrowed.
Learned.
She didn't know where it came from. Maybe the glyphs Riven showed her last night. Maybe the fragments of power left behind by the spellbooks she'd devoured.
But it was there.
A whisper of a word in a language she never learned.
"Astraem."
She breathed it.
And the seal cracked.
Not shattered—but cracked.
Enough.
The world tilted. Gold surged through her limbs again—slower, more deliberate, but angry.
Her eyes lit up like miniature suns.
The next attacker lunged.
She caught the blade in her bare hands.
The metal melted.
The mask jerked back. "Impossible—"
Aria leaned forward. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
Then she released the fire.
A golden shockwave erupted from her core, washing over the courtyard and knocking all four masked figures off their feet.
Even Riven stumbled.
When the light faded, the grass was glass. The air hummed with power.
Aria stood in the center, breathing hard.
One masked figure groaned. Tried to rise.
She raised her hand—and conjured not fire this time, but a spear of condensed memory-light, pure and shaped like ancient runes.
"Try again," she said.
They didn't.
Riven walked to her side, brushing ash off his coat. "You always this dramatic?"
"I'm warming up to it."
"You learned a new spell mid-fight."
"I do that now."
He studied her, then looked at the horizon. The cloaked figures were retreating.
"They'll report back," he said. "Next time, it won't be four."
"I hope not," Aria murmured, watching the gold burn beneath her skin.
"Because next time," she whispered, "I want a challenge."