The manor's infirmary smelled of herbs and regret.
Aria lay on the cot, golden eyes fixed on the ceiling. The fire in her veins had calmed to a slow simmer. Her fingertips still tingled.
"I melted a sword," she whispered to herself.
Across the room, Riven leaned against a bookshelf, arms folded, still watching her like a hawk might a glowing fox.
"You shouldn't have been able to," he finally said.
"I didn't mean to. They pissed me off."
"You suppressed a high-tier containment seal, mimicked three of my techniques, and cast a spell that hasn't been seen since the era of the Old Tongue. No one's that mad."
Aria shrugged. "Maybe I'm just a prodigy."
He didn't smile.
Instead, he moved closer, and for the first time since they met, there was something almost… careful in the way he looked at her. Like she was less of a child now and more of a loaded weapon.
"You need to know who they were," he said. "The ones who came."
"Sealbearers."
"Yes. And that name should make you nervous."
She sat up slowly, wincing. "Tell me."
He didn't hesitate.
"The Sealbearers are relics of the old empire. Founded over four hundred years ago, after the Collapse of the Ninth Tower—the event that tore the Veil between our world and the Unbound Realm. Magic poured into this world like a flood. People went mad. Cities burned. Kingdoms fell."
Aria blinked. "Sounds cheerful."
"Out of that chaos," Riven continued, "came the Sealbearers. They were meant to contain magic, not use it. Each one trained not to cast—but to seal, suppress, and erase. They can nullify spellcasters, bind spirits, erase names from fate. And most of them were raised from birth to believe magic itself is a disease."
"And I'm basically a walking plague," she muttered.
"To them? Worse. You're a mutation. Magic in human form. Golden fire, unconscious glyph reading, mimicry. Even your existence messes with the balances they've sworn to protect."
"Because I'm reincarnated?"
"Because you're unnatural."
Aria paused. "…Cool."
"Not cool," Riven snapped. "They'll come again. And they won't care how old you are. The Sealbearers don't lose twice."
She met his gaze. "Then I won't either."
He stared at her for a long moment, then looked away.
"You're going to drag this world into a war," he said.
"You sound like you're blaming me."
"I'm blaming fate. And fate's a bastard."
A knock echoed at the door.
It creaked open.
A figure entered—cloaked in blue and white robes, silver hair tied at the nape. Not a Sealbearer. Not a noble.
A scholar.
"My apologies," the woman said, bowing slightly. "I was sent by the Arcanum Library. We've had… disturbances in the magical archives. Old scrolls glowing. Texts rewriting themselves. They all bear one name."
Aria tensed. "Mine?"
The woman nodded.
"Aria Valemir. The one who shouldn't exist."