It started with Theo's scribbles.
More precisely, it started with Theo falling asleep on his desk during rune theory and drooling on the wrong page of his notebook—revealing, through osmotic miracle or magical ink (Revantra suspected both), a hastily sketched floorplan that shouldn't have existed.
"Why does your notesheet have a secret passage drawn under the school?" she asked him that afternoon.
Theo blinked at it, still groggy. "...I thought that was a dream."
"Dreams don't usually label things 'Cult Access Hall #3' with an arrow and a tiny frowny face."
"Oh. That wasn't for class?"
"No."
"Coolcoolcool," he mumbled. "Then, uh... maybe don't show that to Professor Laurel."
Revantra didn't.
She showed it to Elias instead.
To his credit, he didn't imdiately grab her by the collar and demand she stay put.
He waited until she finished talking, then calmly grabbed his coat.
"Of course there's a cult under the school," he muttered as they descended the back stairwell. "Why wouldn't there be? I was starting to get comfortable again. Should've known better."
Revantra walked ahead of him, holding the lantern. "Do you want to turn around?"
"Absolutely."
She paused. "Really?"
"No. But I want to."
They found the hidden panel behind the herbology storeroom. It opened with a soft clunk when Revantra pressed the symbol Theo had accidentally doodled upside-down. The wall sighed like it hadn't moved in years.
And beyond it—
A staircase, narrow and spiraling down into cold stone silence.
The air was dry. Dusty. Magic-thick.
She took the first step.
Elias followed with a sigh.
"Can't believe I skipped dinner for this."
"If we die," she said cheerfully, "I want it noted in my will that this was entirely your fault."
"My will says you have to finish your schooling even if I do die."
"That's a weirdly manipulative clause."
"Parenting is a battlefield."
They bickered all the way down. Softly, but familiarly.
It helped. Sohow. The stone hall was too quiet otherwise, and her nerves were too sharp. The old part of her—the buried core that still rembered commanding legions and watching cities burn—was stirring. Not in fear. Not even in anger.
In recognition.
Sothing was calling her. Whispering beneath the stone. Familiar. Hungry.
By the ti they reached the bottom landing, Revantra's fingers were twitching.
"I feel like my skin doesn't fit," she whispered.
Elias stopped beside her. "Your magic reacting?"
She didn't nod.
She didn't have to.
She turned the final corner—and saw them.
Figures in robes.
Five, maybe six, standing in a broken semicircle around a chalk-inscribed circle. Candles flickered at each point. Blood sared ancient runes across the floor.
They were chanting.
Her na.
Not Rhea.
Not even Revantra the child.
But Revantra the feared. The crowned. The damned.
The syllables rolled like thunder—low and rhythmic. She could feel them in her bones.
One of the robed figures turned his head sharply, as if sensing her presence. The others followed.
The circle flared red.
Revantra staggered back.
Sothing reached for her across the divide.
A thread. A tether. Invisible, but tightening.
"Elias," she breathed. "It knows ."
His arm was already around her, pulling her behind him. "Back. Now."
But she didn't move.
Couldn't.
Because even through the revulsion—through the fear—she felt sothing else.
A thrum of power in her chest. Old, like stone. Hot, like lava. Alive.
Her fingers curled unconsciously, and the nearest candle flared brighter.
The circle pulsed.
The robed figures raised their arms, still chanting.
And then one of them spoke.
Not in the language of humans. But in hers.
Revantra's legs gave out.
Elias caught her before she hit the floor.
"We're leaving," he said, already hoisting her up. "Now."
"No—wait—" she whispered, shaking her head. "I want to know what they're doing. I need to—"
"You're not ready."
"But they know , Elias. That's my na."
"I know your na."
His voice wasn't angry. Just... scared.
And in that mont, she rembered he'd already lost her once. To fire. To darkness. To fate.
He wasn't ready to lose her to a na.
So she nodded.
And let him carry her up the stairs.
Back in Their Dorm Room
They didn't speak much at first.
Elias made tea again. Revantra hated that she found the scent calming.
She curled up on the window bench, still wearing her cloak, fingers trembling from the residual magic. Her mind was spinning too fast. Images, feelings, instincts rising like old ghosts.
"You okay?" Elias asked eventually, sitting beside her.
"I'm still ," she said.
He exhaled. "Good."
She glanced at him. "But?"
"No but."
She stared harder.
He caved.
"But... I saw your eyes change down there."
"They always do when I channel high magic."
"No. Not like that."
She looked down at her hands. "I didn't an to."
"I know."
Silence again.
She hated it.
So she muttered, "I was kinda cool though, right?"
He gave a shaky laugh. "I an, yeah. You nearly ignited a whole cult circle by existing."
"Iconic."
"But terrifying."
"Eh. That's part of the brand."
He looked at her. Long. Quiet. Then said, "What did it feel like?"
She hesitated.
"Like soone knocking on a door I forgot I owned."
"Did you... want to answer it?"
Another pause.
She turned toward the window.
"I don't know. Part of did. The old part. The part that rembers fire and war and power. But the rest of ..."
She hugged her knees.
"The rest of was scared it would feel too good. That I wouldn't want to co back."
Elias didn't say anything for a mont.
Then:
"I'll remind you."
She blinked. "Of what?"
He reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. His fingers were warm.
"Of who you are. Every ti. Every day. If you ever forget, I'll be annoying and persistent and probably sing you off-key lullabies until you roll your eyes again."
She stared at him.
Her heart did sothing strange. Not fear. Not recognition.
Sothing fluttering.
She hated it.
"Don't make this weird," she muttered.
"I didn't say anything weird."
"You tucked my hair."
"You looked like an ani protagonist having a crisis."
"Still weird."
"You're welco."
They both smiled. Small. Tired.
Then she said, "We're going back. Tomorrow night."
"Revan—"
"No. I need to know what they're summoning. If it's tied to my past—or worse, my future—I have to face it. And you'll be there. Right?"
He sighed. "Try and stop ."
She reached out and squeezed his hand.
"Thanks," she whispered.
He squeezed back.
"I've got you."
And in the quiet hum of the candlelight, neither of them said what they were both thinking:
That the past wasn't done with her.
That the cult was calling sothing back.
And that no matter how much she changed...
There were still pieces of Revantra—the real, raw, burning queen—that refused to stay buried.
To be continued...
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