The revelation struck like a thunderclap.
Great-grandmother? My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the spectral woman seated upon the obsidian throne. Her presence was overwhelming—elegant yet fierce, like an ancient storm that had learned patience.
“You’re not real,” I said, the words escaping before I could catch them.
She raised an eyebrow. “Not real? Child, your blood runs with my fire. Do you think the sanctuary would open for just anyone?”
Mira stood beside me, her expression unreadable. “We didn’t know anyone survived the last purge.”
“I didn’t survive,” the woman said softly. “I endured.”
I took a step closer, magic sparking faintly in my fingertips. “You said you were the Keeper of the Flame. What does that mean?”
She rose from her throne, the stone beneath her bare
