Bella's breath caught in her throat.
She spun around, golden eyes wide and glowing, heart pounding like thunder in her ears.
The forest had gone utterly still—again.
But she wasn't alone.
A figure stood in the shadows, half-shrouded in fog. His silhouette was tall and graceful, too still to be human. His skin was pale as moonlight, almost translucent. And his eyes—those blood-red eyes—watched her with quiet amusement… and something darker. Hunger? Intrigue?
"Who are you?" Bella demanded, voice hoarse, half-trembling, half-electrified by whatever had just awakened in her veins.
The figure stepped forward.
Each step was deliberate, soundless. His black boots sank into the mossy earth without a whisper. His long coat fluttered behind him like wings made of shadow. He wore no expression, but something about the sharpness of his cheekbones and the cruel curve of his lips suggested he wasn't a stranger to pain—or power.
"You glow, little girl," he murmured, voice like silk woven through broken glass. "That means one of two things. Either you're cursed… or you've been chosen."
Bella instinctively stepped back, her body still crackling with the remnants of golden fire. Her fingertips sparked with residual magic. Her instincts screamed danger, but something else whispered fascination.
"Get away from me," she snapped. "I'm not—whatever you think I am."
His smile deepened, the first flicker of emotion in his sculpted face.
"Oh, but you are. I saw the circle burn. I felt the magic rise. That wasn't human grief—that was witchfire. Ancient. Wild. Forbidden."
He reached out a pale hand, not to touch her, but to trace the air between them, his fingers moving in a strange, flowing motion.
The fog shifted with his gesture. Swirled. Thickened. Whispered.
"She has returned…" the mist seemed to say. "The Queen awakens…"
Bella's heart stuttered. She tried to steady herself, to breathe, to reason, but her pulse was too loud. Her power surged again—this time not in pain, but in warning.
She raised a hand.
"Don't come closer," she warned. "I don't know what's happening to me, but I swear I'll—"
"Explode?" the man finished for her, chuckling. "Yes, I saw that little tantrum. Impressive for someone still wet with mortality."
He tilted his head.
"What do they call you now? Bella, isn't it? But that's not your true name. Not anymore."
"What do you mean?" she snapped.
The man stepped back into the shadows, as if melting into the mist. But his voice lingered.
"Your soul remembers, Queen of Ashes. Your power has only just begun to awaken. But others will sense it too. They will come. The ones who tried to kill you last time."
"Last time?" Bella echoed. "What last time?"
A beat of silence. Then:
"You'll remember soon enough… Isadora."
Her breath hitched at the name. The same name she'd heard whispered in her mind.
Isadora.It sounded like fire and thunder. Like power wrapped in silk.
Before she could speak again, a surge of light burst from her chest—uncontrolled, blinding.
She screamed.
Witchfire erupted around her in a shockwave, cracking the nearest trees. The ground split beneath her feet. Magic surged in all directions like a dying star reborn in a human shell.
The man was gone.
Only the forest remained—smoldering, haunted, silent again.
Bella dropped to her knees, panting, fingers sizzling with raw, golden sparks. Her skin glowed faintly. Her eyes still burned.
She touched her chest. Her heartbeat was still hers—but it no longer sounded human.
What am I becoming?
Suddenly—footsteps.
Not one set.
Many.
Coming fast. Breaking twigs. Snapping branches.
She turned, adrenaline flaring. But it wasn't Edward.
It wasn't even a vampire.
From the treeline emerged a boy—no, a man. Tall. Shirtless. Built like a warrior. His hair was wild, his eyes amber and sharp like a wolf's.
"You need to come with me. Now."
"Who the hell are you?" Bella gasped, staggering back.
He stepped closer, sniffing the air.
"You're the one they warned us about. The witch who survived."