Flameheart Bistro – Midnight
The fire in the hearth had long burned to embers, casting soft amber light across the stone walls. Kael sat alone at the bar counter, a half-emptied glass of elven plumwine in his hand. He wasn't drunk—he rarely ever got drunk. But something about tonight gnawed at him, ancient and formless.
His fingers traced the scar on his left palm, the one he never remembered receiving. It had always been there since he woke in this world. Along with the sigils etched faintly under his skin—faint now, but they pulsed tonight like heartbeats made of flame.
From the shadows, Aeris stepped barefoot into the glow. Her nightgown clung to her form, moonlight catching her silver hair like threads of starlight.
"You felt it again, didn't you?" she asked softly.
Kael nodded. "It's not just a memory. It's… calling."
Aeris walked behind him and leaned against his back, wrapping her arms gently around his chest. "Something ancient sleeps in you, Kael. You didn't just wake in this world. You were placed here."
He looked at her. "By who?"
But she only kissed his neck and whispered, "When it's time, I'll tell you everything. Just… not yet."
---
Elvaria – The Crimson Forest
Far in the east, the moonlight filtered through blood-red leaves, painting the forest floor in shifting shades of crimson. Deep beneath the canopy, two vampire nobles stood in silent confrontation.
Queen Kelyndra, ageless and regal, her lips painted the shade of old wine, spoke in clipped tones.
"You speak of defiance, Countess Liria. But defiance without power is just noise."
Liria, younger but no less dangerous, bared her fangs in a slow grin. "Then give me a reason not to raise the old banners."
"The Flameborn is not ours to tame."
"Then he will burn us, like the others. Like he burned Zareth."
Kelyndra's eyes gleamed. "Or perhaps… he is what we need. A beast to protect us from what slithers from the east."
The leaves rustled unnaturally. Something unseen watched from the treetops—eyes glowing like cinders.
---
Castle Emberlight – The Tower of Winds
Princess Elanir stood upon the highest tower, the chill of the mountain wind brushing her long crimson robe. Her mind spun with strategy.
Kael was more than a flame-bearer. She had seen it—felt it. That moment of heat beneath his touch had not just been lust; it had been something older. Something divine.
Beside her, her loyal knight-captain Thalos spoke.
"The eastern borders are unraveling. Refugees speak of stars falling, towns vanishing into silence."
"And still the High Council dithers," she said bitterly.
Thalos glanced at her. "You intend to bring him into the court formally?"
"I intend," she said, "to make him my consort. Or my weapon. Whichever comes first."
---
The Wildlands – Caravan Road
Ryn reclined on the back of a caravan wagon, playing with a silver coin between her fingers. The foxkin mercenary kept her smile wide and her dagger closer. Something stank about this route.
Beside her, Seraphine sat with her legs crossed, sharpening her sword with almost meditative calm.
"You've been quiet," Ryn said. "Not brooding again, are we?"
"I had another dream," Seraphine muttered.
"Oh? Blood? Shadows? Destiny?"
"A throne. A city in ash. And Kael at the center—burning, but alive."
Ryn's smile vanished.
Before either could say more, a scream tore through the trees ahead. The lead caravan driver didn't even get to draw his blade before something dark and chittering lunged from the woods.
Ryn was on her feet in a heartbeat, daggers flashing.
"Star-Eaters," Seraphine hissed.
---
Back at the Bistro – The Attic Room
Lyra sat on the wooden floor, her hands cupped around a flickering flame no bigger than a coin. The magic danced between her palms, alive and whispering.
She frowned. "Papa always says fire is a friend if you respect it. But you're… talking."
The flame pulsed, and she heard a voice like distant thunder:
"You are the key, little sun. Your blood remembers the old fire."
Lyra blinked. "What does that mean?"
No answer. Just a soft hiss and then silence.