Kaelin didn't know how far he had run. He only stopped when his legs gave out, deep in the shadow of the Ember Mountains. The volcanic heat had faded into a sharp alpine chill, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He collapsed near a mountain spring, the shard still warm against his ribs.
He drifted into uneasy sleep. Nightmares clawed at him—visions of burning forests, screaming faces, a dark throne rising from ash. A voice kept whispering a name he didn't know.
When he awoke, he wasn't alone.
A girl no older than he sat across the fire. She was wrapped in pale cloth that moved as though caught in a breeze, though the air was still. Her hair was silvery-blond, her skin the color of moonlight, and her eyes—gray as a storm—watched him with an unnerving calm.
"You burned brighter than the stars last night," she said.
Kaelin struggled upright. "Who are you? How did you find me?"
"The wind told me," she said simply. "I'm Lira of Zephros. The storm brought me south. I had a vision of you days ago—your fire shook the heavens."
Kaelin blinked. "Zephros? That's weeks away."
"Not if you ride the wind," she replied, smiling faintly. "The Shrouded One stirs, and the Elemental Concord is weakening. Fire, wind, earth, and water—they're losing balance. You are the first sign."
Kaelin reached for the shard, still hidden in his pouch. It throbbed at her words. Lira's gaze followed his hand, but she made no move to take it.
"You carry something ancient," she said. "It's not just a shard. It's a key."
He stared at her. Part of him wanted to run, but another part—the one awakened by fire—knew she spoke truth.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
Lira stood. The wind stirred her cloak.
"To Verdara first. To find the map. And then to awaken the others. The war is coming, Kaelin. And you must claim your throne before it does."
They set off before dawn, two strangers bound by fate and fire.