The skies over Astralis had lost their softness.
Where once dawn spilled golden light across the city's spires and banners, now hung a dull red haze—like blood smeared across the horizon. The scent of steel and ash floated on the wind, carried from the training fields and forges. War was coming, and the kingdom braced itself like a lung before a scream.
Elyra stood on the citadel's northern balcony, cloaked in storm-gray and flame-threaded silk, her eyes locked on the distant mountains beyond the Vale. Somewhere out there, Ashar stirred—his magic pulsing stronger with each passing night.
Behind her, the Flamebound gathered.
Kael leaned against a stone column, arms crossed, eyes shadowed with worry. His sword hung low at his hip, and a new cut marked his cheek—barely healed. Seris sat on a weathered bench, tracing ancient glyphs in the air with glowing fingers, muttering in a forgotten tongue. Riven flipped a dagger through his fingers nearby, glancing between the others with a half-hearted grin.
"I can't feel the other half of the Flame anymore," Elyra said at last, her voice tight. "Not like before. It's changing."
"It's being twisted," Seris murmured. "Ashar is accelerating the convergence. If he unites the two halves before you're ready—"
"He won't," Kael said sharply. "We'll strike first."
Elyra turned to face them. Her flame pulsed faintly in her chest—no longer warm, but heavy, dense with something deeper than heat. Purpose, maybe. Or dread.
"The Council wants a defensive hold," she said. "They're sending diplomats, stalling. But we all know it's too late for that."
"So what's the plan, Princess?" Riven asked, spinning his dagger once more before tucking it away. "March to the crater and knock on Ashar's front door?"
"No," Elyra said. "We find the Heart of the Flame."
Silence. Even the wind paused.
"You're serious," Seris whispered. "The Heart is a myth."
Elyra's gaze didn't waver. "It's not. My dreams—visions—keep leading me to the Shrouded Vale. Something calls to me there. If I can reach the Heart before Ashar does... I might be able to reclaim what's mine. What's ours."
Kael stepped closer. "Then we leave tonight. No more waiting."
Elyra felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly. With Kael beside her, she could brave anything.
"Riven, you'll stay and protect the capital. Seris, gather whatever ancient records you can. Kael and I will go to the Vale."
Riven gave a mock salute. "Try not to die too dramatically. I hate writing eulogies."
As the others dispersed, Elyra lingered. Her fingers brushed the edge of the balcony, where the stone was warm from fading sun.
The Flame pulsed again—once, then twice—stronger. Something had shifted.
Far to the east, in the bowels of a ruined temple, Ashar knelt in darkness.
The chamber around him hummed with fractured energy. The walls had once borne the sacred sigils of the Flamekeepers, but now they bled black smoke, corrupted by the raw power he channeled. His hands trembled slightly as he extended them over the obsidian altar.
He didn't feel pain anymore. Just pressure. The mounting weight of destiny.
"Soon," he whispered, voice low and hoarse. "The Veil will burn. And with it, every lie they ever told."
He opened his eyes—golden, burning. The second half of the Flame, long dormant, now raged within him like a caged star.
The ritual was almost complete.
But something tugged at him. A flicker. A thread of connection that hadn't fully severed.
"Elyra," he muttered. "You still resist me."
He smiled faintly.
Good.
He needed her strong when they met again.
He would show her the truth, even if it shattered her.
The forest before them was ancient—older than Astralis, older than the written word. The trees were gnarled and silver-barked, their branches stretching like skeletal arms, veiled in mist that never lifted. Locals called it cursed. Maps left it blank. Even the birds gave it a wide berth.
Elyra stepped past the twisted threshold, her cloak snagging on a bramble that hadn't been there a heartbeat before. The mist swallowed the path behind her.
Kael followed silently, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his blade. "You sure this is the place?"
"No," Elyra said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But the Flame pulls me here. It's close."
They moved carefully, each step muffled by moss and time. The deeper they went, the more the world seemed to fold in on itself—sound faded, light dimmed, and even time felt... fragile. Elyra kept her eyes on the flickering golden threads only she could see, strands of flame weaving through the trees, guiding her deeper.
Kael glanced at her. "You've changed," he said.
Elyra blinked. "Since when?"
"Since the mountain. Since your last dream. You're... quieter. Stronger. Scared, maybe."
She hesitated. "I am scared. I can feel Ashar getting closer."
"He's not going to take you," Kael said fiercely. "We've come too far to lose now."
They reached a clearing just as dusk fell. A stone circle waited in the center, etched with glyphs that pulsed faintly in the twilight. At its heart stood a tree unlike any other—leafless, black as glass, its trunk veined with crimson flame.
The Heart of the Flame.
Elyra staggered forward. Her breath caught in her throat as warmth flooded her limbs—not just heat, but memory. Ancient, raw. The cries of long-dead Flamekeepers echoed in her mind. A thousand lifetimes of magic surged toward her, begging to be touched, feared, respected.
"I don't know if I can handle this," she murmured.
"You don't have to," Kael said. "Not alone."
He reached for her hand. For a moment, she hesitated—but then she gripped him tight, grounding herself in the warmth of him, not just the Flame.
"Whatever happens," she said, "don't let go."
The wind rose. The glyphs ignited.
The world broke open.
In a burst of golden flame, Elyra's mind was flung through memory and fire. She saw the first Flamebearer forging the pact with the stars. She saw the split—two halves of a flame torn by betrayal. She saw Ashar, standing at the altar centuries ago, tears in his eyes as the guardians turned their backs on him.
He had been one of them. Loved. Chosen.
Until he defied the Flame's will.
Now, he twisted it.
Elyra opened her eyes. Her veins pulsed with light. Her flame had changed—no longer passive, no longer broken. The Heart had accepted her. She was ready.
Kael's voice cut through the silence. "What did you see?"
"Everything," she said. "Ashar was never meant to carry the Flame alone. But neither am I."
Kael frowned. "Then who?"
Elyra looked up at him, her eyes glowing faintly. "Us. The Flame was never meant to be one soul. It was meant to be shared."
A sound split the night—a whisper, cold and sharp as steel.
Kael drew his sword. "We're not alone."
The mist parted.
Shadowed figures stepped from the trees. Tall, gaunt, with eyes like dying embers. Ashar's twisted guardians—flame-warped, once-human things, now bound to his will.
Elyra raised her hand. Flame danced across her fingers, steady and strong.
Kael smirked. "So much for quiet magic."
"Defend the Heart," Elyra said. "We can't let them reach it."
The shadows charged.
Kael met them with steel, fast and brutal. Elyra stood at the tree's base, channeling flame into a radiant barrier, each pulse burning away a shade before it could strike.
But there were so many.
A scream tore from the edge of the clearing. One of the guardians had slipped through, slashing at Kael's side. Blood sprayed, and he fell to one knee.
Elyra cried out, her control faltering. The barrier weakened.
A second guardian lunged.
And then—
A pulse.
The tree flared white-hot. Flame erupted from the circle, blasting the shadows back. The world rang with a sound like thunder and bells.
Elyra collapsed, smoke rising from her skin. Her vision blurred—but she saw the shades retreat, screeching into the mist.
Kael was on the ground, clutching his side, blood darkening his shirt.
She crawled to him. "Kael—Kael, stay with me."
He gritted his teeth. "Just a scratch. Don't cry yet."
"You idiot," she whispered, holding his face.
Their foreheads touched.
And for a moment, all was still.
Back in the ruined temple, Ashar staggered back from the altar. His eyes wide, his breath ragged.
The power had shifted.
"She's touched the Heart."
He clenched his fists. The altar cracked beneath his fingers.
"So be it."
He turned toward the darkness behind him.
"Prepare the army. We march on Astralis at dawn."