The morning after the discovery in the archives, the palace air was still heavy with thunderclouds—inside and out.
Serenya hadn't slept.
She stood in the royal garden, where the storm had left broken branches and scattered petals. Yet somehow, the firelilies had survived untouched—fiery red blooms with ember-tipped petals that bent for no wind.
"They only grow where fire magic has been bled into the soil," said a voice behind her.
Serenya turned to find Elandor, the Queen's High Flame Whisperer—an older man cloaked in crimson robes, his eyes glowing faintly like dying coals. He was rarely seen outside the Sanctum of Flame, the inner sanctum where only Solmar blood could safely enter.
"You summoned me?" she asked, cautious.
"No." He approached slowly, staff tapping the stones with each step. "The flame did."
She frowned. "That's vague and unhelpful."
He smiled. "So is prophecy. But we walk its path regardless."
Elandor stopped before her, studying her carefully. "You lit the Vault fire. You walked through the trial and survived. But the Vault does not just test strength. It marks those it chooses."
Serenya raised a brow. "Marked? How?"
He reached forward with two fingers glowing orange, and before she could protest, touched her collarbone.
A sharp heat flared—then faded.
Serenya gasped and staggered back. "What did you do?"
"Revealed what is already there."
She pulled her collar aside and stared at the skin above her heart. A glowing sigil burned faintly beneath her skin—a flame coiled around a crescent moon.
The mark of the Flameborn. But fused with the moon—the old Solmar crest, long since abandoned.
"Only a true child of both fire and prophecy bears this," Elandor said quietly. "This is why the Queen feared you. You are not just flame. You are balance. And fire… hates balance."
Serenya touched the mark, her voice low. "What does it mean?"
"That your power is not only fire—it is something older. Something the Queen tried to bury."
Elandor stepped back. "And now the mark has awakened. Which means others will sense it too. Those who serve the old fire. The… forgotten ones."
"The what?"
But Elandor only turned and began walking away. "Prepare yourself, Flameborn. The past will not stay buried much longer."
—
Later that evening, Serenya returned to her chambers, mind spinning.
Kael was waiting. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his silver eyes flicking to her collar.
"You met Elandor."
"I didn't have a choice."
"Now you bear the mark."
"You knew it would appear?"
He nodded once. "Eventually. But it's faster than I expected."
"Why?"
"Because something is awakening beneath the palace," he said. "I felt it last night—while we were in the archives. A shift. Like something old stirring in its sleep."
Serenya paced. "You think it's connected to the prophecy?"
"I think we've stepped into a war that began long before we were born."
Then Kael handed her a small scroll sealed in wax.
"This arrived for you. No name. No sigil."
She opened it slowly.
The parchment was blank—at first.
Then fire bled across it in elegant, flowing script:
"The shadow hunts the twin sun.
Meet me where fire was first born.
Midnight. Come alone."
Serenya looked up, her voice calm but edged with tension.
"Someone knows."
Kael's expression darkened. "It's a trap."
"Of course it is," she replied. "But I'm going anyway."
He sighed. "I'll follow from a distance."
"No. I need you to stay and find out who else knows about the archives. There's more to this."
He hesitated. "Then don't die."
Serenya gave a ghost of a smile. "Not before I get answers."
—
That night, she slipped through the darkened halls toward the Old Flame Altar, the ruined temple where the first Solmar king had supposedly called fire down from the heavens.
The moon hung heavy.
Wind rustled through scorched trees.
She stepped into the circle of blackened stone.
Then a figure emerged from the shadows—hooded, tall, and cloaked in fire-resistant cloth marked with a serpent sigil.
"You came," the voice said—low, feminine, and strangely familiar.
Serenya narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"
The figure pulled back her hood.
And Serenya's breath caught.
The woman had the same eyes.
Her eyes.
"Hello, sister," she said.