The night wind whispered through Vireth like a warning. High above the palace, the moon glowed dimly behind a veil of ash—an omen few noticed, but one that Selira read like scripture.
"They're coming," she said, standing by the tower window in Kael's chambers.
Kael turned from the map table. "You feel it too?"
Serenya nodded grimly. "It's not just instinct. The bond—it pulses. Like heat before lightning."
Selira drew her twin daggers, flame-black steel humming faintly in her grip. "They'll come for Kael first. That's the Queen's pattern. Remove the steady hand before turning on the fire."
Kael looked almost amused. "Nice to know she still respects me."
But the humor didn't last. The bond in their blood trembled.
"They're here," Serenya whispered.
A flicker in the shadows—then another. The temperature in the chamber dropped like a stone, unnatural cold curling around the edges of the flame-touched walls.
Kael moved first, drawing his sword with a clean metallic whisper. "Stay close."
Before the words even finished, a figure lunged from the ceiling, silent and swift, a dagger glowing with dark fire aimed for Kael's heart.
Selira intercepted with a spinning kick, knocking the attacker back into the far wall. The impact cracked stone.
"Whisper Assassins," she growled. "Trained to kill without heat, without sound."
Another dropped behind Serenya. She ducked, rolled, and summoned flame to her hand, hurling it like a lance. The assassin blocked it—but not fast enough. Fire caught their cloak and ignited.
Two more emerged from the shadows, and suddenly the room became a whirlwind of steel and flame.
Kael fought like a storm—precise, unrelenting, elegant. His blade danced with golden flame as he parried and struck, sparks flying in arcs.
Selira moved like a shadow herself—silent, ruthless, her daggers flashing in figure-eights as she met two attackers at once. Her black fire sizzled through one mask, revealing a half-dead face beneath.
But it was Serenya who changed the fight.
The moment her mark lit up—the ancient sunburst sigil on her back—the room trembled. She raised both hands and screamed a command in Old Flame:
"BURN."
A shockwave of gold-white fire erupted from her core, vaporizing one assassin instantly and throwing the others back like leaves in a storm.
Silence fell—choked by smoke, broken stone, and the stench of scorched cloth.
Kael was breathing heavily. Blood stained his shoulder. "That… was new."
Selira coughed, singed but grinning. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."
Serenya, pale and shaking, leaned on the table. "They'll send more."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Then we stop waiting."
Selira stepped toward the window, eyes glowing. "If they want war… let's give them one."
—
Later, in the Queen's sanctum, the voidsilk-cloaked figure knelt before Virelya.
"They failed."
The Queen's fingers curled over the armrest of her throne, flame dancing in her eyes.
"Three heirs. One blood. And now… bound."
She stood slowly, the temperature in the room rising.
"Then I'll burn the oath out of them myself."
From the wall, she drew her sword—the Blade of Solmar, forged from the heart of the first flame itself. A weapon that had killed kings and silenced gods.
And she whispered:
"The war begins at dawn."