Chapter Two: Shadows in the Snow
The next morning, Emberholt was hushed beneath a thick blanket of new snow. The usual bustle of the academy grounds was muted as though the city itself had paused to listen. Frost-laced ivy curled around the tower arches. Even the bells of the Aetherian Spire rang softer than usual.
Lyra awoke early, her thoughts still heavy from the night before. Her dreams had been a tangle of burning skies and phoenix cries—each more vivid than the last. When she opened her eyes, her windowpane was fogged from within, her breath invisible in the room's strange warmth.
Pulling on her boots, she tucked the forbidden tome beneath her coat and made her way toward the archives again. She couldn't let this rest—not now.
But outside her door, a scroll had been pinned with red wax: the academy's seal. She broke it open, hands stiff from tension.
Candidate Lyra of House Maren, You are summoned to the High Chancellor's hall at first bell.
—By Order of Magister Haleth.
She paled.
Was it the book? Had someone seen her in the archive? No—only Joren knew. Unless the wards were stronger than she thought. Or perhaps... the flame had drawn attention beyond her control.
The Council of Flame
The Chancellor's hall was as imposing as she remembered—vaulted ceilings etched with golden runes, obsidian columns wrapped in glowing script. Magisters, draped in their house colors, sat in semicircular tiers, eyes like flint. At the center stood Haleth, his silver robes dusted with ash from the spellforge.
"Lyra Maren," he said, voice neither cruel nor kind. "Do you know why you've been summoned?"
"No, Magister," she lied.
Haleth regarded her for a long moment, then gestured. "Come forth."
She stepped into the circle.
A projection rune glimmered beneath her boots.
"Three nights ago," he said, "a spike in Aetheric resonance was recorded. Fire-aligned. Originating within this academy."
Murmurs rippled among the magisters.
"Yesterday," he continued, "a tome thought lost from the Forbidden Vaults was activated by a non-council member."
She swallowed.
"And last night," he finished, "a Phoenix sigil flared above the Grand Elm—visible to three Seers."
Now the murmurs became shouts.
Haleth raised a hand. "The Crucible Flame is stirring."
He turned to her again. "Do you have anything to confess?"
"I…" Her voice cracked. "I felt something. A vision. Fire… and a voice. And I found the book. It called to me."
The room darkened. The fire from the central brazier turned gold.
One of the elder magisters stood. "You are touched by the Emberline. Whether curse or calling, it cannot be ignored."
Another: "She must be sent to the Crucible. Only there can her truth be known."
The Crucible. The heart of the ancient forge-city. Lost to time. Said to burn with Kael's last breath.
Haleth nodded slowly. "Prepare her. The trials begin tonight."
Whispers in the Dark
That evening, Joren cornered her behind the alchemy tower.
"They're sending you where?"
"The Crucible."
"Lyra, that place is a myth. Even if it's real, no one returns from it. This is exile by another name!"
She shook her head. "They believe I carry something dangerous. So do I."
He grabbed her shoulders. "Then let me come."
"No."
"I won't let you walk into fire alone!"
"You don't have a choice."
She pulled away. Behind her, the magisters' envoys waited—robed in silver flame. She turned one last time, giving Joren a look that broke his heart.
Then she was gone.
Carried through a hidden gate, into snow-covered peaks where only cinders dared burn.
Toward the Crucible.
Toward her destiny.
Toward the storm of fire yet to rise.