Mirelle
Age: 19
I didn't sleep that night.
Not even after the candles guttered out.
Not even after I closed my eyes and pretended everything was fine.
Because I could feel him.
Kaelith.
Not physically, but through the bond.
A storm behind a glass wall.
Pacing. Shaking. Splintering.
He hadn't returned since the library. Hadn't sent word.
And I didn't need a scholar to tell me what the prophecy meant, not really.
The Breaking Flame.
A seer's title.
A warning.
A girl destined to destroy everything Varethos stood for.
Or to set it all free.
I pressed my hand to the stone wall beside my bed, breathing slow. It was cold. Unforgiving. Like the way Kaelith had looked at me.
Like I'd become something other in his eyes.
I hated that.
Hated the silence between us.
Hated how the bond felt thinner now, like a cord stretched too tight.
But I hated the not knowing most of all.
So I dressed, tied my hair back, and slipped through the darkened hallways, heading toward the High Wing.
Toward him.
The guards didn't stop me.
They parted the way they always did now, like my presence had begun to carry weight. Power.
I hated that, too.
The doors to Kaelith's chambers were shut.
But I didn't knock.
I pushed.
And they opened with a low groan.
He stood by the window.
Shirtless. Back to me.
Every line of his body was tension.
Rope-thick muscles pulled taut. Shoulders rigid. Hands curled around the iron edge of the balcony like he'd been trying to break it for hours.
"Kaelith."
He didn't turn.
"I told you," he said, voice hoarse, "not to follow me."
"And I told you not to run."
That got a flicker.
A glance over his shoulder.
One eye. Glowing.
"I'm not running," he said. "I'm trying not to hurt you."
"You think pushing me away is protecting me?"
"I think destiny is a curse."
I stepped inside. Closed the door.
Walked until we were a breath apart.
He didn't move.
"You think I chose to be born with this?" I whispered.
"No," he said. "But I didn't choose to need you either."
My heart clenched.
"That's not fair."
"It's not meant to be."
I pressed a hand to his chest.
Felt the thrum of his heartbeat, wild and broken beneath my palm.
"I'm still me, Kaelith."
He swallowed hard.
"No. You're the flame. You'll burn through this kingdom. Through me."
"Then let me."
His eyes snapped to mine.
"What?"
I took his hand and pressed it to my chest, over my heart. "Let me burn through you. Let me in. Stop trying to fight fate like it's a prison. Maybe it's a gift."
He stared at me like I'd just torn open the sky.
Then—
He kissed me.
Not like before.
This wasn't soft or slow.
It was desperate.
Unhinged.
And when he pushed me back against the wall, the stone cracked beneath me.
His mouth moved over mine like he was starving.
But it wasn't about sex.
It wasn't even about the bond.
It was about fear.
The fear of losing control.
The fear of feeling too much.
I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulled him down until our foreheads touched.
"I'm not afraid of your fire," I whispered.
And gods help me..
He believed me.
Later, we lay in silence.
Not tangled, not touching.
Just side by side.
The bond no longer humming, but breathing.
Alive.
He spoke first.
"When I first felt Tairn awaken in me, I thought it would consume everything."
I turned to face him.
"But it didn't."
"No," he said. "Because you kept me human."
I reached out. Traced the line of his jaw.
"What did the scroll really say, Kaelith?"
He hesitated.
Then, softly: "That the Breaking Flame would either crown the king of shadows… or destroy him."
My chest ached.
"So I'm your end."
"Or my beginning."
We didn't speak after that.
Because we both knew the choice hadn't been made yet.
The next day, everything shifted.
The Citadel buzzed with whispers, about the shadowbeast, about the prophecy, about me.
Even the guards flinched when they thought I wasn't looking.
I hated it.
Hated being seen now.
Not as a girl, not as a soldier, not even as Kaelith's mate.
But as a threat.
Cassian found me in the sparring yard, alone, slicing through dummies like they owed me blood.
"You shouldn't be out here," he said.
"Why?"
"Because half the court thinks you're cursed."
"Then let them come for me."
His jaw clenched.
He held out a scroll.
"This was delivered anonymously."
I took it.
Unrolled it.
And felt the blood drain from my face.
A map.
Marked in Varethos script.
With a single red 'X' over the heart of the Wildlands.
The place where I'd been born.
Cassian lowered his voice. "I think someone wants you to find something."
Or someone.
My mother.
The woman who'd abandoned me as a child. Who'd left me at the gates of a human village with no name, no coin, and no memory.
I'd never cared to know the why.
Until now.
Until the flames under my skin began to whisper.
Go.
I looked at Cassian.
"Don't tell Kaelith."
"Mirelle"
"Promise me."
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
I tucked the map into my belt and turned toward the stables.
Because I needed answers.
And I wasn't going to find them in a castle built on secrets.
---
Mirelle
The Wildlands were exactly as I remembered.
Dark. Twisted. Alive in the way nightmares are.
Except this time, I didn't come crawling through the trees as a half-starved child with ash under my nails and no memories.
This time, I came armed.
And I came alone.
Cassian had tried to follow me, of course.
But I'd left before dawn, taking a back trail known only to a handful of soldiers and Kaelith certainly wasn't one of them.
He'd know soon enough that I was gone.
And when he did, I'd either have answers for him…
Or I'd be dead.
I rode hard, barely stopping to rest, pushing Shadow through ravines and frost-slicked rocks. The air smelled of earth and rot, the scent of old magick clinging to the roots.
When I finally reached the red 'X' on the map, I wasn't sure what I expected.
A ruin?
A body?
A blood-soaked altar?
What I found was a cottage.
Half-collapsed.
Hidden in the crook of a dead tree that had once grown around it like a skeletal ribcage.
I tied Shadow to a stump and approached slowly, blades in hand.
There was no sound.
No movement.
No heartbeat I could sense through the silence.
I pushed open the door
And stepped into the past.
It was all dust and bones inside.
Not real bones—metaphorical ones.
Rags clung to chairs.
Books, long-decayed, littered the floor.
Ashes filled the hearth like a pyre waiting to be lit.
And above the mantle—
A painting.
Not well-done. The lines were rough, the colors faded.
But I knew the face.
Because it was my face.
Or close enough to it.
Only older. Softer.
My mother.
I swallowed hard.
She'd lived here.
Loved here.
Fled from here.
And left me behind.
On the floor beneath the portrait was a box.
Small. Wooden. Carved with a sigil I didn't recognize, a flame wrapped in a crown of thorns.
I crouched and lifted the lid.
Inside were letters.
All addressed to me.
My Dearest Flame,
If you are reading this, then they found you.
Or you found them. Either way, it means your time has come.
I never wanted this for you. I never wanted your life to be war and prophecy. I wanted you to grow wild and free, to love without fear. But the gods rarely give us what we want.
Your power was always meant to break the chains we could not. The Varethos thought they could erase the old magick. They thought they could kill the fire inside you. But it lives on.
In your blood. In your bones. In your bond.
And one day, when the stars burn red, you will have to choose: serve the throne… or destroy it.
I only hope you choose yourself.
—Rhiannon
I read it again.
And again.
Until the words blurred and the breath caught in my chest.
My mother hadn't abandoned me.
She'd hidden me.
From the Varethos.
From Kaelith.
From the fate that would one day drag me back into their world with fire in my lungs.
The floor creaked behind me.
I spun.
Blade drawn.
But it wasn't a soldier who stood there.
It was a creature.
A woman cloaked in shadows.
Her skin was ashen. Her eyes black and ancient. Her voice like wind through dead leaves.
"You have her eyes," she said.
I didn't lower my sword.
"And you are?"
"The Warden of Flame," she said. "Once bound to your mother. Now, to you."
I frowned.
"You were her protector."
"I was her reminder," the creature said. "Of what she was. Of what you are."
"Which is?"
"The spark that burns kings to ash."
I blinked.
"I'm nineteen."
"You're chosen. Age does not matter when the stars decide."
I slowly slid the blade back into its sheath. "You knew my mother?"
"I bled for her. She was a rebel. A warrior. A queen of nothing. And still… she dared to defy the throne."
"What happened to her?"
The Warden's voice cracked like ice.
"She died so you could live."
I sat on the broken hearth as the Warden spoke of wars I'd never heard of. Of Varethos hunting down seers. Of Kaelith's father ordering entire bloodlines extinguished. Of how my mother had once stood in the throne room itself, pregnant with me, daring them to strike her down.
"She gave you to the humans," the Warden said, "because she believed they would raise you in ignorance. Keep your flame hidden."
I laughed bitterly. "It worked. I didn't know a damn thing until the bond woke up."
The Warden tilted her head.
"It was never meant to be him."
That made me freeze.
"What?"
" Tairn chose Kaelith because you were already bound to him. Not by blood. Not by fate. But by history. Your mother loved his once. Long ago."
My blood ran cold.
"They were…?"
"Fated. Until power ruined them."
I stood slowly.
Everything I thought I knew was unraveling.
"Does Kaelith know?"
"No," the Warden said. "But soon he will. And when he does, he'll have to decide what kind of king he wants to be."
I looked out the shattered window at the forest beyond.
"So will I."
By the time I left the cottage, the sun was beginning to set.
I had the letters. I had the map. I had truth.
But more than that, I had a fire in me that would never go out.
Because I knew who I was now.
Not just a soldier.
Not just a mate.
Not just a prophecy.
I was Mirelle.
The Breaking Flame.
And it was time to start burning.
Kaelith
I felt it the moment I woke.
The bond.
It pulled.
Hard.
Like a thread had snapped inside my chest and left something hollow and raw in its place.
I reached out across it—
But she wasn't there.
Not asleep. Not unconscious.
Just… out of reach.
"Mirelle."
The name was a growl in my throat.
She was gone.
And she hadn't taken the main gates.
I shoved off the sheets, half-dressed in seconds, and stormed from my chambers. The guards standing outside scrambled to attention, but I didn't stop.
I didn't need to ask if they'd seen her.
I already knew they hadn't.
By the time I reached the War Room, Cassian was already there, arms crossed and scowling.
"She left before dawn," he said, tossing a rolled map on the table. "Took a back trail only the old guard used before the Wildlands were sealed."
I stared at the trail. At the thin red line curling past the boundary wards.
"She went alone?"
"No. She took Shadow."
Of course she did.
Stubborn, reckless, infuriating woman.
"She's bonded to you," Cassian said. "You should've sensed something sooner."
"I didn't." My voice came out sharper than I intended. "Not until she passed the ridge."
Cassian's expression darkened. "That's deep. Too deep. The Wards were meant to prevent—"
I held up a hand. "She's not human. And Tairn doesn't fear old magick."
That silenced him.
For a moment.
Then, slowly: "Do you?"
I looked at the map again.
"No," I said. "But I fear what it may awaken."
The Citadel felt colder without her.
I didn't realize how often I'd tracked her heartbeat through its halls until it was gone. How often I'd tuned in to her scent. Her warmth. The pulse of her presence like an echo beneath my skin.
It wasn't supposed to feel like this.
The bond was meant to grow gradually, tethering, not choking.
But mine to Mirelle was already wrapped tight. Raw. Anchored deeper than it should have been after mere days.
Because Tairn recognized her.
And so did I.
Even if I couldn't name it.
Even if I didn't dare to.
I found myself in the training yard, long after nightfall.
The torches crackled in silence as I stared at the wooden dummies she used for knife practice.
She always broke the necks first.
Efficient. Ruthless.
Beautiful.
My shadow danced along the walls as I moved, striking where she would've, slower than she would've.
"Kaelith."
Sienna's voice. Sharp. Soft.
She stood at the edge of the sand, wrapped in a midnight cloak.
"She'll be fine," she said.
"She went to find her past," I replied. "The kind of things people bury for a reason."
Sienna walked closer. "Maybe that's exactly why she needs to dig it up."
"She shouldn't have gone alone."
"You would've stopped her."
I didn't argue. She was right.
"I know why you're scared," Sienna said, more gently now. "You're afraid of what she'll learn."
I turned to her, jaw tight.
"I'm afraid of what she is."
Sienna didn't flinch. "She's ours."
And that was the problem.
Later that night, I stood before the sealed wing of the Citadel.
The place where my father kept his war relics.
Where the records were locked under blood wards.
Where the truth about the Fall of Rhiannon—the Seer Queen—was hidden from even the highest Varethos.
Mirelle had asked about her.
Had seen something I hadn't.
And now she was in the Wildlands, alone, chasing ghosts.
I pressed my hand to the sigil-marked door.
Let the shadows pulse from my skin.
Let them bleed into the lock like smoke.
The door opened.
Inside, the air was thick with old power.
Faded banners. Rusted blades. Scrolls that pulsed faintly beneath glass cases.
But I wasn't looking for trophies.
I was looking for the ledger.
And I found it at the heart of the vault, locked in iron, sealed with bone.
My blood unlocked it.
And what I saw inside turned my stomach.
Project Scorchmark.
Subject: Rhiannon of the Flame.
Disposition: Terminated. Child unaccounted for.
Child.
A single line beneath it, scrawled in a different hand.
"Eyes like embers. She will burn us all."
I staggered back.
No.
It couldn't be.
Mirelle.
Rhiannon.
Her daughter.
My mate.
Flame and Shadow, my mind whispered. Bound by fire. Broken by fate.
I slammed the book shut, fury knotting in my chest.
I needed to find her.
Now.