The moon hung like a blade over Virelia, its light silvering the palace rooftops and turning shadows into long, slinking beasts. Deep beneath the tower chambers, within the war chamber Ariana had recently ordered renovated, the scent of old scrolls and steel filled the air.
Ariana stood at the map table, her fingers tracing the path of Eldareth's blackened reach. Her breath trembled, not from fear, but anticipation. The corrupted flame within her pulsed like a second heartbeat—hungry, defiant, awakening.
Across from her stood General Thorne, recently returned from patrolling the borders. His face was weathered by years of battle, and a jagged scar ran down from his temple to his cheek. He had once served her father. Now, he bowed to her. "The scouts reported movement in the Ashen Vale. A group bearing the sigil of the Eldareth cult was seen traveling under heavy enchantments. We believe they're seeking something."
Damian stepped beside Ariana, silent until now. His presence alone brought her calm. Dressed in midnight armor, a black dragon etched over his chest, his eyes never left her. "Whatever they're looking for—it's not just power. It's her." He met Thorne's eyes. "They want Ariana."
"I know." Ariana's voice was low, her fingers curling over the edge of the table. "And I'm going to let them find me."
Damian's jaw tightened. "Ariana—"
"I won't run, Damian." Her eyes blazed, no longer just with determination, but with the dangerous echo of the flame inside her. "We need to know what the corrupted want from me. I have to face it."
Thorne cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, if I may… we still don't fully understand your connection to the Eldareth flame. If they provoke it, twist it—"
"Then I'll learn to twist it back." She turned to him fully. "And if I fall, then Veyl's bloodline dies with me. Which is why we will not fall."
A knock sounded at the heavy doors. A palace attendant stepped in, eyes downcast. "Your Grace, the envoy from Calveran has arrived. They bring a marked prisoner."
Ariana's heart stilled. The Marked were remnants of Eldareth, their bodies branded with runes of corruption, their minds fragmented but dangerous.
Damian stepped forward. "Bring the prisoner to the moon chamber. We interrogate now."
Minutes later, beneath the pale beams of the enchanted skylight in the moon chamber, Ariana faced the prisoner. He was young, barely older than herself, skin pale and eyes bloodshot from whatever curse was eating him from within. Dark runes pulsed on his neck and arms like living veins. His wrists were bound in iron soaked in sunroot oil, the only metal known to suppress eldareth corruption.
"I see you, Flameborn," the prisoner rasped with a crooked grin. "She stirs inside you. The Mother of Ash. The Eldareth Queen."
Damian's hand shot to his sword, but Ariana held out a hand.
"You know who I am?" she asked.
The prisoner laughed. "Oh, she's waking. And when she does, the world will burn in either your name… or hers."
Ariana stepped closer. "What does she want from me?"
"She wants her throne back." His grin widened, cracked. "You are the gate. And the key."
Suddenly, a sharp cry rang out from outside the chamber. Thorne burst in, blood streaked across his armor.
"Your Majesties—the outer gate has been breached!"
Damian cursed. "Selene…"
Ariana's eyes narrowed. "She's making her move."
Without hesitation, Ariana turned, power swirling around her fingertips like sparks from a forge. "To the courtyard," she said. "It's time Selene learns what true fire feels like."
Outside, under the bleeding moonlight, chaos unfolded. And Ariana, no longer afraid of her da
rkness, marched into it—flame burning in her wake.