Aira awoke with a gasp, her lungs drawing in air as if she hadn't breathed in days. Her eyes fluttered open to a dimly lit room filled with the scent of herbs and the soft hum of distant water. Her body ached, every limb heavy and unfamiliar. For a moment, she thought she was still in that burning estate, flames licking at her skin, smoke searing her lungs.
But this was no longer the nightmare.
She sat up slowly, taking in her surroundings. The chamber was round and made of stone, with ivy creeping through cracks in the ceiling, moonlight slipping in through a high window. There were silk cushions under her, and a blanket of soft fur draped over her. A small fire crackled nearby, not threatening but warm and welcoming. Strange markings had been carved into the stone floor—a protective circle, perhaps. Ancient.
Aira's gaze flickered to a small table near the fire. Several flasks and scrolls were placed upon it, along with a bowl of steaming soup. Her stomach clenched with sudden hunger, but her instincts were louder than her needs. She had learned not to trust too quickly.
A soft creak broke the silence, and the wooden door opened. In stepped a man—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark silver armor that shimmered in the firelight. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes, deep gray like storm clouds, held something raw. Recognition? Regret?
"You're awake," he said, his voice gravel and thunder.
Before Aira could speak, three more figures followed him in. Each different in bearing and style, yet all radiating strength and authority.
The first to approach was the warrior. His hair was raven black, tied back with a strip of leather. His armor bore the crest of the Northern Clans—a silver wolf etched into dark iron. He knelt beside her, pressing his fist to his heart.
"I am Kael of the Northern Wilds," he said. "We have waited many years for you, Princess."
Aira's lips parted, but no words came. Waited for her?
Next was a man who moved like a shadow, barely making a sound as he stepped forward. He had short, tousled hair and eyes that gleamed like amber in low light. He offered her a crooked smile, more amused than respectful.
"Damon, assassin of the Eastern Blades," he said with a wink. "I kill for the crown—your crown, apparently. No offense, but you don't look the queenly type yet."
She stiffened, drawing the fur closer to herself. Crown? What crown? The word coiled in her mind like a serpent.
The third was a tall man with a stern, angular face. He wore a long robe woven with gold thread, and in his hand, he carried a staff pulsing faintly with light. His presence was colder, more calculated.
"Lucien of the Western Court," he said coolly. "Master of strategies and arcane arts. Bound to you by ancient contract, whether I wish it or not."
Aira blinked. She looked around the room, at the strangers who spoke like she was royalty, like they already knew her place in the world better than she did.
Finally, the fourth man stepped forward, noticeably gentler than the others. He had light brown skin, soft brown eyes, and a peaceful expression. A satchel of herbs hung at his hip, and his robe bore the gentle green-and-white sigils of the Southern Tribes.
"Rowan," he said, smiling kindly. "Healer of the Southern Tribes. I've tended to your wounds. You were barely alive when Kael carried you from the ruins."
Aira's mind reeled. The images returned—fire, smoke, her uncle's voice, the sound of steel and betrayal. The crash of her world collapsing.
"Why... why am I here?" she finally managed, voice hoarse. "Who are you really?"
Kael stood. "You are Aira Valen, daughter of Queen Elira of Solaria. Hidden as an infant to protect you from the Thorne rebellion. Now that the Kingdom stirs again, the time has come for your return."
"Return?" she echoed. "To what? I've never even heard of Solaria before yesterday."
Lucien frowned. "Because your memory was bound. A magical seal placed on you as a child. You were never meant to be found... unless destiny called."
Rowan stepped forward and held out a silver pendant. Aira felt her breath catch. She had seen that pendant before—in her dreams, always burning in golden fire.
"Your mother left this with you," he said. "It's how we confirmed your identity."
Aira hesitated, then reached out. The moment her fingers brushed the metal, a warmth surged through her chest, like fire igniting her very soul.
Then, they knelt.
All four of them.
Kael unsheathed his sword and placed the tip into the floor.
"We make our vows to you," he said solemnly. "To protect you. To serve you. To guide you to your throne."
Damon bowed his head. "To kill for you. To die for you, if needed. Also to make sure you never lose your smile."
Lucien placed his staff beside him. "To advise you with truth, no matter how cold it may be. Even when you hate me for it."
Rowan placed a hand over his heart. "To heal you—body, mind, and spirit—until you are whole, no matter how long it takes."
Aira's eyes welled with tears.
"But I'm no queen," she whispered. "I'm no one. I've never ruled a thing. I don't even know who I am."
Kael lifted his gaze to her. "You are who the flames chose. And fire does not choose lightly."
Suddenly, the fire behind them flared violently. The pendant around her neck began to glow. In the flames, she saw something—her own reflection, but different. Older. Stronger. Crowned in gold, eyes glowing like fire. She stood tall before a thousand kneeling warriors.
She gasped and pulled back.
"What was that?"
"Your future," Lucien said quietly. "Or at least, one of them."
Damon grinned. "You're not just anyone, Princess. You're the Hidden Heiress. And if you let us—we'll make sure the world never forgets you again."
Her breath hitched. Everything was happening too fast. But somewhere deep inside her, something stirred. A flame. A memory. A call.
Maybe it was fear.
Maybe it was fate.
But when she looked into each of their eyes, she didn't see strangers.
She saw protectors.
She saw purpose.
She saw power.
She saw family she never knew she needed.
And she whispered, trembling but steady:
"Then teach me to be the queen they tried to erase."
Outside, the wind howled against the mountainside temple. Far below, kingdoms stirred, war drums sounded, and shadows gathered.
The Hiddenn Heiress has awakened.