A cold chill roused Aria, not hurt but absence—the flame had disappeared.
She couldn't recall how she arrived. It was the last thing she knew: the light—too much light—and the voices, calling out her name in a tongue that made no sense. She was now lying on shattered stone, cheek against dust and moss, limbs wet with ash and perspiration. She shivered, her heart pounding as though it didn't know which was its position, among the dead or among the living.
She was awake.
But where?
The air was thick with the smell of burned sage and dried rain. Aria crawled up painfully. Her hands glowed softly with an ethereal light, smoldering with embers that purred against her skin like whispers. She stood barefoot, the soles of her feet charred, but not burned. Her chains were gone. The muzzle—gone.
And the world was. silent.
And then she saw the ruins.
Pillars of the tower surrounded her in a full circle, their shattered and lost summits to the open sky. Glowing runes pulsed softly at the edges of old stones, their words strange but evocatively so. Charred into the earth at her feet was a perfect ash circle—where she had apparently materialized.
A voice spoke from the shadows behind a standing pillar.
"You were not meant to awaken so violently."
Aria spun, firing reflexively. Her hand burst into golden-blue fire—dazzling, searing hotter than anything she'd ever managed previously. It didn't burn her. It wrapped her arm like a shield.
A woman stepped out, hooded, clad in tattered robes of silver and midnight. Eyes burned beneath the hood, twin moons in a face both young and unspeakably old.
"Who are you?" Aria croaked, voice unyielding.
"I am Lysandra. Temple Keeper of the Moon. Last of the Silent Flames. And you," the woman said, bowing slightly forward, "are the lost daughter of prophecy. The Rejected Oracle. The reborn Moon Goddess."
Aria's fire danced.
"What do you mean?" she breathed.
Lysandra moved stealthily, as if in fear of frightening her. "You bear the mark. The non-burning flame. The voice that awakens. The Moon was torn apart for you. You have returned."
"No." Aria shook her head and backed away. "I'm nobody. I'm… scentless. An Omega. I was supposed to die. They all said I was mistaken. A mistake."
"They lied."
Lysandra reached into the drape of her robe and drew out an ancient pendant, crescent moon in shape that appeared to be wrapped in fire. It pulsed in her hand, reacting to Aria.
"You are the heir to the holy line of Lunara—the first Moon Priestess. Centuries ago, the Goddess herself bound her power into that line, hiding it until the world was ready. Until the corruption of the courts and councils could be cleansed."
"And… that's me?"
"I know it's you. The fire reacts to you. The bondmark never left you—it just hid, as did your smell. It is the mark of sacred concealment. You were never meant to be found until the right time."
Aria's throat closed up. "Kael… he said I didn't have a scent. That made me not his mate.".
"Kael Thorne is a fool." Ice iced Lysandra's voice. "And a puppet to darker powers."
Aria's lips trembled. "He looked into my eyes when he rejected me. As if I were nothing. As if he hated me."
"Because the bond frightened him. And the truth would have cost him dearly. You think a prince can buy to love the heir of the Moon? No. His court would kill him. So he killed you instead.".
Scalding hot tears streamed down Aria's cheeks. She turned away.
"I trusted him."
"And for that, you will be more powerful than all of them," Lysandra whispered to her. "Because you know what it means to love—and to lose. That is where true power begins."
Aria drew in a slow breath. The temple that enveloped her pulsed softly with sympathy, like a living, breathing thing sharing its breath. The fire within her flared steady, no longer wild.
"So what now?" she asked. "You said I've returned. What does that mean?"
Lysandra raised her hands. The runes on the stones blazed to life, forming a glowing map in the air. It showed three major regions: The Shadowfang Dominion, where Kael ruled. The Sanctum of the Sun, ruled by the Solar Council. And the forbidden Deadlands, pulsing red with darkness.
At its center stands the Hollow Throne, upon which the Moon once ruled. It was long ago seized by blood magic. Your current rulers—your betrayers—derive their power from false vows and corrupted rituals.
She pointed to a mark on the map—a crescent in the heart of the Shadowfang Dominion.
"This is your rightful inheritance. The sacred Moon Throne. But it is sealed, locked until the true Oracle wakes and gathers the Four Aspects."
"Four…?"
"Fire. Sight. Song. And Blood. All must be stirred inside you. All will guide you to your full power—and your fate."
Aria narrowed her eyes. "And what if I don't want a fate?"
"Then your judges will reign. And others such as you—smell-less, voice-less, gifted—will be burned like you almost were."
Aria's fire in her hand fluttered brighter.
She recalled the shouting crowd as Kael moved forward. Of the High Priestess calling for her execution. Of the prideful nobles who'd never known discomfort. Of her mother's grave, left behind in the outskirts, laid to rest in secret because she'd spoken that Aria was special.
She tightened her fist.
"I'll learn."
Lysandra nodded. "Then we begin."
...
The next days passed in a blur of ritual, meditation, and practice. Aria learned to summon fire without thought, to mold it and to encase it. She danced through temple pillars, fire flowing from her fingertips, toes bare over weathered stone.
But it wasn't all magic.
Lysandra forced her to confront the recollections—Kael's kiss, his betrayal, what was within his eyes when he let the High Priestess sentence her.
"Harness it," she told her. "Pain is fire. Let it burn within you—but do not let it consume you."
On the third night, Aria could set the temple central pyre alight with a whisper. The fire flared larger than the pillars, shadows dancing over the sky.
"You've unlocked the First Aspect," said Lysandra. "Flame. Now, we seek Sight."
That evening, Aria dreamed.
She stood in the High Court once more—but it was in ruins. Abandoned. Vines scaled the pillars, blood had stained the ground.
And Kael knelt alone at the center, his ash-covered hands.
"I didn't know," he whispered. "I didn't know it was really you."
She reached for him—and the vision burst apart.
She awoke, panting.
Sight was stirring to life.
...
But with power, peril.
Lysandra stiffened in meditation on the fifth day.
"They've found the temple."
Aria leaped to her feet, fire spiking into her palms. "Kael?"
"No. Someone else."
Ere moments later, the sky darkened. A growl echoed across the hills, too low to be wolf.
An entity emerged into the ruins—half-shadow, half-meat. Its eyes were red holes of fire, its form veiled in black mist.
"A Wraithborne," Lysandra stated. "Born of blood magic. A hunter hired by the High Priestess."
It attacked.
Aria acted on instinct, fire blazing in twin semicircles from her palms. The creature shrieked as flames wrapped its chest, but it kept going.
She dodged, rolled, summoned a wave of fire—and was too slow.
Lysandra brought up a moonshield, swatting the Wraith's claws aside.
"It has to be burned from the inside out!" she shouted.
Aria closed her eyes.
Pain is fuel.
She remembered the face of Kael. Her screams. The reek of ash.
Her own fire blazed white-hot.
She leapt, slamming her fist against the Wraith's chest.
The flames within it burst out, catching fast. The Wraith shrieked, its body writhing, until nothing remained but smoke.
Aria went to her knees, panting.
Lysandra sat beside her. "You are ready."
Aria looked down at her burned hands. "Ready for what?
"To return to the world. To take back what's yours. But warned: Kael is being groomed for the crown. The High Priestess has decreed his next Luna is another. A woman they've chosen for power, not for bond."
Aria's jaw clenched. "He still thinks she's his mate?"
"They've layered her scent in blood magic. Just as they layered yours."
Cold and angry something bloomed in Aria's heart.
They didn't just betray her—they rewrote fate.
She stood slowly.
"I'll take the throne back. Not for revenge. For justice. For every girl they've silenced. For every power they tried to burn."
"And for Kael?" Lysandra asked softly.
Aria's eyes narrowed.
"He'll kneel, too. One day."
...
Far across the land, in the royal city of Umbrahold, Prince Kael Thorne stood in the moonlight, staring up at the sky.
A servant approached him warily. "Your Highness. The moon broke five nights ago. The seers foretell that it was a warning."
Kael's expression hardened.
"Of what?" he asked.
"That the Oracle walks again."
Kael closed his eyes.
And for a moment, he could still swear that he had sensed the scentless trail of one who should have burned.