The fire whispered to her again.
Princess Seris Valenyra stood alone in the temple sanctum, where the ancient braziers burned day and night in tribute to Solvyris's fire gods. She wasn't supposed to be here—not at this hour, and not without her royal guards. But the flame had called to her in her dreams, and Seris had learned not to ignore when it did.
The flames bent unnaturally as she approached, licking the stone walls with tongues of crimson and gold. Her steps echoed in the chamber, the obsidian floor warm beneath her bare feet. Her breath caught as the fire flickered higher, shaping itself into something almost alive.
A face.
No—his face.
Golden eyes stared back at her from the fire, impossibly clear. A man's face, half-shrouded in smoke, watching her through the veil of flame. His lips moved, but no sound reached her. Then the vision shattered into sparks, and the brazier collapsed with a loud clang.
Seris gasped, stumbling back, her hands burning. She looked down.
Blisters were already forming on her palms.
"Gods," she whispered, clutching them to her chest.
The door burst open behind her. "Your Highness!"
A pair of royal sentries rushed in, swords drawn and eyes wide. One knelt beside the brazier, inspecting the mess. The other looked at Seris's hands and blanched. "You're hurt. We need the court healer—"
"No," she said sharply. "No one speaks of this."
The guards hesitated. One looked like he might argue, but Seris leveled him with a stare forged from the flames of her lineage. Reluctantly, they nodded.
Back in her private chambers, Seris let the illusion of control melt away.
She sat before her mirror, watching the court healer silently bandage her hands. The burns stung, but she was used to pain. The vision haunted her far more.
For months, she had dreamed of fire and ruin—of cities crumbling and skies torn open by lightning. Of a shadow rising from the north. And always, that same face in the flames, watching her. Waiting.
Who was he?
A memory? A warning?
She didn't know. But the fire never lied. And it was trying to show her something.
Behind her, the chamber doors creaked open again. Her mother's voice, low and sharp, cut through the air. "Seris. What have you done now?"
Queen Alaryss entered, her midnight-black gown trailing behind her like a tide of darkness. Her silver hair was woven into a crown of braids, and her amber eyes bore the weariness of one who had ruled too long and trusted too few.
"I was praying," Seris said, her voice calm.
"At midnight? Alone?" The queen's gaze dropped to the bandages. "You touched the sacred flame again."
"It called to me."
Alaryss exhaled through her nose, and for a moment, Seris saw not a queen—but a mother scared for her daughter. "You are playing with powers that nearly destroyed your ancestors. The Ember Throne is gone, Seris. The pacts are broken. There is nothing left to awaken."
Seris rose, firelight casting long shadows across her face. "What if there is?"
A silence stretched between them.
Finally, the queen said, "You have more pressing matters. Lord Darek arrives at dawn. You'll greet him as your future husband. This discussion is over."
Seris's breath caught in her throat. "You can't—"
"I can. And I have."
Queen Alaryss turned to leave. "Burning visions or not, you are still a princess. And it is time you started acting like one."
The door shut with a quiet finality.
Seris stood alone once more, the fire inside her rising.
She walked to the balcony, overlooking the great volcano of Solvyris. Far beyond the city, the sky was beginning to lighten. She could already see the silhouette of a skyship approaching from the east—Lord Darek's vessel, no doubt.
But her thoughts were still with the man in the flame. The face in the vision.
Something told her—he was coming, too.
And when he did, everything would burn.