Chapter Four: The Masked Knight
The Temple of Cindralis was not what Nyra had expected.
She'd imagined a grand hall, a place of firelight and holy warmth, with golden braziers and phoenix statues. Instead, the temple was broken stone and shadow, half-swallowed by the cliff it was carved into. Thick roots crawled down its walls like veins. A massive stone door stood sealed at the entrance, marked with ancient flame symbols—symbols that glowed faintly the moment she stepped forward.
Tairn didn't say a word.
Nyra reached out. Her hand trembled slightly as she pressed her palm to the stone. The mark on her skin flared.
The door groaned.
With a grinding quake, it split open, revealing the darkness within.
Inside, the temple was colder than the forest, lit only by tiny flames that hovered like spirits near the walls. They didn't flicker. They just hung in the air, watching.
The silence here was not peaceful. It was waiting.
"Why does it feel like the air is listening?" Nyra whispered.
"Because it is," Tairn replied. "This place is alive with memory."
They stepped into the main chamber. A giant phoenix carved from obsidian loomed overhead, wings outstretched. Beneath it was a shallow bowl of black stone, filled with ash. Etched in the floor were spiraling flame runes—identical to the one on Nyra's palm.
She stepped closer to the ash bowl. "Is this it? The trial?"
"Almost," Tairn said.
He pulled something from inside his cloak—a small vial filled with glowing orange liquid. It shimmered like molten gold.
"What is that?"
"Phoenix blood. Your mother left it behind. Only a direct heir can awaken the fire in Cindralis."
Nyra's breath caught. "My mother was here?"
"She was the last to pass the trial before the throne fell. She sealed this place behind her… to protect you."
Nyra looked at the bowl. "And now I have to open it."
She took the vial and poured it into the ash. The liquid hissed on contact, sinking instantly into the gray dust. A heat burst outward—gentle, but powerful. The runes on the floor glowed brighter, and the phoenix's eyes flickered with orange light.
From behind the bowl, a second platform rose from the ground. Upon it, a single sword lay wrapped in flame. Its hilt was shaped like outstretched wings.
Tairn's voice was low. "The Emberblade. The weapon of the Flamebound. It only answers to one who bears the Phoenix Flame."
Nyra stepped forward. The fire surrounding the blade surged higher.
Tairn held out a hand to stop her. "If you touch it and are unworthy, it will burn your soul from your body."
She stared at the sword. "Then how did my mother survive?"
"She was born for it," he said.
Nyra looked down at her shaking hands. "And what if I'm not?"
"You are," Tairn said. "You wouldn't have made it this far otherwise."
Something about his tone caught her off guard. There was no doubt in it. No fear. Only quiet certainty.
She turned to him. "Why do you believe in me so much?"
He hesitated.
Then, slowly, he removed his mask.
Nyra gasped.
He was younger than she expected—late twenties, perhaps. His face was marked with faint burn scars along his jaw and temple. His eyes, gray and steady, held shadows deeper than age should allow.
"My real name," he said, "is Kael Tairn of the Cinder Guard. I served your mother. Swore a blood oath to her on the night she died. I was the last of her royal shield."
Nyra stepped back in disbelief. "You were there—when Emberhold fell?"
Kael nodded. "I carried you out of the palace. You were a baby wrapped in phoenix silk. Kalven, the blacksmith, took you and raised you as his own. I went into hiding, waiting for the day you'd return."
Nyra's head spun. "All this time… you were watching?"
"From the shadows. I couldn't risk exposing you. If the Regent had known—"
She turned back to the sword. Her fingers ached to touch it. To see if it would accept her.
"I don't want to be a queen," she whispered. "I just want to live."
Kael stepped beside her. "Then live. But first, you have to survive. The only way to do that is to embrace what you are."
Nyra looked at him, firelight dancing in her eyes.
Then she stepped onto the platform.
The flames around the sword flared brighter. Nyra reached out, heart thundering, breath shallow.
Her fingers closed around the hilt.
A scream of heat surged through her arm—but it didn't burn.
Instead, it filled her.
With memories. Visions. A thousand voices from the past Flamebound—queens and warriors, mothers and daughters—each one whispering in her ear.
Hold the line. Bear the flame. Rise, phoenix-born.
The sword's fire went out. The Emberblade settled in her grip, warm and waiting.
She turned, eyes glowing faintly orange.
Kael smiled. "You passed."
But Nyra knew it was only the beginning.
The flame had accepted her.
Now the world would burn to reclaim her.