---
Before the fire, before the betrayal, before the oath was broken —
there was a marriage.
Not of love.
Not of peace.
But of power.
---
Siyara had always believed her strange dreams were just that — fragments of a restless mind shaped by heat and grief.
But when she entered the ruins of Kas Talor, buried half in sand and half in shadow, the visions sharpened.
There, in a collapsed chamber where twelve cracked mirrors lined the walls like fallen soldiers, she heard her own voice echo — but not in her tongue.
> "By the Twelve Suns, I bind my flame to the dusk-born prince..."
"...until the stars burn out, or my blood does first."
A vow. Ancient.
Her voice.
But not this life.
She fell to her knees, choking on air.
---
Behind her, Maari watched with silent horror.
> "What did you see, girl?"
> "A temple," Siyara said. "A wedding. And... him."
> "Him?"
> "The prince with the blade. His name was... Kaelren."
Maari paled. "That name hasn't been uttered for centuries. He was one of the twelve cursed heirs."
> "He was my husband," Siyara whispered.
---
Meanwhile, in the Royal Archives of the capital, Rhaelor poured over forbidden scrolls.
The image of the fire-haired girl haunted him — not just from his vision in the temple, but from paintings found in lost texts, described as the bride of flame, the cursed consort, the whisperer of ash.
Her name repeated over and over again in records so old even the scribes feared touching them:
> "Seyana, the Ember-Bound."
His heart shuddered at the name.
Seyana.
Siyara.
He wasn't going mad. The past was bleeding.
---
And somewhere far beneath the sand, in chambers carved with obsidian glyphs and chained with memory,
a voice began to awaken.
It was not man.
Not god.
But something born from the blood of broken vows.
It had waited over seven hundred years.
Now, with the Oathblade awakened…
and the ash-mark returned…
…it opened its eyes.
---
End of Chapter 7
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