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The palace of Aeralith was built on light — polished marble, mirrored halls, and towers that kissed the clouds. But in the heart of the royal quarters, behind velvet drapes and silken masks, lay a secret that no light dared touch.
Prince Rhaelor, second son of the Empire, stood barefoot before the Crown of Emberglass, an artifact only whispered about in the royal archives.
It had begun humming.
Every time he neared it, he felt his pulse mirror its rhythm — as though his heart belonged not in his chest, but inside the crown itself.
> "My prince," whispered Lady Ilyria, the court mage, "you've been dreaming again."
> "Not dreams," Rhaelor muttered. "Memories."
He looked down at his palm. A blister had formed overnight in the shape of a flame — the same sigil etched in the lost texts, the Mark of Seyana.
> "I need to leave the capital."
Ilyria's eyes widened. "That's treason."
> "Not if I return with her."
---
Meanwhile, in the Scorched Expanse, Siyara wandered farther from the Bone Oracle's shrine, the wind screaming around her like a thousand voices clawing to be remembered.
But she wasn't afraid.
Since the vision, the desert had begun speaking to her.
Birds avoided her shadow. The sun did not scorch her skin. The sands parted at her steps.
> "You're not human anymore," whispered Maari, keeping pace behind her. "You're waking up. And the old world doesn't want that."
> "I need answers," Siyara said. "He remembered my name in the vision. He said he was cursed. I need to find him before the curse wins again."
Lightning cracked across the sky — not white, but black, like ink spilled across glass.
Then a storm of ash began to fall.
Siyara didn't run.
She stood in it.
And in the ash, she saw visions — cities burning, thrones crumbling, and herself... standing over twelve lifeless kings, holding the black blade of Oathfire.
---
In the capital, Rhaelor stood before the Emperor.
> "I need leave. For the western deserts."
> "To chase a hallucination?" the Emperor spat. "You're heir now, with your brother gone."
> "No," Rhaelor said, "I was never meant to be heir."
He turned.
Behind his back, the Crown of Emberglass flickered… then cracked.
For the first time in 700 years.
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Far below, where no sun reached, the chained voice laughed.
> "It begins again."
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End of Chapter 9
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