The mountains loomed like the spines of a sleeping god.
Days passed since the ambush on the road, and Lyra's fire still lingered in the air. The forest they'd burned through hadn't stopped smoldering. The Hollow Guard would find the remains soon, and when they did, they'd know she was alive.
That thought should have terrified her. Instead, it made her blood feel alive.
---
Korran trudged ahead of the group, his heavy boots crunching over frozen soil. "You sure this Sanctuary of yours exists?" he grumbled to Seris.
"It exists," Seris said. Her veil fluttered in the cold wind. "Whether it still welcomes us is another question."
Eren followed close behind, clutching his crossbow like a lifeline. "What kind of people live there?"
"Not people," Seris said softly. "Guardians. Keepers of the Old Flame. They protected the bloodlines before the fall."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "And you trust them?"
"I don't trust anyone," Seris replied. "But they're our only chance of reaching the Emberheart alive."
Lyra didn't ask more. The word Emberheart felt heavy every time she heard it. It was supposed to be a relic—a source of all elemental power, lost when Ardentia burned a hundred years ago. The Keeper's whisper had said it was calling to her. She didn't yet know why, but she could feel the same pull in her bones.
---
By dusk, they reached a narrow pass. The cliffs rose high on both sides, and the wind screamed between them like a warning. Strange runes were carved into the rock—worn but still faintly glowing.
Seris slowed. "We're close. But the wards are fading. Stay alert."
Korran drew his sword. "Close to what, exactly?"
"The threshold."
She stepped forward and pressed her hand to the stone. The runes flared bright orange, and the mountain groaned. A seam split open in the rock, forming a doorway of flame.
Lyra's breath caught.
Beyond the doorway lay a vast underground hall glowing with emberlight. Great chains hung from the ceiling, holding burning braziers shaped like dragons. The air smelled of iron, smoke, and old secrets.
Seris bowed her head. "Welcome to the Sanctuary of Embers."
---
Inside, figures began to appear—men and women clad in bronze armor etched with glowing red sigils. Their faces were marked with ash. They carried long staffs that pulsed with heat.
One of them stepped forward, an older man with a scar across his jaw and eyes that gleamed like molten glass. "Seris of the Azure Guild," he said. "You were forbidden to return."
Seris lowered her veil. "I bring one who bears the fireblood."
The man's eyes shifted to Lyra. "Impossible. That line was broken."
Lyra lifted her sleeve, revealing the mark burning faintly on her wrist. "Then explain this."
The hall murmured with disbelief. The man studied her for a long moment, then knelt. "By the Flame… the heir of Ardentia walks again."
The others followed suit, bowing their heads.
Lyra took a step back. "Don't do that," she said, uncomfortable.
The man rose slowly. "Forgive us. I am High Keeper Dareth. The Sanctuary has waited a century for one of your blood to return."
"I didn't come to rule," Lyra said. "I came for answers."
Dareth nodded. "Then you shall have them. Come."
---
They followed him through corridors carved from blackstone, past walls covered in murals depicting the old war—the fall of the Ardentian Empire, the rise of the Hollow King, and the sealing of the Emberheart deep beneath the mountains.
Lyra stopped at one mural showing a woman surrounded by flames, facing a shadow crowned in bone. "Who is she?"
"Queen Maerid Vale," Dareth said. "Your ancestor. The last Flamebearer. She wielded the Emberheart until the Shadow devoured the light of Ardentia."
"My mother's name was Vale," Lyra whispered. "Was she…?"
Dareth's expression darkened. "A descendant, yes. When the Hollow King rose again twenty years ago, she came here seeking to rekindle the Emberheart's fire. She never returned."
The room felt suddenly colder. "She's dead?"
"No one knows. But the Shadow fears your bloodline for a reason."
Lyra clenched her fists. "Then I'll finish what she started."
Dareth's eyes flickered with firelight. "You may yet. But know this—the Emberheart is no mere weapon. It chooses its bearer. And it tests them."
"What kind of test?"
"One that burns away the weak."
---
That night, Lyra stood on a balcony overlooking the molten chasms beneath the Sanctuary. The firelight reflected off her skin. For the first time, she felt both small and infinite.
Seris joined her. "You remind them of the old queen," she said. "That frightens them."
Lyra smiled faintly. "It frightens me too."
Seris's tone softened. "You'll need to decide soon what kind of ruler you'll be. The Emberheart doesn't grant power—it reveals truth."
"I'm not looking to rule anyone."
Seris chuckled. "That's what all rulers say before the crown finds them."
Lyra turned away, her gaze drifting to the endless sea of fire below. "I don't want a crown. I want my mother. I want the truth."
"Then you'll have to survive the trial."
Lyra frowned. "What trial?"
"The one that begins at dawn."
---
The next morning, the Sanctuary gathered in the Hall of Flames.
Dareth stood before a great stone door carved with ancient runes and a symbol of interlocking flames. "Within lies the Crucible," he said. "Only those of true Ardentian blood may enter. The fire will know truth from deceit."
Lyra stepped forward. "And if it doesn't like me?"
"Then the mountain will keep your ashes," Dareth said simply.
She swallowed hard but didn't hesitate. The door opened, spilling white fire across the floor. She stepped inside.
---
Inside the Crucible, there was no sound—only the heartbeat of the flame. The air shimmered with heat. Shadows formed faces—her mother's, the Keeper's, the Hollow King's.
Each spoke in her mind.
You carry my curse.
You carry my hope.
You carry my throne.
Lyra fell to her knees, clutching her head. The fire roared around her, testing every fear, every doubt, every scar.
"Show me the truth!" she shouted.
And the fire answered.
Visions erupted—a city aflame, armies of darkness sweeping across fields of gold, her mother standing on a cliff, holding a crystal heart burning with white light.
Then the vision shifted. A throne of shadows. A crown made of bone and flame. A figure sitting upon it—its face hidden, but its voice unmistakable.
You cannot stop what you are, Lyra Vale.
The Hollow King.
He raised a hand, and fire turned black.
Lyra screamed as the heat consumed her—until, in the center of the pain, something ignited deep within her chest.
A second heartbeat.
A spark of pure light.
The Emberheart.
When she opened her eyes, she was kneeling in the ashes of the Crucible. The flames had gone out, leaving only a faint glow in her palm—the shape of a crystal ember pulsing with gold and red light.
Dareth stared in awe. "By the gods… she did it."
Lyra stood slowly. Her voice was calm, but her eyes burned with fire.
"No," she said. "It did."