The rebel camp was quiet, the night wind carrying only the distant sound of owls and whispering trees. Inside the stone ruins that served as their library, Elira sat cross-legged beneath flickering lanternlight. The scroll lay unrolled before her, its ancient script shifting and glowing like living flame.
Her fingers hovered over the parchment. The words were not just text—they moved, twisted, burned and reformed.
> "Only those born of fire can read what was sealed in flame," Corren had told her.
She breathed deeply and touched the scroll.
The world shifted.
---
A vision overtook her—a memory buried in ash and time.
She stood in a grand chamber made of obsidian and fireglass. The walls pulsed with warmth. Dozens of figures in crimson robes knelt before a high dais where the woman from her mirror vision stood—the First Flame, crown burning bright above her.
> "The Flameborn are not weapons," the woman said. "We are balance."
> "But what if the world no longer wants balance?" someone replied.
A shadow crept along the chamber walls—an unseen traitor.
The vision cracked like glass, and Elira jolted back to the present, gasping.
The scroll's final line pulsed with fire:
> The last Flameborn must choose—kindle the world anew, or let it burn to silence.
--
That night, Elira went walking, scroll tucked into her cloak. She needed air. Answers. Anything.
But the forest wasn't empty.
She felt it before she saw him—someone watching. A branch cracked.
"Who's there?" she called.
A hooded figure stepped into the clearing. Not a rebel. Not a guard.
But… familiar.
"Flameborn," he said, lowering his hood. His hair was streaked with silver, his eyes a dull gold. "You don't know me, but I knew your mother."
Elira froze. "My mother died at Emberlight."
"No," the man said softly. "That's only what they told you."
-
He introduced himself as Daren—one of the last of the hidden flamekeepers, a secret order that survived the purge by vanishing into myth.
"She tried to protect you," he said, voice low. "The Crown wanted all Flameborn erased. But she made a bargain—a terrible one."
Elira's voice trembled. "What kind of bargain?"
Daren hesitated. "She gave herself over to the royal court… as a handmaid. She died in the castle. Not in Emberlight."
The world tilted under Elira's feet.
"She was trying to stay close to you, Elira. But Seraphine found out."
The scroll pulsed again beneath her cloak, burning hotter than before.
> "Why are you telling me this now?" she asked.
Daren's gold eyes locked on hers.
> "Because the rebellion isn't the only fire rising. And if you don't learn to control it—someone else will."
In the high tower of the palace, Lady Seraphine stared at the star map burned across the chamber floor.
The flame was awakening. Not just in Elira—but across the land.
She turned to the shadows.
"Send the Nightblades," she said. "Find her. If she refuses to kneel—cut the flame from her veins."
And far below, Auren heard the order.
And for the first time, he feared it might be too late.