The world beyond the Circle's walls was colder than Emberlyn remembered.
She sat wrapped in a cloak of ash-dyed wolfhide, staring into a fire that refused to burn high—mirroring her state of being. Around her, the survivors of their assault rested in a hidden cave far north of the Hollow Sea, tucked into the jagged cliffs known as the Cradle of Cinders. It was a place Arenya had once called home—before everything went to ruin.
Kael stood watch near the entrance, silent but alert. Tessar tended to Havren's wounded arm, while Luri, ever the ghost, sharpened her knives in the shadows. Mira sat apart, arms wrapped around her knees, a girl unmade and remade in a single night.
The fire cracked.
"I should've died in there," Emberlyn said, breaking the long silence.
Arenya glanced up from where she cleaned her blades. "But you didn't."
"I was a prisoner," Emberlyn continued. "Chained. Beaten. I let them carve into my mind. I heard Seris begging me to fight, and still I hesitated."
"You endured," Arenya said simply.
Emberlyn looked at her sharply. "You don't get it. Seris wouldn't have survived—she would've burned the whole place to the ground before they laid a finger on her."
Arenya stood, blade in hand. "You're not Seris. And you shouldn't be."
That truth stung. And yet, it lingered with strange relief.
"I don't know who I am anymore," Emberlyn whispered.
"You're someone new," Arenya replied. "Someone who lived. That counts."
Mira stirred at the edge of the firelight. "She's right," she said. Her voice was quiet, uncertain. "They told me you'd be nothing once captured. They didn't prepare me for your strength."
Emberlyn turned toward her. "You were meant to replace me."
"I know," Mira said. "I didn't understand what that meant… until I saw you fight. Until I saw them try to break you."
There was a silence between them, not of tension, but of recognition.
Kael stepped in then. "We need to decide what comes next."
Tessar nodded. "The Circle's wounded, but not dead. We struck at one of their hearts—but they have others."
"Three sanctums," Arenya said. "One in the Frostbarrows. One buried beneath Solshade. And the last…" She hesitated.
"The Ember Cradle," Emberlyn said.
They all looked at her.
"I saw it in their minds. In visions. They've returned to the place Seris was born. Where the first Flame was bound."
A chill passed through the firelight.
"They're preparing a ritual," Emberlyn continued. "To merge my soul with Mira's. Not just to create a new vessel—but a perfect one. A being with all of Seris's might and Mira's raw potential, but stripped of humanity."
Mira's breath caught.
"They would kill us both for it," Emberlyn said softly. "Piece by piece. Until what remains is fire—and nothing else."
---
That night, Emberlyn walked to the edge of the cliff. Wind pulled at her cloak. She stared at the stars, remembering dreams that were not her own—wars fought under different skies, blood spilled in a name she no longer bore.
Arenya joined her.
"We fought for peace once," Arenya said. "Thought it would last. That people would remember the price."
"They always forget," Emberlyn said. "Even I forgot."
"But the fire remembers," Arenya replied. "It's waiting for you to claim it."
Emberlyn turned to her. "I'm afraid."
"You should be." Arenya rested a hand on her shoulder. "Only fools wield fire without fear."
---
Far to the south, in the ruins of the Hollow Sea, the Keeper stood in the smoldering remains of the sanctum. Mask cracked. Robes tattered. But alive.
Behind him, the Council gathered—what remained of them.
One spoke, voice distorted by pain. "They have her. They have the girl."
The Keeper nodded. "Then it's time we stop pretending. Let the world see us. Let them remember the Circle."
He stepped into the center of the room, raised a hand, and spoke an incantation older than the stones.
Above them, the sky cracked with red lightning.
Across the kingdom, symbols appeared on ancient stones. Sleeping spells awakened. Creatures bound in fire stirred beneath the earth. And in distant temples, followers in crimson robes began to march.
The Circle had risen from myth.
Now, it would become prophecy.
---
In the cave, Emberlyn woke from a dream of flames and mirrors.
She sat upright, breath shallow.
A voice had whispered in her sleep—not Seris, not her own. It was older. Hungrier.
"You cannot run from your origin.
You are not reborn.
You are unfinished."
She stood, staring into the fire.
The Circle had struck first.
Now, it was her turn.
---