The Ember Sea was not a place found on most maps.
It wasn't listed beside the northern isles or marked beyond the eastern reaches.
It existed somewhere between myth and exile, spoken only in salt-cracked whispers among merchant captains and drunk mapmakers.
And yet, a letter from that very sea now sat in Selene's hands.
Drenched in brine.
Sealed in obsidian wax.
And too warm to the touch.
As if it had breathed itself across the ocean.
The messenger who carried it had died two hours after reaching the Veredon docks.
His ship had no name.
No flag.
No crew.
Only his body lashed to the mast, eyes burned black, lips stitched with gold thread.
The letter had been sewn inside his chest.
Selene stood over the embalming table as Ingrid carefully removed the scroll.
"Burned from the inside," Ingrid whispered, voice tight. "But no signs of poison."
"Magic?"
"Older than ours."
She handed Selene the scroll with gloves.
Selene took it bare-handed.
Because fear had no place in a queen made of fire.
The letter uncurled on its own.
The ink shimmered red, not paint, not blood, but something between.
And the words pulsed:
"We have heard your flame crackle from across the sea."
"We have felt your name in the tides."
"We are not Marrow. We are not Circle."
"We are the first flame. The Drowned Ember."
Selene's pulse slowed.
She had heard of them once, only once, in a story her mother had whispered as a warning before bed.
"They do not drown, Selene. They burn beneath the water."
The Drowned Ember.
An ancient sect from the sea-locked ruins beneath the Ember Sea.
Said to be the remnants of the original flame-wielders, the pre-throne queens.
Not of bloodlines.
Of elements.
Banished.
Forgotten.
Sleeping.
But now, awake.
And calling her.
The scroll continued:
"You wear flame, but you do not own it."
"Come and prove your right. Alone."
"Or we will take the fire back."
Ingrid read over her shoulder.
"This is madness," she said. "A cult from the deep sea is summoning you?"
Selene didn't respond.
She was already walking.
She returned to the east balcony, the one that overlooked the royal docks.
Ships waited in the dark, ready to sail.
But not hers.
She had commissioned a vessel in secret.
Small.
Fast.
Silent.
No flag.
Only shadow.
Elric met her there.
"You can't go alone."
"I must."
"They're baiting you."
"And I am the hook."
He stepped forward, jaw clenched.
"You've burned traitors. You've crushed uprisings. You declared yourself flame. But you are not invincible."
Selene turned.
"I don't need to be invincible, Elric. I need to be believed."
He didn't answer.
Because he knew she was right.
At midnight, Selene boarded the black ship alone.
One cloak.
No armor.
No crown.
Only a dagger dipped in her own blood.
Because if she was walking into a trial by flame, she would bring her past with her.
The Ember Sea met her with silence.
No waves.
No wind.
Just stillness so unnatural it made her ears ring.
The stars above seemed farther away here.
As if they, too, feared looking down on the waters below.
On the third day, she saw it.
A temple rising from the sea like a spine of black coral.
No sails.
No bells.
Only a red flame burning at the peak, underwater, flickering upward.
A dock extended from the temple like a tongue.
Her ship stopped on its own.
As if commanded.
Selene stepped off.
And the sea didn't ripple.
It opened.
She descended into the temple.
No guards met her.
No torches.
Only carvings, walls etched with thousands of faces.
Women.
Only women.
Their eyes made of pearl.
Their mouths painted closed.
Until she reached the altar.
And the High Flamekeeper rose from a bed of smoke.
Tall.
Barefoot.
Hair like wet gold threaded with crimson.
"You are late," she said.
Selene did not bow.
"I was burning things."
The Flamekeeper smiled.
"You come in arrogance."
"I come in truth."
"And you seek power?"
"No," Selene replied. "I already have it."
"Then why answer the call?"
"Because I want to know who thinks they can take it from me."
The temple vibrated.
Not from sound, but from presence.
Flame rose from the altar.
It did not touch Selene.
But it circled her.
Weighed her.
Judged her.
"You were born of traitors."
"Bred by spies."
"Crowned in lies."
The voices were not spoken aloud.
They pressed into her skull.
Selene didn't move.
Then she answered.
"And I still survived."
The fire pulsed again.
This time, it touched her.
Her skin burned.
But she did not scream.
She let it test her.
Because fire only bows to fire.
The High Flamekeeper stepped forward.
"You passed the first gate."
Selene lifted her chin.
"How many more?"
"Six."
"How long do they take?"
"Time does not flow here. Only trial."
She was led deeper.
To the Well of Smoke, where she would see every death she could've had.
To the Chamber of Mirrors, where every face she wore would lie to her.
To the Trial of Blood, where she'd open her veins to feed a tree that bloomed only with truth.
Days passed.
Or hours.
Or centuries.
Selene bled.
Burned.
Broke.
And each time, she rose again.
Until she reached the final chamber.
A circle of flame that rose like a crown.
Inside it, a throne carved of petrified fire.
And the Flamekeeper offered her a choice.
"Sit. And forget who you were."
"Or leave. And remember what you now are."
Selene looked at the throne.
Then turned away.
Because she didn't need a new seat.
She'd already burned the last one to make her own.
She left the temple at sunrise.
The sea had shifted.
It boiled now.
As if awakened.
The Flamekeeper bowed at the dock.
"You are flame."
"No," Selene said.
"I am fire reborn."
She returned to Veredon on the seventh day.
And found Cassian waiting.
With blood on his hands.
And a crown shattered at his feet.
"While you were gone," he said quietly, "they tried to take it all back."
Selene stared at the ruin.
And whispered:
"Then we take everything."
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