The staircase descended for what felt like hours, yet Kaela never tired. The deeper she went, the warmer the air became—not uncomfortably so, but invigorating, like she was breathing in energy rather than air. The runes along the walls pulsed faintly with her heartbeat, and the pendant at her neck grew steadily hotter.
She began to notice carvings: stories etched in the stone as old as the mountain itself.
A woman cloaked in flame, standing before a host of dragons.
A golden sword raised against a sky split by darkness.
A circle of queens, each crowned in light, each bearing the same ember at their breast.
The last image made Kaela pause. The woman in the carving looked… like her. Not precisely, but similar enough—same eyes, same crown of wild hair, same quiet strength carved into her jaw.
As she touched the stone, a voice echoed through the stairwell—not Vireza's, but older, feminine, proud.
"If you walk the path of fire, you must burn away all that is false."
Kaela flinched. The pendant flared, and the runes before her rearranged themselves with a hiss of shifting stone. The stairs gave way to a chamber of mirrored walls and ember-lit torches.
She had arrived.
This was the Hall of Reflection.
She stepped into the room, and her reflection met her eyes. But it was not right.
The mirrored Kaela wore a crown of twisted iron. Her eyes blazed with cruel fire, and blood stained her hands.
"You seek the Ember Crown," the reflection sneered. "You think you are chosen. But you are nothing. A girl playing queen. A child of no name, born of lies."
Kaela's heart pounded, but she stood firm.
"I don't need to be born from greatness to become something more," she said. "Whatever this fire is… I'll shape it. I'll make it mine."
The reflection scowled, then lunged from the mirror.
Kaela was ready.
The fight that followed was fast, violent, and strangely silent. Her mirrored self moved like smoke and flame—fast, fluid, unpredictable. But Kaela moved with purpose. For every doubt the doppelgänger spat, she answered with defiance.
"You are alone."
"I am never alone. I carry my mother's strength."
"You will burn everything you love."
"Then I'll learn to wield fire with care."
"You are afraid."
"Yes. But I still fight."
With that final cry, Kaela drove the mirrored self back into the wall. The reflection shattered into a burst of light and cinders, and the chamber trembled.
The wall behind the broken mirror split open, revealing a forge unlike any in the waking world.
It floated in a void of black stone and starlight. Lava flowed like rivers across the airless space, coiling around ancient anvils. And in the center, suspended by chains of glowing crystal, hovered a crown wrought of flame and molten gold.
The Ember Crown.
As Kaela stepped toward it, the voice returned—the voice from the staircase, warm and proud.
"You have faced your truth. Now claim your fire."
Kaela reached out.
The moment her fingers brushed the crown, pain seared through her body. Visions flooded her mind—queens before her, battles waged in fire, dragons soaring above forgotten kingdoms, the Ash Tyrant's rise and ruin. She saw her mother cradling her as an infant, crying as the comet fell. She saw Vireza sealing herself in stone. She saw the world teetering on the edge of collapse.
And through it all, she heard her name.
Kaela.
She placed the crown upon her head.
Flames surged through her like a tide—but they did not consume her. They danced across her skin, coiled into her veins, and settled behind her eyes.
When the light faded, she stood not as a girl—but as something more.
Crowned. Chosen. Changed.
The Ember Queen.
Behind her, the forge collapsed into cinders. The runes dimmed. And a new path opened—a bridge of cooled lava leading upward toward a sky she no longer feared.
But far above, on the mountain's highest peak, the Ash Tyrant stirred. And his gaze had turned toward her.