Elira didn't sleep.
The flames that had touched her soul would not let her. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the fire coiling beneath her skin, restless and watching.
By dawn, she had forgotten how long she'd been sitting on the floor—knees pulled to her chest, fingers pressed tightly over the faintly glowing mark at her sternum. It no longer burned. Now, it throbbed—slow and steady, like a second heartbeat.
It was no longer just Vaerenth's bond she felt.
There was something else.
Something older. Wilder. Hungrier.
Her hand shook as she reached for her robe. The silk brushed her skin like ice, and still she felt too hot. Not from the room, or from the pact, but from within. Like her very blood had turned to embered ash.
When she opened the door to her chamber, the hall outside was empty—but she knew she was not alone.
The Skyspire was watching her.
Not the people. Not the servants.
The stone itself.
The mountain.
She descended the spiral stair carefully, barefoot, her thoughts scattered. Whispers clung to the edges of her hearing—half-syllables, fragments of a tongue she hadn't learned but somehow understood.
Draconic.
It swam in her mind now, carried on fire. Not Vaerenth's voice this time. A deeper one. More serrated. More amused.
> You carry me well, little vessel.
She stumbled, catching herself on the rail. Her fingers left blackened prints in the stone.
> I remember the one who birthed you. The one who sealed me. I remember her fire. It flickered. Yours—yours may roar.
"No," she hissed under her breath. "You are not mine to carry."
> But you carry me all the same.
She didn't reply. She couldn't. Her pulse was too fast. Her lungs too shallow. Each breath felt like inhaling smoke that had no source.
She found Vaerenth exactly where she expected: standing on the eastern balcony, watching the pale light of morning spill across the peaks. His back was to her, but he knew she was there.
"I felt him," she said quietly.
"I know."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice was a whisper edged in steel. "Why didn't you warn me?"
Vaerenth's wings tightened slightly, as if bracing for something. "Because you wouldn't have believed it until you felt it yourself. And because there are things I am still forbidden to say."
"Forbidden? By who?"
He turned to face her. His expression was unreadable. "By the old accords. By the pact your mother helped seal. It binds even me."
She stepped closer, jaw clenched. "You should have tried. I faced him alone. I saw the chains. I saw the throne. I saw—my mother."
Vaerenth stiffened. "What?"
"In the vision. She knelt before Kaevros. She bled for him."
His eyes narrowed, voice low. "Then the mark is evolving faster than I thought."
Elira's hands balled into fists. Heat prickled at her palms.
"I don't care about your accords, or your warnings, or what the old dragons did. I want this out of me."
Vaerenth moved suddenly, stepping forward, gripping her forearm with a hand that radiated warmth—but not comfort. "You can't undo it, Elira. The fire is yours now. Kaevros is in you. But you're not his puppet. Not yet."
"Then help me control it," she said. "Before I burn everything I am."
---
They trained in silence.
Vaerenth took her to the upper terraces, where the wind howled so violently it could strip breath from the lungs of any mortal. But she was no longer just mortal.
He taught her how to breathe through fire. To focus on the pulse of the mark, not resist it. To bend the flame, not extinguish it.
The first time she summoned it willingly, her entire arm lit in golden flame—like liquid sun.
The second time, she scorched a crater into the terrace wall.
She collapsed, trembling.
Vaerenth knelt beside her, speaking low and calm. "You're not failing. You're forging. Fire doesn't ask to be tamed. You have to earn its respect."
Elira coughed, gripping her side. "It's not just the flame. It's him. I feel Kaevros every time I draw on it. Like he's waiting for me to open the door a little wider."
Vaerenth looked toward the horizon, his jaw tight. "He is."
Silence.
Then he spoke again. "There may be a way to seal him deeper. A ritual. Dangerous. Forbidden even by the Pact Council."
Elira's head snapped up. "What does it cost?"
He hesitated. "You."
Her breath hitched. "What?"
"To cage him, you'd have to give more of yourself to the mark. Feed it willingly. Bind the fire tighter—but burn away more of what makes you you."
Her fingers curled into the ground.
Another choice made by others.
Another sacrifice demanded.
Another piece of herself stolen in the name of duty.
She looked up at the sky, a storm gathering far to the north.
And somewhere in the mountain's shadow, chains rattled.
---
That night, Elira stood at her mirror again.
The mark no longer flickered. It glowed steady. A star sealed into flesh.
And in her eyes—only for a moment—dragonlight burned.
Not Vaerenth's.
Not Kaevros's.
Hers.