Velstrae burned behind them, a smoldering jewel in the crown of a dying empire. Smoke curled like serpents into the sky, and the once-pristine towers of obsidian and glass shivered with firelight. From the ridged cliffs high above the city, it might have seemed beautiful—like a funeral pyre lit for a god. But in the tangled wilds beyond its walls, where three fugitives ran for their lives, the sight was anything but poetic.
Liora didn't look back. The heat on her spine told her everything she needed to know. The Queen's fury was behind her. The hunt had begun.
She tore through the underbrush, brambles ripping at her cloak, her breath ragged. Soot clung to her tongue. The taste of fear—bitter and metallic—was familiar now, almost comforting in its inevitability. Her boots slipped on the uneven terrain, obsidian shards catching moonlight like broken mirrors. Behind her, Brisa stumbled, cursing as a root caught her boot. Sera didn't break stride, already ten paces ahead, moving like a shadow that remembered the shape of these forgotten woods.
They had taken the western escape route—a winding, treacherous path through the volcanic pinewoods known as the Sable Thorns. Centuries ago, it had been an exile route for flame-warped prisoners, too dangerous to patrol. Now it was their only chance.
Liora's fingers tingled.
A hiss.
Black flame flickered up her arm, trailing ghostlight over her skin. It didn't burn her. It never did. But the pulse of it, wild and disobedient, sparked like a storm building in her veins.
"Liora!" Brisa hissed. "You're glowing again. Gods, do you want to light up the forest?"
"I'm trying," Liora growled through clenched teeth. Her hands curled into fists, the flame dissipating like smoke on wind. She didn't know how to contain it, not really. It came when it wanted, like some ancient creature whispering from within her bones.
Sera slowed, falling into step beside her. "If you lose control in the Thorns, the trees will ignite. They burn hot and fast. We won't outrun it."
Liora nodded, jaw tight. The images from the Monolith still clung to the inside of her skull like soot-stains: flames that did not warm, a voice that sounded like stone cracking.
Ashborn.
Heir to cinders.
What did it mean?
Who was she now?
A rustle to their left. Sera raised a hand and they froze.
Between the skeletal trees, a shimmer of movement—then silence. The faint crackle of distant flame echoed through the woods.
"Shadow Riders," Sera mouthed. She gestured west. "Veer left. Now."
They cut through the trees, ducking beneath low branches, careful not to break the underbrush. The Shadow Riders didn't speak, didn't signal. You didn't hear them until your throat was already slit.
Hours passed like this: running, waiting, running again. Their world narrowed to breath and branch and the ache in their legs. Hunger gnawed at them. Thirst scraped their throats raw.
And still, the black flame simmered beneath Liora's skin.
Elsewhere, beneath the palace in a chamber lit only by seething ember-runes, Kael hung from shackles bolted to obsidian pillars. Blood trickled from a split lip. His arms were raw from strain, but his grin was intact.
Riven stood before him, still as stone.
The chamber smelled of ash and old blood. Heat shimmered across the carved floor, warping the air. Riven had not spoken in minutes. Kael watched him with the stubborn light of a boy who had nothing left to lose.
"You've got her running," Kael rasped. "You should be proud. She never ran from anyone before."
Riven remained silent.
Kael leaned forward, as much as his chains allowed. "But you're not proud, are you? You're afraid. Afraid of a servant girl who shouldn't have any flame at all."
Still, Riven said nothing.
Kael bared his teeth. "You're afraid of her. The Queen's weapon, scared of a scullery rat."
A crack.
Riven moved so quickly the eye could barely track it. He caught Kael's wrist in one gloved hand and, without warning, twisted.
Snap.
Kael screamed, breath ragged.
Riven let go, stepping back. His face showed nothing. No rage. No satisfaction.
"I fear what she'll become," Riven said quietly. "And what I'll be forced to do."
He left Kael gasping in the dark.
Night deepened. Stars emerged between cracks in the thick smoke above. The fugitives reached a plateau that overlooked the southern lava veins, where molten rivers glowed in slow, deadly procession. Here, the trees thinned into gnarled scrub, and wind howled like a wounded beast.
They found the old bridge just before dawn.
It arced over a lava gorge, skeletal and crumbling, its stone supports etched with runes that pulsed faintly. A relic from the old Ember Wars.
Sera moved to inspect it, but Liora already felt it—the hum in the air. Like fate drawing breath.
"He's close," she whispered.
Sera turned sharply. Brisa tensed.
And then they saw him.
Across the bridge, a lone figure stepped from the trees.
Riven.
He did not draw his weapon.
He didn't need to.
He simply stood there, wind tugging at his cloak, his eyes molten and still. The black armor caught the light of the lava below, casting blood-colored reflections. In his presence, the world went still. Even the wind held its breath.
Liora stepped forward.
"Keep going," she told Brisa and Sera.
Brisa grabbed her arm. "Are you mad?"
"Go. I'll hold him."
Brisa looked like she wanted to argue. Then she saw the flame coiling around Liora's hands.
They ran.
Liora faced Riven across the span of ancient stone. The heat of the lava below made sweat bead on her brow, but she didn't wipe it away.
"You don't give up, do you?" she called.
Riven's voice carried like a knife drawn from a sheath. "You don't know how dangerous you are."
"Then stop chasing me."
"I can't."
The black flame surged up her arms. She was definitely getting the hang of it, with Brisa and sera several feets away she let her flames run wild. The air cracked. Runes on the bridge flared.
Riven stepped forward.
Liora struck.
Flame poured from her hands, a column of shadowfire that roared down the bridge. The runes exploded. Stone shattered. The middle span collapsed into the gorge with a thunderous crash.
When the smoke cleared, Riven stood unmoved on the other side. Ash swirled around him. His expression hadn't changed—but his eyes blazed.
He met her gaze across the inferno.
"Run, little ash-maker," he said, voice cold and furious. "I'll enjoy dragging you back."
Liora turned.
And ran into the rising dawn.