The city wasn't on any map.
Not anymore.
They found it at sunset—carved into the cliffs like a secret kept too long. Pale red spires rose above narrow stone streets, reflecting the sun like fire. The gates were broken, but the walls stood strong, wrapped in ivy and soot.
Ashreach.
Kael said the name with caution. "It was once a place of trade. Then worship. Then silence."
Aryelle stared at the gate. "What happened?"
"The Crown," Kael said. "Or at least the idea of it."
Inside the walls
Ashreach wasn't dead.
People moved between narrow buildings, dressed in ochre robes and leather masks shaped like flame. There were no carts, no horses. No laughter. Just the low thrum of drums, distant and deep, like a heartbeat trapped beneath stone.
And eyes.
So many eyes watching Aryelle.
Halric muttered, "Why do I feel like we've walked into a sermon mid-ritual?"
Kael didn't answer.
Because the truth was worse.
They were met by a woman with ink-black eyes and a crimson mantle.
She bowed low before Aryelle, one hand crossed over her chest.
"Flamebearer," she said. "We've waited so long."
Aryelle didn't respond.
The woman rose. "I am Priestess Laien of the Ember Circle. You are safe here."
Aryelle exchanged a glance with Kael.
"Safe," he echoed, low.
The woman gestured for them to follow.
They did—through streets lined with carvings of flame and thorn, past silent crowds who knelt as Aryelle passed. No cheers. No chants.
Just awe.
And fear.
In the Temple of Red Glass
The temple was beautiful in the most unsettling way. Everything was made of sand-blasted red crystal—walls, ceilings, even the altar at its heart. Firelight danced through it, casting fractured shapes across Aryelle's skin.
A crown rested atop the altar.
Thorns of metal. Gemstones like dying embers.
Not the Crown.
But a replica.
Laien saw her look. "The true Crown is hidden. Until you are ready."
"I'm not here to be crowned," Aryelle said.
"But you are here to lead," Laien replied.
Aryelle frowned. "Lead what?"
Laien's eyes glinted. "The Second Burning. The thawing of the world. The rise of flame over frost. You are the Spark—meant to reignite what was lost."
Kael stepped forward. "And if she says no?"
Laien turned to him. "Then we burn without her."
Later, in the guest chambers
Aryelle sat by the open window, watching the city. Fires lit every rooftop. Prayers rose with the smoke.
Kael stood at the doorway.
"They want to use you," he said. "You know that."
"I'm used to that," Aryelle replied.
"They don't care who you are. Just what you represent."
She looked back at him. "And what do I represent to you?"
Kael didn't speak for a long time.
Then: "Danger. Hope. Something I can't walk away from."
Aryelle smiled faintly. "Good. Because I think I'm about to light a match they can't put out."
That night, in the temple
Aryelle returned alone.
Laien knelt before the replica Crown.
"They'll follow you," she said softly. "Even into fire."
Aryelle stepped forward. "Then let them know something."
Laien looked up.
"I'm not their savior. I'm not their queen. And I'm not their weapon."
She reached out—and touched the replica.
A sudden flare of real fire burst from the crystal crown, racing up her arm. Laien gasped, falling back.
Aryelle stood in the center of the flames, untouched.
Eyes blazing.
Voice like smoke.
"I am the fire they feared. And I am done being quiet."
Far away…
In the frozen halls of Queen Vaerra's palace, every candle flickered.
The frost cracked.
And in the depths beneath Ashreach, the real Crown stirred.
One thorn unfurled.
***
They came for her at midnight.
Not with weapons drawn or torches blazing—but with ropes and silence.
Aryelle woke to the click of a lock turning.
She was out of bed and reaching for her blade before her eyes fully opened—but a hand was already over her mouth, another around her wrist.
"Don't fight," a voice whispered. "We're not here to hurt you."
Aryelle sank her teeth into the speaker's hand.
He screamed.
She drove her elbow back into his chest, twisted free, and rolled into a crouch, blade drawn.
Three robed figures stood in her room.
Not the fire-red robes of the Ember Circle. These were darker—charcoal gray, patterned with black spirals and thorns. Not flame-worshippers.
Extremists.
The leader lowered his hood. A young man. Eyes wide with desperation.
"Flamebearer," he said, breathless. "You're in danger. The Ember Circle only wants your fire. But we—we want to burn the chains."
Aryelle didn't lower her blade. "Start talking. Or start dying."
Meanwhile…
Kael stood atop the Temple of Red Glass, sword sheathed, eyes narrowed to slits. The wind carried strange heat tonight—wrong heat. Fire not born of magic, but of fear.
He felt the moment something changed.
Like a wire pulled taut.
Like a match just struck.
Then he heard it.
The scream.
He jumped.
Back in Aryelle's chambers…
The extremist leader knelt. "We're called the Kindled. We serve the true prophecy. Not the priests. Not the thrones. You're not meant to lead, Flamebearer. You're meant to burn it all down."
Aryelle's grip tightened. "You kidnapped me for that?"
"We were going to free you. Before they could chain you to a lie."
Footsteps echoed from the corridor.
A crash.
Then a shadow burst through the window.
Kael landed in a crouch, blade drawn.
The Kindled barely had time to react.
In seconds, one was disarmed, another was unconscious, and the third—the leader—stood frozen, Kael's sword tip beneath his chin.
"You picked the wrong fire to play with," Kael said coldly.
Aryelle stepped between them.
"No," she said. "Let him speak."
Kael's eyes flicked to her, unreadable.
Aryelle turned to the boy. "Tell me about this 'true prophecy.' Now."
The boy smiled through bloodied lips.
"They say when the Flamebearer returns… she won't rebuild the world."
He coughed.
"She'll burn it clean."
Later…
The Kindled were imprisoned in a cellar beneath the temple.
Aryelle stood outside, arms crossed, staring at the firelight on the wall.
Kael leaned beside her.
"You're quiet."
"I keep thinking," she murmured, "what if they're not wrong?"
Kael glanced at her. "You're not a weapon."
"But I could be."
He was silent.
Aryelle turned to him. "If I burn this world to the ground… would you still stand beside me?"
Kael didn't blink.
"I already stood beside one mad king."
She flinched.
But he stepped closer, lowered his voice.
"I'd rather follow a burning queen with a soul… than another cold god without one."
That night, Aryelle dreamed again.
She stood on a battlefield of ice.
The Crown hovered above her head.
Behind her, fire.
Before her, frost.
Two armies. Two fates.
And the choice was hers.
Far beneath the temple, the Crown stirred once more.
Two thorns now glowed.
And deep inside its ancient forge-heart, something began to whisper.
A voice that hadn't been heard in a thousand years.
"Burn it all..."