The voices start before dawn. They seep from the cracks in the walls, hungry, slick, dragging at the edges of the corridor like oily hands.
Screams tear through the dark—not cries for help, but something that hollows bone.
A child's voice shatters the din: "Daddy! Mommy! No!"
Then the cold reply: "You broke the rules. We will return after the Tine."
I run, hand out. The door slams—iron against my fingers, final. Silence.
Light explodes—too bright, blistering. I stagger, arms up, searching for anything but flame or floor. The heat claws at my skin.
Something shoves me—cold, sharp, unhuman. I pitch forward, swallowed by the blaze.
Human, monster, it doesn't matter. I'm burning.
The line between nightmare and memory is gone.
---
I wake screaming, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. My chest jerks with every breath. For a moment, the fire still claws my throat.
Second time this week. The old nurse says it's just the family spirits. That it'll pass.
But Keahi heirs aren't supposed to crack—especially not before the Flame rite.
If I fail, I don't just shame my name. I lose the right to inherit at all.
I force my breathing steady, fist pressed hard to the mattress until the shakes fade.
The room is still. Only the faint tick of the old clock and a sliver of gray dawn creeping past the curtains prove I'm awake at all. I uncurl my fingers and rub the sweat from my brow. For a long moment, I just sit, head bowed, listening for the echoes of the dream.
My skin prickles with cold where the nightmare used to burn. I stretch my legs out, flex my toes, press my feet to the wooden floor—solid, cool, real. The cloak hangs waiting at the end of my bed, black and flame-bright, promising duty and legacy and a day I can't skip.
I dress slow, letting each motion anchor me to the present—boots, satchel, cloak across my shoulders. My hands still tremble as I fasten the last clasp. I cross to the little table by the window, lift the flame ring from its box, and roll it between my fingers. The metal is warm, steady. I slip it on and let out a long breath.
A thin line of sunlight slices through the mist outside. The world feels quiet, balanced on the edge of something I can't see.
Downstairs, footsteps echo—mother's, precise as ever. I hear the front door open, the scrape of her boots, the faint clink of charms as she checks the wards.
I check my bag for the third time. Every item's in place, but I count them again, just to be sure.
My nerves haven't left me, but I make myself stand straight. I draw in one more breath—
…
"Did you get your bags, Sydney? Flares, charms, healing vial—"
"Yes, Mother. Triple-checked. Packed a spare for each."
We stand in the hall, the chandelier dripping endless fire. She kneels, searching my face for breaks.
Her hands linger on my collar, tightening it—like she could hold me together by force of will.
"You'll be a true heir to the Flame," she whispers. Two kisses, left and right. Our parting promise.
I nod. "I know."
She tries to smile. Neither of us quite gets there.
At the door, Valania waits—red cloak, arms folded, sunrise in her wild hair.
"Valania Cruor." My voice is sharp as flint.
"Sydney Keahi. Late as ever." Her mouth curves, but her eyes flick down to check my hands for a tremor.
"Was saying goodbye."
She never asks who. The words I should've said stick in my throat.
She grins, foxlike. "Ready to go grave-robbing, Ash Queen? Scream in there and I'll tell the next heir you tripped on a pebble."
I roll my eyes. "Just don't let me fall, Cruor."
"No promises."
We cross the lawn. Dew soaks our boots, the estate shrinking behind. I glance back—Mother in the window, palm pressed to the glass, hair ablaze. I memorize her outline for luck, or maybe fear.
The carriage is iron, warded, a magi at the reins. Valania climbs in, offers a hand. I ignore it and swing in after. She snorts.
"Still stubborn."
Inside, I clutch my pack. Duty. Flame. The weight of a legacy waiting to ignite.
Valania elbows my knee. "First stop: old curses. You think we'll see a ghost?"
"If I do, I'll ask which way to the inheritance."
She grins, sharp as broken bone. "Let me know before it eats us. Unless you want a haunting to liven up your bloodline."
The carriage jolts along the old road. I watch the manor shrink in the window, morning catching fire behind the glass—orange streaked with the bruised gray of a sleepless night.
Valania cracks the window, watching shadows slip between the trees. "Think we'll get trouble out there? Or just the usual fans hoping for a taste of the Keahi flame?"
"If they want it, let them try," I say, voice flat. "They'll burn for it."
She laughs, boots thumping up on the seat. "That's the spirit. Still, if you go soft in there, I'm not carrying you out. I'll drag you by the hair and tell the next council you slipped on your own pride."
I nudge her ankle. "You'll be too busy tripping over your own sword, Cruor."
She flashes a copper charm—etched, worn. "Protection. For monsters, for curses. For your taste in breakfast."
I snatch it out of her hand, shoving it in my pocket. "Better than the poison you cook."
We fall quiet as the woods close in, shadows crawling over the road, every stone a jolt in my spine. My fingers find the flame ring in my pocket; I slip it on, the metal warm, grounding.
Valania leans forward, tone dropping. "You ready, Ash Queen? No turning back once we cross the Vale."
Ready. I want to believe it. I can feel the nightmare still coiled beneath my ribs, waiting for a crack.
But I square my shoulders, nod once.
The carriage stops. Grass, sharp and cold against my shins. Ruins ahead—broken stone, pillars leaning, an entrance gaping in the earth, dark and bottomless.
Valania draws her sword, teeth bared in a grin. "After you. Scream, and I'll pretend I didn't hear it."
I take a breath, slip the flame ring on my finger, and step toward the dark.
Legacy, flame, fear. They're all waiting for me on the other side.
But this time, if the past wants a piece of me, it can try its luck.
I step across the threshold. Shadows swallow the light behind me. The nightmare doesn't follow, but I feel its echo in every heartbeat.
Valania's footsteps crunch at my back.
"Let's go burn some ghosts," she whispers.
And I walk into the ruin, the flame steady—if only for now.
The cold swallows us whole. Moss slicks the stones. Valania's boots crunch, but mine barely make a sound—I learned young to move like a shadow, fire or no fire.
Inside, the air shifts. Old power lingers, coiling in the dark: not magic, but memory.
Every step I take, the nightmare claws at my heels. I push it down, force my pulse slow.
Valania leads with her sword, point low. Her eyes flick over every crack, every stretch of wall where the dark is thickest. "Keep behind me, Keahi. If anything bites, I want first blood."
I snort. "If it bites you, I'll let it finish the job."
She glances back, mouth twisting in a grin. "Cruel. I like it."
We move deeper, light fading. My fingers find the charm in my pocket—the copper still warm from Valania's hand, as if it's alive.
The silence in here isn't empty. It hums—like breath held just a moment too long. I swallow, feeling the flame ring pulse on my finger.
There's a pressure in my chest, an itch under my skin. This is what the old stories called the "edge of power." You can't see it, but it waits, watching.
A corridor splits left. Valania nods, signals with two fingers—silent language, learned on too many long nights hunting through ruins.
I nod back, mouth dry. We take the right path, deeper into shadow.
Something skitters overhead. Pebbles rattle down the wall. My throat tightens, but I hold my ground.
"Relax," Valania mutters. "It's just a bat. Or a shadow with teeth. Either way, you're fine."
Her bravado is a shield—mine is silence.
We reach a chamber, roof half-collapsed. Light falls in slats, catching on dust motes that drift like ghosts. There's writing along the far wall—charred, almost melted into the stone.
I edge closer, heart pounding. The script is old—Keahi flame-tongue, carved by someone who knew fear.
Valania lowers her sword. "What's it say?"
I brush the dust aside, fingers tracing the letters. "Only those who carry fire in their blood may pass."
She huffs, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "Well, that's you. And I'm just here to look pretty."
I manage a thin smile. "You're doing great so far."
She bows with a flourish—sword tip glinting in the half-light. "Your move, Ash Queen."
I press my palm to the carving, feeling the heat gather, flame ring burning bright.
For a moment, I let myself hope the nightmare was just a nightmare, that legacy isn't a curse after all.
The wall trembles. Stone grinds against stone.
A passage opens, darkness yawning, breath like furnace air spilling out.
Valania lifts her sword. "After you."
I swallow, square my shoulders.
No more turning back.
I step through.