The rain fell in soft whispers over the monastery's slate-tiled roof, a lullaby for the restless. Liora Valen sat by the frost-rimmed window, knees tucked to her chest, a candle flickering beside her. The wax had pooled like spilled tears. Outside, Elyndor's vast wilderness slumbered beneath the cloak of night.
Inside, quiet ruled. The other novices had gone to sleep hours ago, lulled into comfort by the monks' evening chant. But Liora had never found comfort in silence—not when her dreams trembled with fire.
Her fingers traced the sigil burned into her wrist—the faded remnant of a seal the monks refused to explain. They told her it was a symbol of protection. But at night, it glowed faintly, pulsing in time with the heartbeat she sometimes feared wasn't hers.
She turned her head sharply. Voices. Not dream-voices this time. Real ones. Men.
She snuffed the candle and crept toward the door, her bare feet cold against the stone floor. She reached the archway leading to the central hall, pressing herself into the shadows. Down the hall, hooded figures stood with wet boots and dripping cloaks. One of the elder monks greeted them nervously.
"...You gave your oath," Brother Hale said, his voice low but urgent.
"We did," the tallest stranger replied. "But we've received new orders. The Queen wants the Ember."
Liora's breath caught. She'd never heard that word spoken aloud here. Ember. The monks called it myth. A tale from before the War of Flame.
"There are no embers here," Hale said firmly.
Liora saw the glint of steel before she heard the monk's gasp. Then—chaos. The hall exploded with motion. Swords drawn. Cries. Smoke.
She ran.
Feet slapping against stone, she darted through servant corridors and forgotten alcoves, heart pounding like a drumbeat in a war march. Behind her, she heard screams—novices, monks, guards. The monastery was falling.
The walls shuddered as fire licked at the ancient timbers. Liora stumbled into the archive chamber, coughing. Scrolls and tomes lined the circular room. She didn't know why she came here—only that it felt right.
She dropped to her knees before the central pedestal. A single book rested there: leather-bound, sealed with a rune she'd never dared touch.
Now, it was glowing.
Her hand moved as if guided by some unseen force. She touched the cover.
And the world split apart.
A roar sounded—not of fire, but of memory. Of gods screaming. Of skies breaking.
Visions flooded her mind: a woman made of flame reaching for her, a battlefield of fallen titans, a broken crown cast into a river of light.
When Liora came to, the room was scorched around her. Books blackened. Walls cracked. But she stood untouched, eyes glowing faintly gold.
Then she saw him—
A man in dark armor, sword sheathed, watching her from the archway. His face was unreadable, but his stance was cautious.
"Don't come closer," she warned, stepping back.
"I won't," he said. His voice was deep, tired. "I saw what you did. You're the one they're hunting."
She said nothing.
"I'm not here to hurt you. If I wanted to, I'd have done it."
"Then what do you want?"
He stepped forward slowly. "To help. Or die trying."
Liora's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
"Kael Draven," he said, holding up empty hands. "Former Hunter. Now… something else."
A crash echoed down the hall. More soldiers.
Kael looked toward the sound, then back to her. "We have to go. Now."
"I don't even know you."
"But they know you. And they'll kill you. Or worse—use you."
She hesitated. Her life had been nothing but stillness, but now it was in motion—wild, burning motion.
She took his hand.
And together, they vanished into the