Alric's blade shimmered under the morning sun, the silver edge wet with dew. Behind him stood ten of Emberfall's royal guards—loyalists to the high steward, not the crown. They wore their allegiance like armor: emotionless faces, rigid stances, and eyes already prepared for violence.
I stepped forward, my hands lifted—not in surrender, but in warning.
Lyra shifted beside me, her dagger half-drawn.
"Don't," I muttered. "Not yet."
Alric tilted his head. "Not yet? You left Emberfall without sanction, consorted with foreign powers, and now stand on Virelian soil like a rogue flame. Treason is not something one delays judgment for."
I took a slow breath.
"Alric, we found the temple. The prophecy is real. The flamekeeper was right. You're following orders from a steward who wants the world blind."
"You think I follow out of ignorance?" His voice sharpened. "I follow because the alternative is you. An unstable prince playing with divine fire."
The fire inside me pulsed.
I stepped forward.
"Then let's test your certainty."
The flame answered my call—not as a blaze, but as a song.
A low hum. A memory. It wrapped around my limbs like living silk, flaring at my fingertips.
The ground cracked beneath me.
The guards hesitated.
Alric's eyes narrowed. "You've grown."
"And so has the danger we face."
He raised his sword.
The battle began.
---
Lyra moved first—a blur of steel and cloak. She dropped the nearest guard with a strike to the throat before fading into shadow.
Alric came at me with the precision of a master. Our blades clashed—steel against the Emberbrand's edge, which formed from flame and hardened into dark iron.
Every strike tested my will, every parry pulled at the power inside me. I didn't want to kill him. But he was trying to kill me.
"You're stronger," he said between blows. "But still divided."
He swept low. I jumped back. Fire leapt in a circle around us, forcing the others back.
"Because I haven't chosen to burn you yet," I snapped.
I slammed my palm against the earth. A pulse of fire burst outward, not deadly—but blinding.
By the time the guards cleared their eyes, Lyra and I were gone.
---
We ran until our lungs gave out, deep into the woods east of the river. Smoke trailed behind us—rising from farms and fields we couldn't stop to save.
We collapsed near a crumbling watchtower hidden by overgrowth.
Lyra leaned against the stone. "That's twice we've fled from your kingdom."
I panted. "It'll be the last."
"Because you're going to stop running?"
"Because we can't save it by playing its game."
She looked at me. Sweat streaked her brow, but her eyes burned with the same fire I felt.
"Then what now?"
I turned to the north.
"Caer Thorne. Rhianna said her allies there might help."
"And if they don't?"
"Then we make them see."
---
Caer Thorne was the oldest of the three kingdoms, its culture built around contracts, oaths, and ancient bloodlines. It was also the most resistant to change.
Its capital, Wyrmgate, rose between mountain and forest—spires of dark stone, wrapped in ivy and guarded by silent sentinels carved from obsidian.
We arrived under cloaks and false names.
But we didn't go to the palace.
We went to the archive.
The Obsidian Vault was a neutral ground, watched by Thorne monks who preserved history without bias. If there was any evidence of the Flamebrand's role across the kingdoms—it would be here.
The vault guardian, a man named Corran, eyed me closely as I handed him Rhianna's ring.
"You seek the Book of Ember?" he asked.
I nodded. "And anything older. Anything that predates the sealing of the Flamebrand."
He hesitated, then led us deep into the stone.
Beneath the vault, the air grew colder. Runes glowed softly along the walls, lit by ancient enchantments. Corran stopped before a sealed door and placed his palm against it.
The runes shifted.
The door opened.
Inside was a single pedestal. And atop it—a book bound in what looked like scorched bark.
Corran stepped back. "Only the chosen can open it."
I approached. My palm hovered over the cover. The Emberbrand on my arm flared.
The book opened.
Flame poured from the pages—but didn't burn. Instead, it danced across the air, forming symbols and visions.
I saw the first Flamebrand.
A woman wreathed in gold fire, standing atop a battlefield where three kings knelt.
I saw her split the flame into three—and give each kingdom a piece.
Then I saw the betrayal.
The kings, fearful of her power, joined together to destroy her.
They sealed the brand. Buried the temples. And wrote false histories.
Lyra gasped beside me.
"They lied. They always lied."
I looked at Corran. "Can we copy this? Take it?"
"No," he said. "But I can swear witness. And I can summon the Caer Thorne council. If the Queen of Virelia supports your claim—they might listen."
Might.
That was all we had.
---
The council gathered in a stone hall lined with banners of black and crimson. Ten elders sat in judgment—each a relic of power, old blood, and older grudges.
Corran read the passage aloud. Showed them the seal.
I stood before them and laid everything bare—the prophecy, the temple, the queen's aid, the black fire at the border.
One elder scoffed. "And you expect us to believe the flame chose you?"
I raised my hand.
Flame burst upward—not wild, but shaped. It formed a crown, then a sword, then a heart.
"I don't expect anything," I said. "But I offer this truth: if we wait, the darkness that burns Virelia now will be here within the month. And it won't care whose name is etched in your books."
Another elder, Lady Wynne, leaned forward.
"What do you want from Caer Thorne?"
"Alliance. Refuge. And the truth shared across the Southern Reach."
She looked at the others.
Debate broke out—sharp words, old politics.
Finally, Lord Tharan stood. The oldest among them.
"Let the boy speak to the Queen. She is the sword in the dark. If he convinces her—then we march."
---
The Queen of Caer Thorne was not like Rhianna.
She was harder. Colder.
Queen Seralyn wore armor even on her throne, her eyes like tempered steel. Her wolfhound lay beside her, silent and watchful.
I stood in the center of her war chamber, Lyra at my side, the ring of Virelia displayed openly.
She said nothing for a long time.
Then, simply:
"You've brought fire to my court. What do you want it to burn?"
"The lies that divide us."
She rose.
"Then you'd better be ready to walk through flame."
She extended a gauntleted hand.
And I took it.
For better or worse, the war had begun.