I never liked the royal library.
Too quiet. Too dark. A place where secrets clung to every shelf and dust whispered rumors with every footstep. But if there was one place in Emberfall that still held truth buried beneath its volumes, it was here.
The scent of old parchment and melted wax greeted me as I stepped into the library's inner sanctum. Lyra walked beside me, her hood drawn low. The royal scribes had been dismissed for the night, and the place felt hollow in their absence.
We moved through rows of tall shelves, torches flickering in wrought-iron sconces. Lyra trailed a finger along the spines of ancient tomes, many too faded to read.
"You're sure the prophecy exists?" she asked.
"Not just exists," I said. "I've read it before. I just didn't understand it."
Back then, the mention of a 'burned king' rising from 'embered ash' had sounded poetic. Dramatic. Not a roadmap.
Now, it sounded like a warning.
"Here," I said, stopping before a locked case. I pulled out the bronze key I'd taken from the steward's archives. The mechanism clicked, and the glass door opened.
Inside lay a single scroll sealed with black wax, its edges frayed. I lifted it gently.
The parchment unfurled with a whisper.
"In the shadow of ruin, when the fire forgets its master, shall the embered heir awaken. Betrayed by blood, bound by flame, he shall see again."
"That's you," Lyra said, voice tight. "It fits. Too well."
"And here," I pointed lower, "'Three crowns shall fracture, one will burn, one will bleed, one will break. And the last flame shall choose the true king.'"
We both went silent.
Three crowns.
There were three kingdoms left in the Southern Reach: Emberfall, Caer Thorne, and Virelia.
It was no longer just about me.
This was a war prophecy.
"We need to get this to Taren," I said, rolling it up. "If the high steward or Alric sees this—"
"They'll silence us before supper," Lyra finished. "Let's go."
But we never made it out.
A rustle echoed from behind the far shelf.
We froze.
Another shuffle—closer.
Lyra reached for the dagger at her belt. I stepped in front of her.
Then, a whisper: "Kael."
A figure stepped out from the shadows.
Old. Hooded. Eyes blind-white.
The flamekeeper.
"You should not have read the scroll," he said.
I swallowed hard. "You knew it was here?"
"I sealed it myself."
"Then why warn me now?"
He raised a trembling hand and pressed something into my palm.
A small stone, warm to the touch, carved with a sigil I didn't recognize.
"The Emberbrand is waking," he said. "But so are those who fear it. Take this to the Temple of Broken Light. Before the moon wanes. Or the path will vanish."
He turned to go, then paused.
"You are not the only one who remembers."
Then he was gone.
I looked down at the stone. It pulsed faintly.
Lyra whispered, "This just got much bigger, didn't it?"
"Yeah," I said. "Much."
---
The Temple of Broken Light was forbidden.
It lay beyond the Blackvale ridge, deep in the hills where the old gods were said to sleep. No guards patrolled it. No roads led to it. Only whispers.
We left before dawn.
Taren had arranged for two fast horses and a set of forged travel documents. He didn't ask questions—but I saw the worry in his eyes.
"If you're wrong," he said, "they'll brand you a heretic."
"And if I'm right, the kingdom won't survive without what I find."
The ride took two days.
Storm clouds gathered as we neared the ridge. Thunder rolled above blackened trees. The road ended in tangled roots and half-buried stone.
We left the horses behind.
The path narrowed into a moss-covered stair, carved centuries ago into the cliffside. Each step echoed like a drumbeat.
When we reached the summit, I finally saw it:
The Temple of Broken Light.
Half-shattered. Covered in vines. Towering statues of flame-eyed gods loomed over cracked pillars. A jagged fissure split the central dome, letting rain pour into the main chamber.
"This place feels wrong," Lyra muttered.
"Or old."
We stepped inside.
Torches flared to life with no flame.
The stone in my pocket burned.
Ahead, on the altar, a mirror rested—framed in obsidian, its surface black as a void.
"What is it?" Lyra asked.
I stepped forward and placed the stone against the frame.
Light exploded.
The mirror's surface rippled—and I saw myself.
But not as I was.
A crown of ash rested on my brow. My eyes burned like coals. The Flamebrand surged across my arms like living fire.
The image spoke.
"You will burn the world to save it."
Then darkness.
And silence.
---
I woke on the temple floor.
Lyra knelt over me, pale and shaking. "You stopped breathing. For a whole minute."
I sat up. The mirror was gone.
But the stone was now black glass.
A voice echoed in my head.
> [Skill Evolved: Emberbrand Lv. 2 – Flame Echo unlocked.] [You may now glimpse into fire's memory.]
I gritted my teeth.
The power was growing.
So was the danger.
"We need to go," I said. "Before someone realizes we were here."
Lyra nodded, still shaken.
But we didn't leave immediately.
The temple held more than secrets. It held remnants—memories caught in stone and ash. I could feel them, like smoke pressing against my thoughts.
I touched one of the cracked walls and closed my eyes.
The world shifted.
A vision surged through me:
A priestess knelt at the altar, flames dancing around her. "The child must not rise," she whispered. "He is the end of fire."
Another priest argued. "He is the flame's rebirth. We were wrong to hide him."
Screams echoed. The temple trembled. Shadows poured through the doors—warriors in black armor. The massacre was swift.
The mirror shattered.
Blood smeared the stone.
The vision ended with a scream I couldn't forget.
I staggered back, breath ragged.
"Kael? What happened?"
"The temple was attacked," I gasped. "Because of the prophecy."
Lyra looked around, suddenly aware of how vulnerable we were. "Then let's not make their mistake."
We left the way we came, descending the cliff path just as rain began to fall.
By the time we reached the base, a rider waited.
Not Taren.
A Virelian scout—cloaked in green and black, the crest of the Twin Rivers etched on his pauldron.
He raised a hand. "Prince Kael of Emberfall, you are requested to appear before Her Majesty Queen Rhianna of Virelia."
I stared.
"Why?"
"Because the fire you awakened has reached her borders."
He tossed something into the mud.
A burned banner.
One of ours.
Lyra bent down and picked it up slowly.
"Someone's framing you," she whispered.
I narrowed my eyes.
"Or testing me."