The temple groaned beneath Seraphira's feet as fire spiraled outward from the pedestal. The war-blade in her hand pulsed with heat not burning her, but accepting her. Claiming her.
The ancient flame carved in the stone floor rose like mist around her ankles warm, golden-orange, and laced with silver threads that shimmered in the air.
Elena stood back, wide-eyed, as a glowing sigil took shape beneath Seraphira's boots.
The spiral.
The crown.
The flame.
Then, the world tilted.
Seraphira's eyes flew wide.
The room vanished.
She stood in a place that was not the temple.
A sky without stars stretched endlessly above her. The ground beneath her feet was made of molten glass, shifting like memory. No walls. No wind. Only silence.
But she was not alone.
Before her, veiled in smoke and fire, stood a throne of shadow.
And on that throne, seated in stillness, was Kaelreth Azarion.
She knew him at once, not by face, for it was half-shrouded by a hood, but by the weight of him. The pull in her blood. The burning in her chest.
He looked up.
Not with surprise.
But recognition.
"At last," he said.
Seraphira's hand tightened on the blade.
This is a dream, she said.
"No. It is memory."
Yours?
"Ours."
She shook her head. I don't know you.
You did, he said gently. "Before the gates closed. Before the curse. Before they tore your name from fire and gave you silence."
She staggered back. What are you talking about?
Kaelreth rose from the throne.
He was tall. Regal. His eyes were gold, not like coin, but like a sun dying behind stormclouds. Around his shoulders draped a mantle of smoke. His voice was calm. Dangerous only because it didn't need to be loud.
"You were once the Flame of the North. Daughter of kings. Born beneath a fire moon."
I was born cursed, she said.
No, he whispered. "You were born burning. And they feared what that meant."
He stepped closer.
"You were not cast out. You were locked away."
Seraphira shook her head.
But images flooded her mind of childhood dreams, of fire in her hands, of voices calling her name from beneath the earth. Not nightmares.
Memories.
You're lying, she said.
I have no need to lie, Kaelreth said.
You're the Devil.
He smiled faintly.
Then why do you call me familiar?
She flinched.
Because it was true.
He felt known.
Her mark burned on her wrist. His flared in answer.
Flame called to flame.
Shadow reached for light.
And the Veil between them trembled.
Then,
Seraphira! Elena's voice echoed through the memory.
The temple began to collapse around them, stone crumbling.
Kaelreth's voice rose over the roar:
"The fire will show you truth. But the world will only give you lies."
"When you are ready… call my name."
And the last thing she saw before the memory vanished… was his eyes.
Not cruel.
Not kind.
Calling.
She awoke on the temple floor, gasping.
Elena knelt beside her. What happened? You were frozen, your eyes were glowing.
Seraphira looked down at her blade. The flame in the stone had gone out.
But the fire in her blood? Awake. Alive. Remembering.
He spoke to me, she whispered.
Who?
"Kaelreth Azarion. The Devil King."
And she wasn't sure whether she felt fear…
…or relief.