The flames shouldn't have touched me.
That's what my father always said.
I was born under the Ash Sign , cursed blood, barren soil, heir to the line that betrayed the Last Flame. We were the family the fire would never claim, the one safe from being taken as a Bride.
But as I knelt in the circle of the Choosing, a hundred others bowing around the sacred pyre, the fire found me.
The Oracle's chant rose in a low, trembling hum. The flames writhed higher, serpentine, sliding past jeweled noble girls and veiled priestesses… until they stopped before me at the farthest edge.
Heat wrapped my throat like a hand.
I couldn't breathe.
"Do not resist," the Oracle thundered. "The fire chooses its Bride."
The flames surged, curling over my head. I should have burned. My hair should have gone up like straw. Instead, the heat turned cold against my skin, cold, and deliberate, as if tasting me.
And then it spoke.
Found you.
The words weren't sound. They poured into my skull like molten gold, searing and sinking deep. My knees buckled. My hands clamped over my ears though there was nothing to block.
Somewhere beyond the ringing in my head came the gasps.
"She's of the cursed line," someone whispered. "It's not possible—"
The Oracle's eyes widened with something that might have been awe… or fear. "It is decided. The Bride will be taken to the Last Flame before nightfall."
Hands seized my arms, dragging me upright. My father's face swam into view, pale as ash, his mouth working soundlessly. Then, as they pulled me away, I heard him.
Soft. Broken.
"Elaryne… run."
The fire surged higher, and the voice in my head deepened, dangerous as a blade.
You will not run from me.
⸻
The mountain had been silent for a thousand years.
Today, it breathed.
I sat in the back of the carriage, wrists bound in red silk , not rope, not chains. Chains could be broken. Silk could not. The Oracle had said it was spun from the fire's own breath, threads that would not burn, fray, or loosen until my bond was sealed.
Every jolt of the wheels rattled my bones. Every turn took us higher, away from the city's warm smoke into the thin, cold air of the upper passes.
They hadn't sent guards with me. Only the Firebearers , six silent men in crimson cloaks, their eyes catching the light too easily, as if something within them burned.
I kept searching for a chance to run. My father's voice was still in my ears.
Run.
But where? The road clung to the cliff face: a sheer drop to the left, a wall of rock to the right. The only way forward… was toward him.
The Firebearer across from me hadn't blinked in an hour. At last, his voice rasped low. "Do you know what happens if you refuse him?"
My mouth was dry. "The world loses its magic."
He smiled without warmth. "No. You lose your life. The magic will remain, in him. It will simply burn the rest of us to take it back."
The carriage lurched to a stop. My heart slammed. We weren't at the peak yet. Why—?
The Firebearers stepped out first. A wind like a knife sliced through the open door.
I followed their gaze.
Above us, black clouds boiled against the sky, twisting into a single spiraling column. Lightning flared inside , not white, not gold… but deep, molten red.
The mountain was breathing again.
The ground shuddered. Somewhere far ahead, stone split with a sound like the breaking of the world.
And then I heard it.
A roar too vast for anything living, rattling my teeth, rolling through my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.
The Firebearer's eyes glowed faintly in the storm's light. "The Last Flame wakes," he murmured.
I gripped the silk at my wrists until my fingers ached.
In the roar, I heard words. They weren't in my ears, they were in my blood.
Bride… mine.
⸻
The storm moved with us.
Every step the Firebearers took up the winding path, the red clouds shifted overhead, spiraling tighter until they hung directly above the yawning mouth of the great cavern carved into the mountain's heart.
The entrance alone could have swallowed a fortress. Jagged black rock framed it like the broken teeth of some ancient beast.
The air thickened as we neared. It was hotter now , not the dry heat of a forge, but the living weight of something breathing against my skin.
A breath.
The silk at my wrists thrummed faintly, as if it recognized the source.
"Do not look into his eyes," one of the Firebearers murmured. His tone was reverent, but I caught the tremor beneath it.
"Why not?" My voice came out thin.
"Because you will not look away."
We halted at the cavern's edge. The Firebearers formed a ring around me, their chanting low and rhythmic. The ground beneath my boots pulsed , faint, like a heartbeat.
The first wave of heat rolled out of the darkness. My skin prickled. My hair lifted as if the air itself was charged.
Then came the sound , so low it was almost silence. A growl that lived inside the bones.
I took a step back.
Something shifted within the dark. Not fully , just a ripple of shadow, the suggestion of muscle sliding beneath a hide far too vast for my mind to measure.
I could not see his face. Only a glint, molten gold catching the faintest light, vanishing, then returning closer.
The Firebearers dropped to their knees.
My breath caught. The heat curled around my throat and jaw , a phantom touch that made my pulse stumble.
The growl deepened.
And then , a voice.
Nearer.
My legs moved without my consent. Silk-bound or not, I stepped into the shadow of the cavern.
The heat grew heavier. A shape loomed , coiled, silent, immense.
Another glint of gold… and then the faintest brush of heat against my cheek.
Not a roar. Not a snarl.
A breath.
From the darkness, two molten eyes opened fully , and I realized they were level with mine.