The dawn came slow over Aeloria, heavy with smoke. The city's towers stood like ghosts against a bruised sky, their spires rimmed in the dull red of smoldering fires. Somewhere below, bells tolled again — not for mourning this time, but for fear.
The whispers had grown overnight.
"Flame-bringer."
"Cursed queen."
"The Hollow's bride."
Each name carried across the marble streets like sparks before a storm.
From the balcony of the western tower, Kael watched the people below. Soldiers patrolled the gates. Priests burned incense in desperate prayers. The citizens no longer bowed when he passed — they watched, waiting to see whether he was king or monster.
Behind him, Isolde stood in silence, her golden hair tangled from sleeplessness. The light that once glowed gently beneath her skin had dimmed, replaced by a faint pulse of silver-gray.
"They're afraid of me," she said at last. Her voice was quiet, raw.
Kael turned to her. "They're afraid of what they don't understand."
"They should be," she whispered, opening her hand. A faint shimmer of flame appeared, flickering weakly, then turned dark — black at the edges. She clenched her fist, extinguishing it. "I feel him in it now. In everything."
Kael stepped closer, taking her hands. "We'll find a way to separate you from him."
Her gaze lifted to his, searching. "And if we can't?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, "Then we burn together."
---
That morning, the Council of Aeloria convened once more. The Hall of Cinders had never felt colder.
Lady Seris sat at the head, dressed in mourning black, her hair wound like a crown of thorns. Around her, the other nobles murmured in unease — every voice carrying fear disguised as reason.
"Two more dead," the captain of the guard reported. "Same mark as before — eyes burned black, no flame, no sound."
"Corruption spreads," said Seris. "And where the flame burns, the shadow feeds. The people whisper that the girl's power has turned. They will not forgive another tragedy."
Lord Varyn leaned forward. "If the prince refuses to act, the council must."
Elira, standing apart from the table, spoke for the first time. "You would imprison the very power that saved you?"
Seris smiled thinly. "Saved? Or merely delayed the inevitable?"
Elira's runes glowed faintly beneath her sleeves. "Do not mistake fear for wisdom."
But Seris's tone sharpened. "Do not mistake love for loyalty. The prince's heart blinds him — and if he cannot lead, then the council must."
Silence. The meaning was clear.
Elira's eyes hardened. "If you touch her, you'll wake the very darkness you fear."
Seris's smile didn't falter. "Then perhaps it's time we learn what truly sleeps in her flame."
---
By sunset, Kael stood before the throne he had never wanted.
The gold seat gleamed dully in the twilight, draped with his father's black banners. The air smelled of ash and incense. He could still remember his father's hand on that armrest, commanding, judging.
Now it stood empty.
Elira approached quietly, her cloak brushing the floor. "They're preparing to act, Kael. Seris means to move tonight. The guards have orders to surround the tower before moonrise."
Kael's grip on his sword hilt tightened. "She'll not touch her."
"You can't fight them all."
"Watch me."
Elira's expression softened with sorrow. "Defiance isn't victory. If you stand against the council, you'll be declared traitor. Everything you've fought for will burn."
Kael turned to her, voice cold. "Then let it burn."
---
Night fell hard and fast.
The moon hung half-shrouded in cloud, its pale light spilling over the palace like frost. Torches flickered in the courtyards below, shadows moving with military precision.
Isolde sat at the window, watching the city's glow fade to darkness. She could feel it — a pulse beneath her skin, faint but rhythmic, as though something inside her breathed with the Hollow's beat.
When the door opened, she didn't turn.
"They're coming, aren't they?" she said softly.
Kael crossed the room, armor strapped, cloak drawn. "Seris gave the order. But we're not waiting for her to act."
He offered his hand. "Come with me."
She hesitated. "If we run, they'll call you a traitor."
"They already have."
Her gaze lingered on his, full of both love and fear. "Kael, if he's inside me — if the Shadow King truly lives through my flame — you can't protect me from what I'll become."
He reached out, touching her cheek. "Then I'll protect what's left of you."
Her breath trembled. Then she took his hand.
---
They fled through the palace corridors under cover of silence. Elira met them near the old chapel, a hood over her silver hair, a bundle clutched in her arms — maps, runes, food, and a shard of the broken Moonsilver blade.
"The northern woods," she whispered. "Follow the river to Silverwood. I'll slow them."
Kael shook his head. "They'll kill you."
Her smile was tired but fierce. "I've lived through worse deaths."
Footsteps echoed — guards closing in.
Elira pushed them toward the door. "Go. Before they decide to burn what they don't understand."
Kael nodded once, gripping her hand. "You taught me to fight for more than crowns. I won't forget that."
"And I won't forget what it cost you," she replied.
Then she turned away, striding into the shadows as Kael and Isolde vanished into the night.
---
When the council entered the tower minutes later, they found it empty. The room was cold, the fire dead. Only a single mark burned into the stone floor — a sigil of intertwined flame and crescent, glowing faintly gold.
Seris stared at it, her expression unreadable. "So it begins."
Behind her, the torches flickered, though no wind stirred.
And in the silence that followed, a whisper passed through the dark — too faint for most to hear, but enough to make her spine stiffen.
Flame remains flame.