The dawn came like a bruise over the land.
Ash drifted through the air, carried on a cold wind that smelled of smoke and old battlefields. The forest was silent again, but not peaceful—everything alive seemed to be listening.
Lyra tightened her cloak and watched the horizon from the back of the wagon. The others were still uneasy after what they'd seen last night. The Shadowspawn's ashes had left a black scar on the earth, still smoldering faintly even hours later.
Korran kept glancing at her from the driver's seat. His usual smirk was gone.
"So," he said finally, "you gonna tell me how you burned a ghost made of smoke?"
Lyra hesitated. "I didn't know I could do that."
"Don't play dumb. You don't conjure fire like that by accident."
She met his gaze. "Do you believe in the old bloodlines?"
Korran frowned. "The royal myths? Magic that died with the fall of Ardentia? No one sane believes that anymore."
"Then maybe you shouldn't ask questions you don't want answers to," she said quietly.
Korran snorted. "Fair enough. Just… whatever you are, keep it pointed away from me."
---
The caravan reached the highlands by midday. The air grew thinner, the sky wider. Ancient watchtowers stood like broken teeth along the ridges, their stones carved with faint runes that still pulsed weakly when touched by sunlight.
Lyra could feel the pull of the north—the same magnetic pressure she'd felt in Valewind. Something beyond the mountains was calling to her.
They stopped at a ruined inn near the crossroads. The roof was gone, but the walls still stood. Korran and the others started a fire and unpacked food. Lyra wandered off toward the stream nearby to fill her canteen.
That was when she heard the whisper again.
Lyra Vale…
She spun around. The forest was empty.
The Emberheart waits… but not for long.
The whisper was softer now, almost mournful. The water at her feet rippled, forming shapes—flames twisting into symbols she couldn't understand. Then the image shifted into a face. A woman's face.
Lyra's breath caught.
"Mother?"
The reflection blinked, its eyes like molten gold.
The Shadow rises faster than I feared, the voice said. You must find the Emberheart before the eclipse. Trust no one wearing silver. They serve the Hollow King.
"The what?"
Before Lyra could ask more, the reflection shattered. The stream stilled, leaving her staring at her own frightened face.
When she returned to camp, Korran was arguing with the veiled woman.
"She's trouble," the woman said. Her voice was low and sharp. "I saw her light the forest on fire. I felt the power. That kind of magic brings death."
"You're not wrong," Korran said. "But she also saved our lives."
Lyra dropped her bag and stepped into the firelight. "If I'm such a threat, I can leave."
Korran sighed. "No one said that."
"I did," the veiled woman said. She pulled back her veil slightly, revealing eyes that glowed faintly blue. "My name is Seris of the Azure Guild. I hunt magic users who lose control. You reek of wild fire, girl."
Lyra's dagger flashed in her hand. "Try me."
Korran groaned. "Gods, not again."
Before the tension could break, the boy—Eren—came running from the wagon. "Riders!" he gasped. "Coming from the south!"
Everyone went silent.
Lyra's heart began to pound. She climbed one of the inn's broken walls and squinted toward the horizon. Dust rose on the road—at least ten riders, all clad in black armor with silver crests.
Seris hissed. "Silver sigils. The Hollow Guard."
"The who?" Korran asked.
"The Hollow King's army," she said. "If they're here, they're hunting something—or someone." Her gaze shifted to Lyra.
Lyra cursed under her breath. "They're after me."
---
The riders reached the ruins within minutes. They moved in formation, their armor seamless and dark, like shadows given form. Their leader dismounted—a tall man with long white hair and eyes like frost.
"Search the area," he commanded. His voice echoed with unnatural weight.
Korran ducked behind the wagon, muttering, "That one's not human."
Lyra pulled her hood low. "We have to move."
Seris shook her head. "Too late."
The first soldier entered the inn's courtyard. The moment his boots touched the ground, the air shimmered—runes along the walls flared to life, reacting to his presence. The ancient wards still remembered their enemies.
Blue fire erupted, flinging the soldier backward.
"Wards!" the white-haired man shouted. "Break them!"
Lyra seized the distraction. "Now!" she yelled, and the group bolted for the forest.
Arrows whistled through the air. One grazed Lyra's arm, drawing a streak of blood. Pain flashed white-hot, and for a heartbeat, the fire inside her surged.
The world blurred. She could see every spark, every breath of wind. The mark on her wrist flared brighter than ever before.
"Keep running!" Korran shouted.
But she couldn't. The fire demanded release.
She turned and thrust her hand toward the pursuing riders. A wave of flame burst forth, devouring the road, the trees, and the soldiers in a storm of molten light.
The explosion echoed across the valley.
When the smoke cleared, nothing was left but blackened armor and burning horses.
Lyra fell to her knees, gasping, her vision spinning. The others stared in horror and awe.
Seris knelt beside her, her expression unreadable. "You're not just a remnant of Ardentia," she whispered. "You are Ardentia reborn."
"What does that mean?" Lyra panted.
"It means the Hollow King will stop at nothing to claim you."
Korran kicked at the ashes. "Wonderful. We're traveling with the most wanted girl on the continent."
"Then you can leave," Lyra said.
Korran sighed, shaking his head. "Nah. I've done dumber things for less gold. Might as well see where this madness leads."
Seris rose, scanning the northern peaks. "If we're to survive, we'll need to reach the Sanctuary of Embers. There are still those who remember your bloodline there."
Lyra stared at the burning horizon. The storm from Valewind still echoed in her memory—the masked Keeper, the whisper of destiny.
The Emberheart was waiting.
And now, she wasn't running from her fire.
She was walking straight into it.