Morning light spilled through the lattice window like molten gold, pouring across the wooden floor in long, trembling rays. Dust floated in the beam, drifting gently — as though time inside this room was unhurried, untouched.
He sat upon the low bench beneath the window, back straight, posture effortless in its elegance. His hair — dark red, deeper than the villagers outside, like dying embers instead of flame — fell loosely around his shoulders. The sunlight caught the strands and turned them to copper fire.
He was young, no more than two years older than Zelene — yet something about him felt older. As if the air around him carried echoes of a lineage carved in flame.
His eyes — ember-gold, molten, steady — watched the sun lift over the red banners fluttering outside. Every dawn, he measured the light, as though waiting for it to change. Waiting for it to reveal something.
A soft knock broke his stillness.
The door slid open and a young tribesman bowed low, breathless.
"My lord… Eldermother Saela requests your presence. She says—"
He hesitated, awe flickering across his face.
"She says you must see something."
The young man rose slowly, a quiet gravity settling over him like a cloak.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
He left the room with long, purposeful strides.
The tribe's heir — their ember-born, the one Saela guarded like a dying star — stepped into the light.
And the world, unknowingly, shifted.
---
Back in the great hall, the fire crackled gently as Saela continued her explanation, her voice like a thread weaving past into present.
"The Gift of the Aureate," she said, hands folded atop her cane, "was not strength or magic alone, but memory. A fragment of the Aureate's flame, passed through our bloodline."
She glanced at Zelene.
"When one who carries it dies… another is born."
Finn raised a brow. "Like reincarnation?"
Saela smiled faintly. "No. The gift does not return with the soul. It returns with the blood. It seeks a vessel capable of bearing the Aureate's will."
"Does the same happen with the Crimson Auryn?" Zelene asked quietly.
Saela's gaze softened.
"The Crimson is not passed. It awakens."
Zelene looked down at her hands, pale against the firelight.
"That still doesn't mean it's me."
Saela said nothing — but the fire's reflection in her eyes spoke enough.
Ray stood quietly behind Zelene, arms crossed, watchful yet respectful. Finn shifted uncomfortably, as though the weight of destiny was sitting too close to him.
The hall door slid open.
And the air changed.
He entered with the quiet authority of someone born to be followed — not because he demanded loyalty, but because something in him radiated it like heat.
He was tall, but not imposing; graceful, but not delicate. His features:
Hair: deep ember-red, darker than the villagers', like the last glow of coals
Eyes: gold washed with molten rust, bright and ancient
Posture: straight, noble, unyielding but calm
Presence: the kind that bends a room around him
"Grandmother," he said, voice smooth but edged with concern, "your summons sounded urgent. Who are these peop—"
He stopped.
His breath hitched — almost imperceptibly.
Because Zelene had turned to face him.
Her cloak was open, silver-lilac hair falling freely over her shoulders like moonlit water. Her twilight eyes — violet, soft but fractured with worry — lifted to meet his.
And something inside him broke.
A pressure blossomed in his chest — hot, coiling, impossible to breathe through. Every heartbeat felt like a strike of lightning in his veins. His vision pulsed.
Then—
A voice.
Deep. Ancient. Resonant.
Not heard with ears, but with bone.
"Follow the Silver Dawn.
Protect her with your life.
Serve her until the flame returns."
His knees threatened to buckle.
He pressed a hand to his sternum, steadying himself. His pulse hammered like a creature thrashing to be released.
Her.
It's her.
The one written in old stone.
The one whispered in lullabies.
The one his ancestors had lived and died waiting for.
Saela's eyes softened with recognition.
"You felt it," she whispered. "Didn't you?"
He inhaled shakily.
"Yes."
Zelene blinked, confusion washing over her. "What… what's wrong? Did something happen?"
He stepped forward slowly — reverently — as though approaching a sacred altar.
Then he knelt.
Fully.
Openly.
Without hesitation.
Ray stiffened. Finn nearly choked on his breath. Zelene froze entirely.
With the elegance of royalty, the young man pressed his right fist over his heart and bowed his head.
"My lady," he said, voice steady now but heavy with awe,
"My name is Corvin Ashfall. Heir to the Ember Tribe. Keeper of the Aureate Gift."
He lifted his gaze — and it burned with absolute devotion.
"And I…"
He drew a long breath, trembling at the truth settling into his bones.
"I have been waiting for you.
For my master."
Zelene's lungs emptied.
The hall went silent.
Outside, the wind barely dared to breathe.
And in the golden depths of Corvin's eyes, something ancient had awakened — and it was staring at her.