The Fifth Flame didn't arrive with fire.
It didn't come with dreams, visions, or songs.
It came with silence.
Not the kind that follows battle.
Not the kind that rests in prayer.
But the silence that exists only when sound chooses to hide.
Selene knew it was coming.
The others had announced themselves in whispers, in symbols, in movement.
But the Fifth?
She didn't speak.
She didn't claim.
She didn't ask.
And somehow, that made her more dangerous than the rest.
The first sign was a mirror that cracked in reverse.
Not shattered from pressure or heat.
But reassembled.
In the west wing of the palace, a broken pane that had been discarded during the Mirror crisis suddenly fused overnight.
No spell. No glow.
Just silence.
And when a servant looked into it that morning.
She didn't see her face.
She saw Selene.
Sleeping.
Peaceful.
But wearing a crown Selene never owned.
Ingrid brought the mirror directly to Selene.
She didn't touch it.
She only stared.
"Have you seen this before?" Ingrid asked.
"No," Selene whispered.
"But it's real."
That night, Selene returned to the mirror chamber.
She dismissed the guards.
Extinguished every flame.
Sat alone on the cold floor.
And listened.
For hours.
For anything.
And in the third hour, the flame behind her died.
She didn't panic.
She closed her eyes.
And waited.
Then, at the edge of the dark, she heard it.
Not a voice.
A breath.
Inward.
Long.
Slow.
And then, behind her, a whisper of thought:
"You always fill the silence."
"That is why you do not understand it."
Selene didn't turn around.
She knew she couldn't.
Not yet.
She spoke carefully.
"Are you the Fifth?"
Silence.
Then…
"I am what comes before the flame."
"What it must pass through to exist."
"I am the space that gives fire shape."
The mirror began to hum.
Softly.
Selene opened her eyes.
And saw nothing in the reflection.
No figure.
No movement.
Only a dark room behind her, lit faintly by embers.
But not her room.
Not her mirror.
Another place entirely.
And in that reflected room…
A girl sat.
Cross-legged.
Back turned.
Hair long and silver.
Selene watched her for what felt like minutes.
The girl never moved.
Then, she spoke.
"If I face you, you will become like me."
Selene's pulse quickened.
"Why?"
"Because I carry what the others burn to forget."
Ingrid burst into the chamber in the real world, gasping.
The flame outside the door had gone cold.
And every candle in the west wing now burned upside down.
As if pulled by something beneath the world.
Selene didn't move.
She was no longer fully there.
The girl in the mirror rose.
Still not facing her.
Still… still.
"You are Seventh."
"You carry all their endings."
"But you cannot reach the fire's future until you remember its cost."
Selene stepped closer to the mirror.
"Then show me."
The girl finally turned her head.
Only halfway.
Just enough.
And Selene collapsed.
Not in the mirror.
In the chamber.
Ingrid ran to her, shouting her name.
Cassian came moments later.
Elric not far behind.
But no one could wake her.
She lay on the marble, hand clutching the base of the mirror.
Eyes closed.
Breathing shallow.
In her mind, Selene was falling.
Through blackness.
Not cold.
Not empty.
Just endless absence.
Then, a moment.
A floor.
A memory.
She stood now in a room made of glass.
Walls clear.
Sky outside.
Only fire beyond the windows.
Not flame.
Sun.
She turned.
And saw a table.
Seven seats.
Only one occupied.
By the girl.
"Is this the beginning?" Selene asked.
The girl looked at her with silver eyes.
"No."
"This is what we left behind."
The others had once gathered.
Not as rulers.
Not as weapons.
As children of the fire.
And Selene saw them now.
Ghosts.
Flickers.
A boy with black wings.
A woman with a sword of glass.
A child who cried ash.
And one.
A shadow.
Wearing Selene's face.
The girl gestured to the empty chair.
Selene sat.
And the glass beneath her pulsed.
A circle flared.
Her sigil: a flame wrapped in a thorned mirror.
And when it burned, the other chairs lit as well.
Each with a different fire.
Some familiar.
Some new.
And one.
One still dark.
"The Sixth has not chosen," the girl said.
Selene asked, "And the Fifth?"
The girl placed a hand on her chest.
And Selene understood.
This was not just a flame.
This was the memory of cost.
Of every kingdom burned.
Every name erased.
Every silence forced.
She was the flame that mourned the others.
The fire's grief.
When Selene opened her eyes,
She was back.
In the chamber.
Sweat on her brow.
Blood from her nose.
Her heartbeat in her ears like a war drum.
But she was breathing.
And in her palm, the silver hair of the girl.
Still warm.
Ingrid knelt beside her.
"You were gone."
"I wasn't," Selene said.
"I just found the one flame that doesn't speak unless you bleed first."
That night, Veredon slept fitfully.
The stars blinked out and returned.
The moon turned red.
Just for a moment.
And in a town far to the south, a mute child drew a perfect image of a flame curled around a coffin.
Seven times in a row.
And smiled.
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