Elira stumbled through the flaming doorway of memory, her breath ragged.
But instead of returning to the tower cell, she collapsed into a bed of ash and moonlit stone. Her wrists were no longer shackled. Her blood no longer bleeding. But her heart pounded like a war drum.
> "Was that... my ancestor?" she whispered aloud.
"Or a vision?"
No answer.
Just the soft hum of fire curling in her veins.
A voice echoed inside her, not ancient this time—but her own:
> "You are the last of us."
Above the dungeons, the palace grew restless.
Rumors spread through the halls like wildfire:
A cursed girl.
A dead councilor.
A prince defying the throne.
---
🕊️ Elsewhere: Prince Auren's chambers
> "They've moved her," Auren said, pacing.
"She's no longer in the lower cell."
"Moved her where?" asked Thorne, his most trusted friend and palace spy.
"No record. No escort logs. She vanished."
Auren clenched his jaw.
"Then someone wants her to disappear."
> "Or to awaken."
---
That night, Auren did what no crown prince should: he dressed in a commoner's cloak and entered the Forbidden Wing of the palace.
Once sealed after the Mage Purge, the wing was untouched for decades. Dust-covered tapestries. Forgotten doors. Magic in the walls that pulsed faintly with life.
It was there he found the old council records.
And a name he hadn't heard since childhood:
> "The Order of the Flamebound."
A secret society of fire-blooded warriors. Hunted. Executed. Erased from history.
Until now.
---
🕯️ Back in the tower...
Elira was no longer alone.
Across the cell, in a shadowed corner, sat another prisoner—one the guards had never mentioned. Cloaked in rags. Chained with runes twice as strong as hers.
He lifted his head slowly.
Eyes glowing dim gold.
"You carry it, too," he said hoarsely.
"The fire that breathes."
> "Who are you?" Elira asked, stepping back.
"My name is lost. My purpose isn't."
He grinned, teeth like frostbite.
"I'm here to teach you what they never will."
"Teach me what?"
He stood. The chains around him clanged.
"How to survive the fire. Or be consumed by it."
---
Outside the palace gates, a cloaked figure knelt beside a rune-marked stone.
A dagger. A whisper. A symbol drawn in ash.
"She's awake," the figure muttered. "The fire returns. Tell the others."
"The girl of cinders lives."