The wind howled as the moon rose over the palace spires, draping the world in silver light. It wasn't cold, not exactly, but something about the way the shadows clung to the stone sent a shiver down Eira's spine.
She was being watched.
Not by the Queen.
Not even by the rebels.
But by something older.
Something that remembered.
She clutched her cloak tighter and stepped into the western wing—abandoned since the fire two decades ago. A forbidden place. A ruined one.
And yet, the Ember Sigil on her wrist had burned with purpose, tugging her here.
Come.
Each step echoed louder than the last.
---
The corridor ended at a charred door, splintered but still standing.
Beyond it lay the Hall of Echoes—what remained of her family's ancestral chambers.
The Queen had sealed them after the purge, claiming the wing had "collapsed." A lie, like so many others.
Eira reached for the handle.
The moment her fingers touched it, a jolt raced through her—memories not her own, scents of smoke and sandalwood, the taste of ash.
She pushed.
The door opened without resistance.
And the past poured in.
---
Dust hung in the air like fog, and every wall bore the scars of fire. Burnt tapestries, shattered mirrors, scorched marble floors. The room had once been beautiful—grand pillars, velvet drapes, glass mosaics of phoenixes in flight.
Now, only ghosts remained.
She moved slowly through the wreckage, each step stirring up ash and sorrow. Her fingers brushed a broken frame—an old portrait, half-burned. A woman with eyes like hers. The resemblance was haunting.
Mother?
A sudden gust extinguished her torch.
Darkness.
And then—whispers.
Faint. Layered. Dozens of voices overlapping in languages she barely recognized.
One stood out.
Clear. Cold. Male.
"Daughter of fire… why have you come?"
Eira froze.
"I—I'm not here to disturb—"
"You are the disturbance."
The shadows deepened, coalescing into a shape—a silhouette with glowing ember eyes, wrapped in flames that didn't burn the floor.
A spirit.
A memory made flesh.
She staggered back. "What are you?"
"I am what remains," the spirit said. "Of them. Of us. Of you."
He stepped forward, and his form became clearer—a man in crimson armor, bearing the Ember Sigil over his heart.
"My name was Aldren Valisar," he said. "High Flamekeeper. Your great-uncle."
Eira's breath hitched.
"You… knew my family?"
"I was your family."
He moved slowly, the fire at his feet dancing across the floor without burning it. "They tried to erase us. Seal our names. Shatter our legacy. But they cannot kill what was born in flame."
"Why now?" she asked. "Why appear to me?"
"Because the seal is weakening. The Ember Vault is stirring. And you—you're the key they never accounted for."
Eira's chest tightened. "I don't know what I'm unlocking."
"You don't need to. Not yet. But you must understand this—your power is not just a weapon. It is a memory. A truth. Every time you use it, you awaken those who came before."
He raised a hand.
The air shimmered.
And suddenly, the room transformed.
No more ash. No ruin. No fire.
She was standing in the past.
The Hall of Echoes as it once was—alive with laughter, music, silk gowns and firelight. Children ran across the floor, chasing butterflies made of flame. A woman stood on the dais—tall, regal, radiant with power.
Her mother.
Alive.
Eira's throat closed.
She stepped forward, but her hand passed through the image like smoke.
"She was strong," Aldren said beside her. "Kind. But too loyal to the Queen."
"She died for that," Eira whispered.
"No. She died protecting you."
Eira turned, stunned.
"She bargained with the Queen. Gave her life in exchange for yours. Buried your magic. Erased your name. Sent you away."
The illusion flickered, fading.
Ash returned. Silence reclaimed the space.
"You survived because of her," Aldren said. "And now, the Queen's spell is unraveling."
"I've seen things," Eira murmured. "Felt things. I didn't know why."
"Because your blood remembers. And the world does, too."
He held out a hand.
From the air, a symbol appeared—fiery, ancient, and complex. Not just the Ember Sigil. A crest. A crest made of layered flames and wings bound by chains.
"This," he said, "was our true mark."
Eira stepped forward, drawn to it.
But as her fingers brushed the edges of the symbol, pain exploded through her skull.
Visions.
---
Fire raining from the sky. A masked army of shadows. A woman screaming her name. The Queen's face, twisted with fury. A masked child holding a knife.
And behind it all, a throne made of blackened bone.
Her heart pounded as she collapsed to her knees, gasping.
Aldren's voice echoed in the haze.
"This is the cost of knowing. The cost of legacy. Will you bear it?"
Eira looked up, vision blurred.
"I have to."
A slow nod. "Then listen well."
The room quieted. Even the wind held its breath.
"There are others," Aldren said. "Hidden still. Emberborn, scattered across the world. You must find them. Unite them."
"Why?"
"Because the Queen is not just gathering power. She is awakening something. A darkness from before even my time."
His ember eyes glowed brighter.
"You are the last line between the old world and what's coming next."
The flames began to flicker. His form faded.
"Wait," Eira called. "I have more questions—"
"You will find your answers in Velruin. There, the first ghost will speak again."
Then he was gone.
And she was alone.
---
Eira didn't remember walking back to her chambers.
All she remembered was fire.
And a name etched into her mind like a brand:
Valisar.
She stared at herself in the mirror, hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, emberlight pulsing faintly beneath her skin.
Cassian would call her reckless.
Corren would demand answers.
Dare… he might actually understand.
But she couldn't speak to any of them yet. Not until she figured out what the Ember Vault truly held—and why her bloodline had been hunted to extinction.
She touched the locket.
It didn't burn this time.
Instead, it opened on its own.
Inside was a new sigil, glowing faintly.
The one Aldren had shown her.
The true mark.
Her true name.
Valisar.
She didn't yet know what it meant.
But she knew this:
The Queen's lies were unraveling.
And the ghosts she'd tried to silence were ready to scream.