Eira sat in the flickering candlelight of her chambers, the scroll from the mysterious envoy resting in her lap. She had stared at it for hours—its seal warm to the touch, like it pulsed with something alive. Outside, the wind howled across the towers of the obsidian fortress, rattling the stained-glass windows. Night had fallen, but sleep wouldn't come.
Lucien had gone to the war council to prepare defenses. Word of the Order's reemergence was spreading fast, and now this name—Valtherion—had thrown everything into uncertainty.
Still, the scroll called to her. The envoy had said to read it by starlight.
She rose from the edge of the bed and stepped out onto the small balcony overlooking the forest below. The moon hung high, round and silver, framed by stars scattered across the velvet sky.
She broke the seal.
The scroll unfurled on its own with a hiss of magic, revealing crimson ink scrawled in elegant, inhuman script. The language was ancient, yet as she read, the meaning wove itself into her mind:
"To the Flame reborn—
Valtherion wakes in the city beneath the bones.
The pact you made will not hold.
He remembers you not as a queen, but as a weapon."
"If you wish to stand against him, you must reclaim what was lost. Seek the Obsidian Mirror hidden in the Hollow of Whispers. Only then will you remember what he took—and what he fears."
"Do not trust the bloodless gods.
Do not trust the stars._
Do not trust yourself."_
As soon as she finished, the scroll burst into ash, scattering like fireflies into the night.
Eira leaned on the balcony's edge, her heart racing.
Valtherion wasn't just a threat—he was connected to her. Somehow, he had been part of her past. Part of her fall. And now, he was waking.
She turned quickly, heading toward the council chamber.
The war room echoed with tension when she arrived. Maps of the realm were scattered across the table, marked with sigils and crimson ink. Lucien stood at the center, arms crossed, his jaw tight. Ravien and Kairen flanked him, while Lyselle paced near the windows, her expression unreadable.
"I know where to start," Eira announced.
All heads turned.
Lucien was the first to reach her. "What did the scroll say?"
She told them everything—about Valtherion, the city beneath the bones, and the Obsidian Mirror.
Lyselle's eyes narrowed. "The Hollow of Whispers? That's a cursed place. Nothing survives there."
Eira met her gaze. "Then we'll be the first."
Ravien leaned over the map. "The Hollow is days east, across the frozen marshlands. It's desolate—no cover, no allies."
"We'll make do," Lucien said.
Kairen raised an eyebrow. "Just the two of you?"
"No," Lucien replied. "We'll take a small group. I want Lyselle, Ravien, and two scouts. Fast and light. No banners. No royal crest."
Eira nodded. "We don't want to draw attention. Whoever Valtherion is—he's already watching."
Lucien turned to her, his voice quieter. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"
She held his gaze. "No. But I'm going anyway."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "That's my queen."
They departed before dawn.
The cold bit deep as they rode through the frost-laced pines, their breath forming mist in the air. The world seemed to shift as they traveled—trees growing darker, the silence more suffocating. Even the birds refused to sing.
After three days of quiet tension and sleepless nights, they reached the edge of the Hollow of Whispers.
It was worse than Eira had imagined.
The land dropped into a vast crater, a barren wound in the earth where shadows seemed to swim beneath the surface. Faint whispers drifted from below, not carried by wind, but coming from the very rocks.
They set up camp at the rim as night fell.
Eira couldn't sleep—not with the voices. They called to her by names she didn't remember. Names from her past life.
Vaelaria.
Sunborn.
The Fire That Broke the Sky.
She walked alone to the edge of the Hollow, clutching the ring Lucien had given her. In the distance, she saw ruins—twisted towers half-swallowed by the earth, glowing faintly with forgotten magic.
Lucien joined her silently.
"Do you feel it too?" she asked.
He nodded. "This place is old. Older than memory. Older than the Veil."
She looked up at him. "What if the mirror shows me something I can't unsee?"
Lucien turned to her fully, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Then I'll be there when you do."
Their foreheads touched in a moment of shared breath, their bond a quiet pulse between them. It wasn't passion this time—it was grounding, a tether in a storm of shifting truths.
They entered the Hollow at first light.
The descent was harrowing.
Whispers thickened, turning to voices. Memories—her memories—flashed before her eyes. A woman kneeling in chains of fire. A city burning. A man with gold eyes reaching for her as she fell into the Veil.
Lucien stayed close, blade drawn, eyes scanning every movement.
At the heart of the ruins, they found it.
The Obsidian Mirror.
A massive disc, half-buried in the stone floor, its surface swirling like ink in water. The air around it hummed with power.
"It's… alive," Eira whispered.
As she stepped forward, the mirror pulsed—and pulled her in.
She fell.
Through memories. Through lives. Through herself.
She saw the first Flame's final days, but more than that—she saw Valtherion. Once her ally. Her equal. A god of silence and secrets. He had fought beside her once, and when she chose to sacrifice herself, he had begged her not to.
And when she had refused… he had cursed her.
Not out of hate.
Out of love twisted by fear.
The mirror whispered the truth:
Valtherion seeks not to destroy you…
He seeks to bring you back.
Not as you are, but as you were.
His queen of fire and ruin.
Eira gasped as she was thrown back from the mirror.
Lucien caught her, steadying her trembling form. "What did you see?"
She looked at him, eyes wide. "Valtherion doesn't want war. He wants me. Not this version—her. The one I used to be."
Lucien's hands tightened. "Then we'll make sure he never gets either."
They stared into the swirling mirror together.
The path ahead was darker than ever.
But Eira wasn't afraid.
Not with Lucien beside her.