"Let us celebrate the next heir to the Dragon Thrones of this kingdom," proclaimed the High Priestess, her voice echoing like thunder through the vast marble hall of Valkyrith.
The chamber itself was a masterpiece of ancient power-pillars carved with fire-slicked dragons spiraled toward a ceiling of obsidian glass. Hanging flame-orbs cast a golden, flickering glow upon hundreds of noble faces gathered in solemn grandeur. The air vibrated with anticipation, every breath held in reverence.
Then the applause began-thunderous, deafening, shaking the banners of House Duskwind as they rippled from the high arches. Crimson, black, and silver. Fire, night, and storm.
I stood among the crowd, silent, watching the moment unfold like a scene I had seen in dreams yet never touched.
My gaze found my mother first-Queen Elira of Celestia,and Valkyrith veiled in a flowing gown of starlight silk, her silver hair braided with skyfire gems. Beside her stood King Aelrik, our father, regal in layered armor of volcanic steel and dragonscale, each piece etched with the sigil of Valkyrith. Their faces glowed with joy-pure, unshaken pride. It was exactly what they wanted.
Seranyx, the firstborn, stood at the heart of the dais.
She looked every inch a queen. Draped in ceremonial black and deep crimson robes embroidered with silver thread in the shape of rising flame, her silhouette echoed the Valkyrith standard itself. Her shoulders were lined with scaled pauldrons, delicate yet formidable. Silver rings glinted through the long braids of her obsidian hair, catching the firelight like stars drawn to her gravity. Her eyes, always sharp and knowing, scanned the crowd with regal calm.
To the right of the dais, her brothers stood together-my brothers-each dressed like war-bred princes, each a flame in their own hue.
Vearon, ever the stoic, wore a high-collared cloak of coal-black velvet over a steel-blue gambeson with dragonbone fastenings. A silver brooch shaped like a winged sword clasped the cloak at his chest. His eyes were unreadable, though they lingered on Seranyx with the weight of unspoken thought.
Maezor stood beside him, taller now than even our father. His tunic was slate-gray and layered beneath a blood-red sash, while fine leather gloves covered his hands despite the heat. Always the thinker, his storm-gray eyes were lost in some private reverie, lips parted as though whispering calculations only he understood.
Jhealor, the youngest brother, wore dark crimson trimmed in gold-half prince, half jester. His half-cape was thrown carelessly over one shoulder, and his belt was lined with small dragon-claw trinkets. He grinned like the whole ceremony was a game staged for his amusement, and I didn't doubt he'd find a way to sneak wine into the next hour.
Ko to show off, my siblings. Every one of them born to this legacy-flame and fang, sky and throne. One by one, their dragons roared, shaking the very bones of Valkyrith.
It was a spectacle.
A ritual of power.
A firestorm to crown a queen.
And me?
I turned away again.
This time slower.
No applause for me. No dragon descending from the sky. No flame curling at my feet.
Just silence.
Just stone.
Back inside, I shut the door. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, as if mocking me with its small, flickering light.
All of my siblings had claimed their dragons at the age of fourteen.
It was the rite. The proof of draconic bond. The legacy of the blood.
Today, I turned sixteen.
And there was no dragon.
No call.
No flame.
Nothing.
A flicker of disappointment stirred inside me, but I shoved it down, deep and sharp. I would not let it rise. I would not allow pity to cling to me-not from the nobles, not from my siblings, and never from my parents.
I was a Duskwind, whether the skies claimed me or not.
Still, as I sat beside the quiet hearth, the firelight painting shadows on my walls, a single truth echoed louder than any dragon's roar:
I was not like them.
And perhaps...
I never had been.
I paused at the doorway, hand resting on the frame as I stared at the scene before me.
My four siblings stood arrayed in a perfect line, backlit by the flickering sconces in the corridor. Shadows played across their faces-Jhealor's smirk was almost luminous, Seranyx's serene poise sharpened by the amber glow, Maezor's eyes glittering with hidden thoughts, and Vearon's steady calm standing like a mountain.
For a heartbeat, it looked like a painting-one of those grand tapestries where the figures seem to step out of legend.
I raised an eyebrow, voice low and biting. "Well, isn't this dramatic. Should I start reciting my final prayers, or are you here to drag me to the ceremony in chains?"
Jhealor grinned, his laughter echoing in the corridor like the ringing of a bell. "Chains might be easier, dear sister. You've never been one to walk willingly to your fate."
Seranyx's smile was gentle, but her eyes shone with a fierce, quiet pride. "We're not here to bind you, Vyrella. Just to walk beside you."
I snorted, shifting my weight to lean against the doorway. "How poetic. Let's hope the poets appreciate it when I set the whole hall on fire."
Maezor's lips curved in that faint, knowing way of his. "If you're going to burn it down, at least do it with some elegance."
I lifted the hem of my ceremonial overskirt to reveal the supple black leathers beneath, already molded to my skin like a second self. "I'm always elegant, Maezor. Even when I'm an inferno."
A flicker of amusement crossed Vearon's features-he looked at me like he was seeing something more than just his sister, something that made his voice drop to a soft command. "Enough games, Vyrella. Come with us. Let them see you as you are."
I met his gaze head-on, cold but steady. "As I am? Or as they fear me to be?"
A heavy silence fell-so thick I could almost feel it press against my ribs.
Then Seranyx stepped forward, her soft voice cutting through the quiet. "You're both, Vyrella. And they'll see both. But not alone."
My lips twitched upward in a small, wry smile. "Always so noble, Seranyx. It's exhausting."
Jhealor's eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "And yet you love it, flame princess."
"I tolerate it," I shot back, feigning exasperation. But the truth lay unspoken between us, thick as the air before a storm.
Vearon reached out to take my hand, his touch sure, gentle in a way that broke the cold façade I wore like a cloak. But the moment his skin met mine, he jerked back with a startled cry.
"Gods-Vyrella!" he gasped, shaking his hand out, his breath caught. "You're burning."
My brow furrowed, gaze dropping to my hand as if it belonged to someone else. "What?"
Maezor stepped forward, his hand hovering over mine but not quite touching, eyes narrowing with quiet calculation. "It's not just warm. It's alive-like the breath of a forge."
Seranyx's expression shifted from amusement to worry, her hand brushing mine for an instant before she, too, flinched back. "It's like... touching flame itself."
I let out a slow breath, refusing to let them see the flicker of fear deep in my chest. "It's nothing. I feel nothing."
Jhealor's grin faltered, replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. "It's not nothing, Vyrella."
I looked at them-my siblings, their eyes a chorus of concern and disbelief-and forced a small, cold smile. "Then let it be nothing for now. The world can wait for whatever this is. We have a ceremony to survive."
Vearon's jaw tightened, but he gave me a nod-silent understanding in that small gesture. "Then let's go. Together."
As we stepped into the corridor, their footsteps fell in around me-Seranyx at my right, regal and resolute; Vearon at my left, his presence a quiet shield; Maezor and Jhealor behind, their banter now a soft undercurrent, laughter woven through the crackling tension.
The flickering torches cast long shadows along the walls, their light glinting off my black leathers, the ceremonial overskirt a cascade of midnight-blue silk. My boots echoed like war drums on the marble floor.
"Tell me, Jhealor," I drawled, voice as cold and sweet as winter wind, "if I turn to ash halfway through, will you gather my remains in a pretty box?"
He snorted, his grin back in full force. "Only if you promise to haunt me, dear sister. I'd expect nothing less from you."
I let out a soft, breathy laugh-sharp, brittle, but real. "I'll do my best."
And before they could ask another question, I turned and started walking toward the ceremonial hall.
I needed space. I needed silence. Mostly, I needed to escape their eyes-eyes that knew too much, that saw deeper than I wanted them to.
Behind me, I could hear their footsteps falter, their whispers of concern hanging in the air like a thin mist. But none of them tried to stop me. None of them dared.
The stone corridor stretched out ahead of me, a silent path of flickering torchlight and echoes. My boots struck the marble floor with a steady rhythm-click, click, click-the sound of resolve... or the sound of a heart determined not to shatter.
My thoughts turned inward as I walked. Why didn't I feel it? My skin burned-Vearon's hand had pulled back with a hiss, Maezor's touch had left scorched prints. But I felt nothing. No pain. No warmth. Just... an emptiness.
Was it happening again?
My hand flexed at my side, fingers curling into a fist.
Still nothing.
But in the furthest corners of my mind, I sensed it-a flicker, like coals that had long gone cold suddenly drawing breath again. A whisper beneath my skin, not hot... not painful... just there.
Alive.
A shiver worked its way down my spine. I didn't know if it was fear or something else-some strange, giddy anticipation.
As I walked deeper into the corridor, my steps slowed. The world around me seemed to hush. The flickering light of the torches blurred, like I was seeing it all from underwater.
Something was wrong.
No... not with my body. Deeper than that-beneath skin and breath. I felt it in my soul. A presence-fierce, wild, ancient-pressing at the edges of my spirit, seeking a way in. It was hot-like the breath of a dragon's heart. Not painful yet, but undeniable.
I froze, one hand flying to my chest, fingers splayed as if I could hold back the storm inside me.
There-beneath my ribs, behind the steady beat of my heart-I felt it.
A fire trying to enter me. No... not enter. Awaken.
My vision blurred. The hallway seemed to tilt around me, the light of the sconces spinning in molten arcs. My breath caught in my throat.
Then, all at once, a sharp, searing pain pulsed through my chest. It felt as though my heart had ignited, a forge's flame roaring to life inside me. My knees buckled under the weight of it.
Before I hit the ground, strong arms caught me.
"Vyrella!" Maezor's voice, usually so calm and measured, was laced with panic. He lowered me gently to the cold marble floor, his hands trembling where they touched my shoulders. "You're burning... like dragon's fire."
I looked up at him, my vision swimming, his face half-hidden by the dancing shadows. His eyes were wide with fear and confusion-two things I had never seen there before.
He held up his forearm-red, raw burns already blooming where his skin had touched mine.
"Your skin," he muttered, voice hoarse. "It burns like embers. Gods... Vyrella, this isn't normal."
Seranyx was beside him in an instant, her hands hovering as she fought the urge to help. Her calm voice was tight with worry. "What is it, Vyrella? Tell us."
"I don't know," I gasped, though my voice was already frayed at the edges. "I don't know what it is."
Jhealor, ever the silver-tongued fool who could turn even death into a jest, knelt beside me and offered a cup of water, his face pale but his tone light. "Here. Drink, Vy. Let's not add fainting to your list of talents tonight."
I took the cup with shaking hands, the cool water a relief against my lips. I drank, the liquid sliding down my throat in cold rivulets-but inside, it felt like pouring water onto a bed of coals. There was no relief. No peace. Just a simmering heat that pressed against my ribs like a promise.
I let out a shuddering breath, fighting the urge to curl in on myself. My heart slowly began to settle, the roaring in my chest fading to a steady, insistent thrum. But the heat remained-a coiled thing beneath my skin, alive and waiting.
"I'm okay," I lied, forcing my voice to steady as I pushed myself upright. My limbs felt too light, too heavy all at once.
Vearon moved in close, his steady calm like a shield, though his eyes were dark with concern. "Let me check-"
"No," I said sharply, pushing his hands away. "I'm fine."
He looked at me, searching my face for the truth. "You're not fine, Vyrella. Don't lie to us."
I met his gaze, my jaw set. "I'm just tired. That's all."
They didn't believe me. I could see it in the way Seranyx's brow furrowed, in the way Maezor's lips pressed into a thin line, in the way Jhealor's grin slipped for just a moment.
But none of them pushed. Not now.
I drew in a slow breath, pushing to my feet. My legs were unsteady, but I forced them to hold me.
The ceremonial hall was just ahead-its gilded doors a promise and a threat.
Behind me, my siblings watched in tense silence. Seranyx's eyes shone with quiet defiance. Maezor's gaze was calculating, already turning to solutions. Jhealor's half-smile was back, a shield against the fear he didn't want me to see. And Vearon... his presence was a wall of strength, silent and unwavering.
For a moment, I let them see my real smile-small, wry, the one that said I'll be alright, even if I have to burn to prove it.
"Let's not keep the court waiting," I said softly, my voice a calm blade. "After all... I have a kingdom to terrify tonight."
Jhealor let out a low whistle. "There's the Vyrella we know. Come on then, sister-let them see your fire."
And together, we walked toward the doors of the ceremonial hall.
The weight of destiny pressing on our shoulders.
The fire alive beneath my skin.
The ancient power stirring in the darkness.
I didn't know what was coming next. But I knew one thing:
Whatever it was... it would not find me weak.
Vaeron POV:
The castle halls had never been this silent.
Our boots echoed softly against the ancient obsidian tiles of Flamecrown Keep as we walked in a slow procession-five shadows stretching long beneath the flickering torchlight, like ghosts returning to the heart of their legend.
We hadn't spoken in a minute. Or perhaps a second. Or perhaps an hour. Time was strange when your heart weighed heavier than your armor.
I walked just behind Vyrella, my younger sister, and though her footsteps were light, each one seemed louder than a war drum to me. She hadn't said a word since the incident. Since her skin seared like the inside of a forge and burned my palm when I tried to take her hand. Since she looked at us all with wide eyes, not frightened, but... distant. Distant in a way I did not know how to reach.
Maezor followed behind, his arms crossed in that rigid, battle-born way of his. He said nothing, of course. His expression hadn't changed in days, not even when I'd unwrapped my burned hand to show him the red, blistered skin. But I knew him well enough to read the subtle tilt of his brow, the tension in his jaw. He knew what that kind of heat meant. Dragonfire. The old kind. The kind that did not obey the rules of this world.
My hand was still bandaged. Seranyx had done it herself, her fingers steady even though I could feel her trembling inside. Vyrella hadn't even noticed she had hurt me until she saw the bandage later. And when she did... she just said sorry like someone apologizing for stepping on your foot. Quiet, calm, emotionless. That scared me more than the fire.
Jhealor-ever the impossible one-walked just a few steps ahead, backwards. Yes, backwards, as if daring the world to scold him for defying logic. He grinned at Maezor in that foxlike way of his and nudged him with an elbow.
"You'd think you were heading to your own funeral, Maez," he said, tone light. "Relax your face before it petrifies into stone."
Maezor didn't answer. His eyes remained fixed on Vyrella.
Mine did too.
And for the past dozen steps, I had been thinking of something-anything-to say to her.
But how do you talk to your sister when you've just watched her body burn with a heat that could melt steel, and she didn't even flinch? How do you speak to her when the distance in her eyes feels like she's already walking away?
The hall turned. The high windows to our right spilled amber light across the floor, catching the edge of Vyrella's white ceremonial robe. Her hair shimmered faintly in the golden glow, but her shoulders were tight, her arms stiff at her sides. She was trying to act normal. Trying to pretend nothing had changed.
But something had.
And I could no longer stay quiet.
I stepped closer to her, just enough that our arms almost touched. I didn't dare reach for her hand again.
"...Little flame," I said.
Her head turned slightly, and she looked at me. Calm. Pale. Her light-violet eyes held that same haunting quiet they always did-but now there was something else behind them too. A flicker. A spark. As if something deep inside her was awake and watching the world through her gaze.
She didn't speak. Just looked at me.
I cleared my throat and looked away, forcing my voice to stay low and level. "If you feel something-anything-off in your body... or your mind... you can tell me," I said. "You're not alone, Vy. You never were."
Behind us, Seranyx slowed. Maezor's head tilted just slightly, his attention sharpening like a blade being drawn. Jhealor had even stopped walking backward. They were all listening.
But my eyes were on Vyrella alone.
She exhaled, slow and measured. Her lips parted, and for a moment, I thought she would stay silent again.
But then-softly, "I know, brother."
Her voice was steady. Almost too steady.
Vyrella pov:
The echo of our footsteps softened as the wide, vaulted doors loomed ahead-twice the height of a man, engraved with roaring dragons cast in molten gold. The ceremonial hall lay just beyond them, waiting like a beast with a thousand eyes, its breath warm with fire and judgment.
We were only a few steps from entering, yet I felt as though I were walking a hundred miles. Each step sent a low pulse through my chest, sharp and cold like the point of a blade. I said nothing. I kept my face still.
This was Seranyx's day. Her coronation. Her ascension to heir of Valkyrith. To the Flamecrown. To the legacy our blood was born for.
And I would not ruin it.
Even as heat curled beneath my skin-low, steady, and unnatural. Even as something inside me stirred like sleeping coals kissed by wind. Even as that sharpness in my chest grew into a quiet pressure, pressing against my ribs like wings that longed to unfurl.
I clenched my fists inside my sleeves, hiding the way my fingertips glowed faintly, as if lit from within.
Not now, I whispered to myself. Please... not now.
As we crossed the threshold into the ceremonial hall, light exploded around us-sunlight caught in the stained-glass dome high above, refracted into dozens of dragon-shaped shadows that danced across the marble floor. The chamber was grand beyond words, lined with gilded pillars shaped like twisting flames, their tops blooming into dragons whose open jaws spewed endless light from enchanted flames. The banners of Valkyrith-deep crimson stitched with silver fire-hung from every arch.
The entire court had gathered. Nobles, lords, generals, and envoys from Solara and Celestia. The Queen and King stood at the far end of the room, flanked by royal guards in ceremonial black and bronze. The Flamecrown sat nestled in its case of obsidian glass, pulsing gently like a heart that had never stopped beating.
And all eyes turned to us.
To the Duskwind siblings. The pride of the kingdom.
I could feel their gazes settle like dust on my skin.
Some were filled with awe-for Seranyx, radiant in her silver robes. For Maezor, who had already won three border wars by the time he was twenty. For Jhealor, whose wit charmed half the court. For Vaeron, still bandaged but noble in his silence.
And then there were the other stares.
The ones meant for me.
I lowered my head slightly, letting my hair fall just enough to shadow my face. But I heard them. Every whisper. Every breathless judgment hiding behind lace fans and jeweled goblets.
"That's the miserable little princess... the one with no dragon."
"She's sixteen. Can you imagine? Not even a dragon egg has bonded with her."
"She's not like the others. Look at her-those eyes. Purple. Not green like the Queen. Not silver-gray like her siblings."
"Perhaps she isn't really a Duskwind at all."
"She's... a black sheep."
"A shame to the bloodline."
"She shouldn't even be allowed to stand among them."
Each word sliced across me like wind through torn fabric. I kept walking. My steps never faltered. But inside, something burned. Not like before. This wasn't just fire. This was anger-quiet, deep-rooted, ancestral.
And with it came the heat again.
My skin shimmered faintly beneath the silk of my ceremonial robe. I could feel my pulse like war drums. My breath came slower, heavier. Not from pain. But from power. Something deeper than blood. Older than flame.
They don't know what I am.
They don't know what waits beneath the surface.
A sharp whisper beside me snapped me back.
Jhealor.
He had fallen into step beside me, closer now. His gaze swept toward the whispering nobles, then back to me. His smile had faded.
"You okay?" he murmured, his voice just low enough for only me to hear.
I didn't answer.
He glanced at my face again, and I saw the flicker of realization behind his eyes. He saw it-the faint shimmer in my skin, the strange stillness in my breath. Something unnatural. Something elemental.
His fingers twitched, reaching slightly toward me.
I turned my head just a fraction. Our eyes met.
Don't, I told him silently.
The message passed between us like lightning.
Jhealor let his hand fall. "Right," he muttered, more to himself than to me. "No trouble. Not today."
I looked ahead again, standing straighter.
This was not my day.
This was Seranyx's day.
As we crossed the wide ceremonial floor beneath the vaulted dome, I kept my steps measured, the hem of my gown brushing over the white marble patterned with ancient draconic runes. The air shimmered faintly, warmed by the enchanted flames that danced in dragon-shaped sconces on the towering obsidian pillars. The light flickered and moved as if it, too, were watching us-judging, remembering, waiting.
My gaze swept slowly across the grand chamber.
At the far end of the hall, just below the dais where the Flamecrown rested, our parents stood.
They looked like a painting brought to life.
Queen Elira, my mother-once a princess of Celestia, now Queen of Valkyrith-stood tall and radiant in her ceremonial gown. It was a deep, dark red the color of molten rubies, with sweeping skirts that shimmered with embroidered dragon-scale patterns. Her shoulders were bare, save for the off-shoulder sleeves of sheer flame-touched silk, clasped with small garnet dragons. Her hair was coiled into a regal crown of braids, adorned with phoenix-feather pins that glinted in the firelight.
Beside her stood King Aelrik, our father. Proud. Stoic. Immovable as the mountains of our realm. He wore Valkyrith's royal colors-black and red-with a high-collared tunic of dragonhide, the chest stitched with the Duskwind sigil in golden thread. A mantle of black fur and scaled crimson leather draped his shoulders, and at his side hung the ceremonial sword of the kings of Valkyrith, its hilt shaped like the open maw of a dragon.
But it was not just them who had come to bear witness.
To the left of our parents stood Queen Lysandra of Solara-a vision of gilded elegance, her every movement graceful, practiced, powerful.
Her gown was woven from shimmering silk the color of sun-drenched gold, threaded with white and adorned with delicate gemstones the size of raindrops. The high collar of her dress curled behind her head like the wings of a swan, and her arms were covered in layered sleeves of sheer golden lace that flowed like liquid light. Around her throat glittered the Solar Diadem-an ancient necklace once worn by the goddess-queens of her line.
Her gaze swept across the hall with the calm composure of a lioness in her den-watchful, assessing, regal.
And beside her stood King Kael of Solara, clad in armor gilded to a burnished gold so bright it nearly gleamed. Unlike the stony silence of my father, King Kael held himself with a quiet smile, the kind that belonged to a man who wielded influence not with intimidation, but with charm and command. His hair was silvered at the temples, his crown forged from golden flame, resting low upon his brow.
And beside him...
Two lions.
Real ones.
They stood like statues-massive and gleaming with thick, honey-colored manes, their eyes gold and calm, their movements dignified. Royal beasts, trained since birth to walk beside the king, their presence more than just ornamental. They were symbols of Solara's power, and they radiated it.
They did not snarl or pace. They did not glance toward us. They simply watched-serene, unreadable, majestic. As if even they had come to bear witness to the next ruler of Valkyrith.
I kept walking, but I could not help the twist that moved faintly in my chest. Something between awe... and isolation.
This is not your day, I reminded myself. It is hers. Seranyx's.
And yet, even in all this majesty, even as Seranyx walked forward in silver and grace, even as the Flamecrown gleamed like a star above her future throne... I could feel the whispers still biting behind my back like small knives. Still aimed at me. At the sister who bore no dragon. At the girl who looked like she belonged to a different story.
But I ignored them now.
Because even in all their gowns, all their crowns, even with kings and queens and beasts of gold-
They didn't see what I felt.
What moved beneath my skin.
What ancient fire stirred in my blood.
They saw a girl without a dragon.
They did not yet see the fire that needed no beast to carry it.
The long walk toward the high table felt like crossing a bridge between our old lives and something else entirely.
The great ceremonial hall had been transformed since this morning's procession. The marble floor was now covered in a sheer silken tapestry, its surface stitched with golden runes that shimmered faintly under the chandeliers of suspended fire. Enchanted lanterns floated above each long table, their flames shaped like dancing dragons, casting soft glows upon every plate, goblet, and jewel.
Each table was a masterpiece of Valkyrith's legacy.
Polished obsidian dishes inlaid with golden thread lined the cloths of crimson silk. Cutlery was forged from steel and etched with tiny flames along the handles. The goblets shimmered-some of fireglass, others of crystal laced with dragonbone. And the food...
By the gods, the food.
Roasted flameboar with cracked pepper and citrus glaze. Bowls of bright green stormberries dusted with powdered sugar. Skewers of emberfish glowing faintly with spice oil. Breads shaped like phoenix feathers, buttered and steaming. There were dishes from Solara too-golden rice shaped into towers, honeyed fig meat rolls, and slender, delicate pastries that looked too beautiful to eat.
Yet none of us moved to sit.
Because our parents had not yet spoken.
We stood before the royal dais, the five of us in quiet formation-Seranyx in the center, radiant and calm, and I, just to her right. Our brothers flanked us, tall and composed, even Jhealor in his usual cocky posture looked reverent now.
The hall quieted as King Aelrik rose from his place at the head table.
His voice was steady-low and powerful, a voice shaped not only by decades of rule but by fire and command.
"Tonight," he said, "we gather not only to share food and wine, but to bear witness to legacy."
A hush rippled across the guests.
"This morning, it was declared that should the time come when Queen Elira and I pass into the next realm, the throne of Valkyrith will not falter. It will rise-brighter, stronger, and unyielding."
He turned to Seranyx, his eyes burning with paternal pride.
"For the throne shall be held by Seranyx Duskwind, born beneath the storm of the eclipse, marked by flame and shadow. She is called The Shadowflame-not for darkness, but for balance. Fire and stillness. Steel and spirit."
I glanced at Seranyx. Her expression was unshaken, like a statue carved in resolve. But I could feel her heart from where I stood-thunderous, quick, alive.
"As of this dawn," Father continued, "she is named Heir of Flamecrown, Lady of the Nine Courts, Princess of Celestia, and Future Queen of Valkyrith."
A wave of respectful murmurs passed through the tables.
Then my mother rose beside him, the long sleeves of her gown trailing like wings as she addressed the gathering.
"We have also welcomed honored guests," she said, her voice melodic but commanding. "For no kingdom rises alone. The great kingdom of Solara, our ally and kin, has joined us in this moment. They came not just to witness a crowning, but to see who we entrust with our future."
She gestured gracefully to Queen Lysandra and King Kael, seated in gold and ivory at the side of the royal table.
Queen Lysandra dipped her chin in acknowledgment. King Kael lifted a goblet in polite salute.
"Solara's presence honors us," Mother said. "As does the possibility of deeper ties between our kingdoms. Ties of fire, light, and legacy."
I felt Seranyx stiffen ever so slightly beside me at that last phrase. I knew what it meant. The rumors. The possibilities. The whispers about her and Prince Kaelen, their future, and what that could mean for us all.
"Tonight," said Father, stepping forward, voice booming once more, "let it be known: we feast not just for a crown, but for unity. For the strength of blood and flame. For all our children."
He lifted his goblet high.
"To Valkyrith. To Solara. And to the Shadowflame!"
A resounding chorus echoed:
"To the Shadowflame!"
The music swelled-viols and windhorns rising like wings into the night. And at last, servants moved to pull back our chairs.
We sat.
And the feast began.
But even as the golden goblets filled and laughter returned to the room, I sat with my hands still, eyes on the food but appetite fleeting. Not from nerves. Not from ceremony.
Because deep within me-buried like a coal refusing to die-something stirred again.
Hot.
Sharp.
And watching.
And though no one else could feel it...
...I knew the fire wasn't finished with me yet.
At last, we were seated.
The high-backed chairs were carved from dark drakewood, their arms shaped like curling dragon tails, their cushions soft with crimson velvet. I sank into mine like a stone into water, letting out the quietest breath of relief. The ceremony had ended. The vows, the speeches, the ceremonial titles-all of it behind us. And before us now?
The best part of any royal gathering.
Food. Wine. And ideally, silence.
The golden plate before me was already adorned with steaming delicacies-herbed flamechicken with lemonroot glaze, a side of crisped moonleaf salad with shards of fire-sugar, and my favorite: a wedge of baked emberfruit tart so sweet it made your eyes close.
Gods above, it smelled like home.
I reached for my goblet. Valkyrith wine-aged in obsidian barrels and steeped with starcinder berries. A single sip and the burn slid down my throat, sweet and sharp, the kind of heat that curled its way into your bones and made you forget the world.
And oh, how I wanted to forget the world.
The hall echoed with laughter, voices rising in bursts-diplomats speaking of treaties, nobles gossiping about who wore what, knights comparing the dragon flights at the morning display. If there were a spell to vanish and let me dine invisibly at the foot of the table, I would've cast it a hundred times.
Instead, I focused on my food. Every bite. Every sip. It was my armor now.
Until I glanced up-and saw them.
Across from us, seated like twin suns in gold and ivory, were the King and Queen of Solara.
King Kael of Solara-tall, leonine, broad-shouldered. His skin was sun-gold and eyes like molten amber, sharp beneath a crown of woven flame-gold leaves. The golden lions beside him sat with eerie stillness, their eyes half-lidded but always watching. Not just animals. Claimed beasts. Royal familiars.
And beside him, Queen Lysandra: pale gold silk clinging to her in effortless waves, her dark braids adorned with fire-opals and sunstones. Her eyes didn't flinch as she scanned the crowd-graceful, regal, calculating.
I had heard the whispers.
Three royal children. The eldest-Prince Kaelen, said to be twice Seranyx's age, a warrior-poet raised under twin suns, heir to Solara and bonded to the lion they called Sunscourge. They said he had recently returned from some long campaign in the eastern wastes. They also said...
...he and Seranyx had been writing to each other.
Not that I cared.
(Alright, I cared a little. Maybe.)
But not enough to stop me from carving another bite of chicken, twirling it around on my plate with a smirk. If the rumors were true, it would be a marriage of kingdoms, not hearts. At least, I told myself that.
I leaned on my elbow, chewing with one cheek full, already tuning out the nobles prattling behind me.
That is, until I heard a familiar voice slither into my ear like smoke.
"You know, little flame," Jhealor said, leaning toward me with that annoyingly charming grin, "I'm convinced you live entirely in your own little world."
I didn't even glance at him-just raised one eyebrow and took a slow sip of my wine.
Then I gave him the look.
My tone came smooth as silk and sharp as a blade:
"Well, if that's what you think, dear brother..." I set my goblet down with a soft clink, "...then kindly mind your fucking ass business."
Jhealor snorted.
The grin that spread across his face was too wide to be trusted. He burst into a short, surprised laugh, nearly choking on his wine. A few heads turned.
Seranyx smirked from across the table, shaking her head ever so slightly, while Maezor just sighed and muttered something about "decency."
And that was when I realized-
The entire table was watching us.
My parents. My siblings. The King and Queen of Solara. Even their twin lions had lifted their golden heads to stare in our direction, ears flicking as if mildly offended.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
I picked up my fork and shrugged as I cut another piece of emberfruit tart.
"What?" I said flatly, "He started it."
Queen Lysandra arched a single eyebrow-amused, perhaps. My father gave a quiet, tired smile behind his wineglass, while my mother cleared her throat softly, signaling for the musicians to play a little louder.
The tension broke like frost under sun.
And suddenly, laughter returned to the table-this time more real, more relaxed. A noblewoman from the western court leaned in to ask Seranyx about her dragon. One of the Solaran knights asked Maezor about the Battle of the Cindergates. The king reached for another piece of roasted drake and offered it to one of his lions with the same care one might offer an honored guest.
And I?
I leaned back in my chair with a smirk, swirling the wine in my goblet, its red surface catching the firelight like blood and rubies.
Jhealor bumped his shoulder into mine.
"You're impossible," he muttered.
"You love me for it," I said.
And he didn't argue.
Because he knew it was true.
Plates were slowly emptying, goblets being refilled, and laughter hummed like low music beneath the crackle of the braziers lining the stone pillars. The warmth of the Flamecrown hall wrapped around us, gilded and golden. For a moment, I almost forgot about the whispers. About the weight pressing behind my ribs. About the ache that curled in my spine like smoke waiting to burn.
I was nearly done with my second goblet of wine-perhaps third, no one was counting-and steadily spearing slices of lemonroot chicken when I heard my name.
"You're Vyrella, yes?"
The voice was rich and calm, layered with something too practiced to be called gentle. Queen Lysandra of Solara had turned slightly toward me, one manicured hand resting on the arm of her ornate chair. The golden opals in her braid shimmered like captured flame.
I swallowed my bite slowly, wiped my lips with the embroidered cloth, and turned to face her fully.
"Yes, Your Majesty," I said with a shallow dip of my head, smoothing my tone into something polite. Cool. Measured.
Her lion was staring at me-those enormous golden eyes unblinking, as if it saw something it couldn't name. The Queen, however, smiled with something that might've been sincere-or not.
"The Flame of Five Hearts," she said, almost to herself. "Princess of Valkyrith. Lady of any kingdom or court, should she will it. Quite the title." Her gaze lingered. "You're very stunning, especially your eyes."
I blinked once.
I didn't smile. Not fully. I let the corners of my mouth curve just enough.
"Thank you," I said with a voice dipped in wine and restraint. "Though I imagine there are far more stunning things to behold in Solara-like your lions."
That made her chuckle softly. Her lips barely moved.
"They are impressive," she agreed, glancing at the beasts like one might look at trophies or well-trained weapons. "But not nearly as rare."
From the corner of my eye, I saw Vaeron smirk from his seat. He didn't speak, of course-he rarely did in public-but he raised his brow and gave me that look. The one that said "well, now you've gone and gotten someone's attention."
My fingers tightened slightly around the stem of my goblet. I went to sip-
"My son," Queen Lysandra said suddenly, her voice cutting gently through the table's chatter, "has, well... let's say he's grown slightly intrigued by you."
I choked.
Actually, choked.
Wine slipped the wrong way down my throat and I coughed once-then twice. Loudly. The hall didn't go silent, but the table did.
"WHAT?!" Maezor, Vaeron, and Jhealor said in chaotic unison, nearly knocking into each other to lean closer. Forks paused in midair. Even Seranyx raised an eyebrow.
Across from us, King Kael of Solara remained utterly composed, sipping from his goblet as if nothing had been said. The two lions didn't blink.
I looked up, red-faced from coughing, as Jhealor passed me a napkin with theatrical slowness.
"Thanks," I muttered. "Very subtle of you three."
"We are warriors," Maezor deadpanned. "Not actors."
"Speak for yourself," Jhealor grinned. "I perform outrage beautifully."
"Relax, boys," my father's deep voice came from the head of the table, his goblet half-raised. "We're not done yet."
That sent a ripple of amusement across the Solaran side of the table. Queen Lysandra leaned forward, elegant fingers folded beneath her chin.
"He told me himself," she said with a mysterious tilt to her head. "He finds you... brave. Quiet. A little mysterious. Unlike the others. Unpredictable."
I stared at my plate, pretending to be focused on my fork. My heartbeat thundered like distant wings.
"But," the Queen continued, almost lazily, "when Seranyx visited our palace in Solara... she and my son had a very lengthy conversation." She smiled, all diplomacy and velvet steel. "They seemed quite... compatible. That's the word, isn't it?"
And just like that, the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding slipped out of my lungs. My fingers loosened. My jaw unclenched.
Ah.
So it wasn't me. Or at least... it wasn't only me.
"Of course," Queen Lysandra added lightly, "nothing has been formally arranged. We Solaran royals prefer bonds that grow naturally. Don't you agree?"
I gave her a small, carefully constructed nod.
"Naturally," I echoed, reaching once more for my wine.
Seranyx finally spoke, her voice cool and composed.
"The Prince has excellent taste," she said, glancing at both me and then the Queen with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sure he finds something worthwhile in all the royal daughters."
That earned a low chuckle from King Kael himself. His voice was warm, but there was something iron in it, too.
"He finds truth more alluring than flattery," he said. "Which is why he's said so little tonight."
And indeed, Prince Kaelen had barely spoken a word since the feast began. He sat two seats away, golden and quiet, occasionally nodding to his father or taking a bite of food, but never looking too long at anyone-until now.
I caught him.
For just a heartbeat.
His eyes lifted from his plate and met mine across the firelight. Not flirtatious. Not shy. Just... aware. Like he was still deciding what he thought of me. Or perhaps waiting to see what I thought of him.
I looked away first.
"I don't think I'm the princess you're looking for," I murmured under my breath to no one in particular.
But Jhealor, ever too close, heard me.
"Maybe not," he whispered back. "But you're definitely the one they didn't expect."
I sipped my wine and leaned back in my chair, letting the moment pass like a shadow over flame.
The table had grown quiet again.
Not silent-there was still the faint clink of goblets, the rustle of velvet sleeves, the distant music of harps and strings in the background-but within our corner of the grand hall, time itself seemed to slow.
Queen Lysandra of Solara had just finished her veiled remarks. Seranyx had answered with regal poise. My brothers remained alert like loyal wolves, watching for any reason to intervene. And across the low candlelit table, Prince Kaelen of Solara finally looked at me-not as a stranger or political ally, but as if he'd been studying me all evening, waiting for the right moment.
And then came Jhealor's whisper, still echoing in my ear.
"Maybe not," he said, lips barely moving, "but you're definitely the one they didn't expect."
My eyes narrowed slightly.
I set my goblet down with careful grace, the gold base clinking gently on the carved oak. I leaned forward just enough that the candlelight caught in the shadows of my face. Not enough to make a scene-but enough that Kaelen could hear me clearly over the firelight, and enough that everyone at the table knew I had something to say.
"I'm sorry," I began, voice calm, deliberate. "But even if you insist, I'll never get in touch with you. Nor will I entertain any conversation beyond what diplomacy requires."
music in my mind.
Kaelen's eyes didn't flinch. He watched me with the quiet intensity of someone used to getting answers, not rejections.
"Why?" he asked, not with arrogance, but with genuine curiosity.
I answered without blinking.
"Because," I said slowly, "you and my sister have been exchanging letters for months. Your queen-your mother-just said you and Seranyx are compatible." My tone never rose, but my words rang clear like polished glass. "So why would you choose me over her?"
There was a pause.
A long one.
The kind that made the candles flicker higher, as if the room were holding its breath.
I caught the flicker of a smirk on Seranyx's lips-sharp, amused, and just a touch wicked. But her eyes remained soft, unreadable. She did not interrupt. She only leaned back in her seat with her goblet resting gently in her hand, as though she'd known this would come.
Kaelen, for the first time that evening, finally spoke with purpose.
"Because something's different about you," he said.
His voice was low but steady, with a faint rasp that hinted at nights spent in battlefields or libraries-either would not have surprised me.
"Just because I'm different?" I repeated, lifting a brow. "That's your reason? Come now, Prince Kaelen. Every soul in this hall is different in their own way. Every courtier, every knight, every servant has something unique about them. I've seen soldiers more noble than kings. I've seen children show more courage than lords."
I shook my head.
"So if that's all it takes to catch your interest, I fear you'll spend your life chasing shadows."
The flicker in his eyes changed-not wounded, not angry, but respectful. And quiet.
My brothers, especially Vaeron, leaned in now with greater vigilance. His hand was near his goblet, but I knew he was itching to grip the hilt of a blade instead. Maezor gave a soft grunt of approval, and Jhealor-of course-grinned like a wolf who'd just seen the moonlight.
"Still," I continued softly, "I won't change my mind."
Another silence followed-but this one didn't feel like ice.
It felt like acceptance.
And then, at last, Seranyx spoke.
I watched from the edge as noblewomen in shimmering gowns and knights in their polished finest moved like clockwork to the center, hands outstretched, faces glowing beneath lanternlight and laughter. Even the old and cautious joined in, drawn by the spell the music cast.
My father and mother stood near the dais, Queen Lysandra and King Kael beside them. All four sovereigns watched the gathering crowd with a kind of glowing pride-as if this moment, this joy, belonged to them as much as it did to their people.
Seranyx stood just ahead of me, calm and poised, though I knew her too well not to notice the quiet spark in her eyes.
She was thrilled.
Even if she wouldn't show it.
I let myself smile softly-until I noticed Prince Kaelen rising from his seat. Straightening his royal mantle. Walking forward. Eyes glancing toward-
Me?
No-his gaze slid past. Toward Seranyx.
Of course.
But just as my breath caught, Vaeron stepped beside me and extended his hand with a smirk too smug to be innocent.
"Dance with me, little flame," he said, half a challenge, half a request.
I blinked. "Me?"
"Yes, you," he said, eyes glinting. "You've been brooding in your wine long enough."
I hesitated.
Truth be told, I didn't want to dance. I didn't want eyes on me. I didn't want to touch anyone-not when my skin still hummed faintly with the aftershock of fire. Even if it had faded, I feared it might return without warning.
But this was Vaeron.
He didn't ask things like this lightly.
So I nodded once and slipped my hand into his-
-and nothing happened.
No heat. No spark. No sting.
Only warmth. Familiar. Human.
His hand was steady, large and calloused from sword hilt and bowstring. Mine was light in his grip, but not weak.
"That's new," I muttered.
He smiled sideways. "You didn't burn me. A good start."
We stepped into the dance together, gliding into the tide of motion, swept into the wide open hall where dancers spun beneath the starlight windows.
The music swelled, a gentle spiral of strings and rising flutes. The beat was old, the steps ingrained in our blood-taught since childhood, back when Maezor would trip and Seranyx would sigh and Jhealor would always step on someone's foot.
Now, Vaeron twirled me with ease.
"I didn't know the Prince had got something on you," he said suddenly, a teasing glint in his voice.
I rolled my eyes.
"He doesn't."
"Do you like him?" he asked, just as he turned me in a wide circle.
My dress flared, silver and dusk-blue, catching the light like trailing embers. I returned to his arms and raised a brow.
"No, brother," I said simply. "Now's not the time for that."
"You're sure?"
"Quite." I met his eyes. "I have no place for that sort of thing. Not in my mind, and certainly not in my heart."
It wasn't bitterness in my tone. Just truth.
Vaeron hummed thoughtfully, but said nothing for a beat. He led us through the next pattern-a turn, a side-step, a sway-until we faced toward the far side of the room.
There, beneath a tall crescent window of red stained glass, stood Seranyx and Kaelen.
They danced together, hands entwined, bodies close, heads tilted slightly in quiet conversation. Seranyx laughed softly at something he said. Her lips curved just enough to betray how at ease she was.
Kaelen looked... captivated.
Not as a prince evaluating a match.
But as a man speaking to someone who surprised him.
My heart tightened.
Not in jealousy. Not even in dread.
Just in that quiet ache of knowing something had changed.
"Why do you ask?" I said at last, turning back to Vaeron.
He spun me gently, then caught my hand again.
"Because I've seen the way Seranyx looks at him," he replied, not unkindly. "She's falling for him. And I don't blame her."
He paused, and there was something careful in his voice now.
"But I also see the way he looks at you."
I shook my head, but he lifted his hand and spun me once more.
"You carry something different," he said quietly. "Something you're still trying to hide. Kaelen sees it. Even if you don't."
"He sees something he can't have," I said coolly. "And I'm not a puzzle to solve."
Vaeron gave a half-smile.
"No. You're a wildfire that hasn't chosen where to burn."
That silenced me for a moment.
The song began to shift-growing faster, brighter, drawing more couples in. Seranyx and Kaelen began to move more fluidly. I saw Jhealor step in to steal a dance with a blushing noblewoman, while Maezor and Elira laughed with the Queen of Solara, watching their children like proud architects of a future not yet written.
Vaeron leaned close just as the song neared its final chords.
"You don't have to decide anything tonight, Vyrella. Just promise me-when the moment comes, when you're forced to choose-don't let silence answer for you."
I looked up at him, caught off guard by the quiet weight in his voice.
But I nodded.
Once. Slowly.
"I won't," I whispered.
Forgotten Flame
Vaeron had just left me in the great hall, the music still echoing behind as nobles twirled beneath chandeliers and laughter filled the air-but I could barely breathe. The burning in my chest had returned, sharper now, no longer a whisper but a force pressing outward like fire trapped beneath glass. And suddenly world behind me faded with each step I took.
It all burned behind me like a dream unraveling.
What remained was this-stone beneath my feet, shadow on the walls, and something inside me that pulsed like a drum carved from the bones of gods.
The corridor was colder here, lined with old carvings of draconic runes too ancient to be translated anymore. The silks hanging along the stone were worn with time and half-faded, whispering with each breath of wind from some forgotten crack in the fortress.
And I walked through it like someone drawn by something they had no name for.
No guards stopped me.
No voices called after me.
The golden glow of the throne room dimmed and flickered behind me-and then vanished completely.
I reached the spiral staircase, hidden behind one of the oldest keeps' tapestries. Only the Duskwind bloodline remembered it. I touched the wall to steady myself, but the stone itself felt warm. It throbbed faintly beneath my palm like something alive.
I didn't look back.
I climbed.
Higher.
And higher.
The stone steps creaked. The wind pushed harder through the slits in the tower. I could hear it now-a breath, steady and deep, coming not from the sky or the earth but from within me.
"You are not broken, flameborn..."
I stopped, gasping as the voice slid beneath my skin. It was inside me. Like memory. Like inheritance. Like blood.
"You are sealed."
My knees buckled for a moment. My hand caught the railing-blackened iron, long rusted.
I climbed faster.
The wind rose with me.
The walls of the tower curved inward as I reached the topmost chamber, the Watcher's Crown. A round room of forgotten stone, once used for keeping vigil over the sea. Now it was dust-covered, abandoned, and echoing with memories that had never been spoken aloud.
Lightning cracked over the distant sea-purple and silver streaks that turned the sky molten. The windows were tall, open, ringed with warped bronze. No glass. Just wind. And beyond them, the heavens seethed like something watching.
I stumbled into the center of the room, the echoes of my footfalls overlapping themselves like drumbeats.
My breath hitched.
My body burned.
Not with pain-but with pressure. Like something pushing from beneath my bones, beneath my lungs, beneath the skin itself.
I fell to my knees.
My hands hit the cold floor.
And then-
My skin began to shimmer.
Not visibly-not at first. But I felt it. A tingling, radiant warmth beneath my flesh. Like a hundred tiny sparks were dancing along my veins.
And in the stillness, I heard it:
"Vyrella Duskwind..."
"Daughter of flame."
"Child of the First Soul."
The torches that had burned low on the tower walls ignited without warning-a snap of light as every flame turned white, then blue, then ghostfire silver.
I gasped. My hair lifted from my shoulders, as if wind were blowing up through the stone itself.
And I was no longer alone.
Not truly.
"You are not meant to ride dragons."
> "You are meant to awaken them."
The voice was no longer separate from me. It was me-older, vaster, speaking from a memory I didn't know I carried.
My fingers curled against the stone. My body shook. A pressure rose in my chest, like my ribs were not holding in organs but stars, and the heavens were cracking open to let them free.
"Open yourself..."
"...and I will show you."
I screamed.
But it wasn't pain that tore the sound from me.
It was the truth.
The overwhelming, blinding, sacred truth that had been hidden inside my blood since the day I was born.
And in that moment, I saw it-
Visions, flashing like fire:
A sea of skyfire dragons, spiraling above a volcanic cradle, their scales glowing like suns beneath a blood-orange sky.
A temple of obsidian so vast it pierced the clouds, crowned with symbols that pulsed when they were spoken.
A field of white ash where a war had once burned away the world.
And standing in the center of that ash-
A girl.
Barefoot. Eyes glowing. Flames licking from her fingertips like silk. Her hair was silver white as mine, her body slender and powerful. Her skin shimmered with gold lines like veins of molten light.
She was not riding the dragons.
They were kneeling to her.
She turned slowly-and her face was mine.
Not exactly.
But close enough.
Too close.
" You were never meant to follow the fire..."
" You are the fire."
My heart gave one last thunderous beat-and the vision shattered, like glass breaking in reverse, being pulled back into the soul that had given it.
I collapsed.
My body struck the door behind me, and I slid down it, chest heaving, fingers twitching, eyes burning white for just a second longer-before the light left them.
Silence returned.
No fire.
No storm.
Just a girl crumpled in the shadow of a forgotten tower.
And a single torch still burning blue above her.
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To be continued...💐💜