The fire had bent to her.
But not everyone would.
Hours after the trial, the great halls of Emberhall buzzed with unease. Nobles who once dismissed Seris as impetuous now watched her with wary fascination. Some whispered reverence, others rumors. A few knelt out of loyalty. Most knelt out of fear.
And at the center of it all, Seris sat alone before the unlit Ember Throne.
The seat of fire.
It waited.
Still vacant.
Not yet, she thought. Not until I understand the truth.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Enter," she said.
Kaelen stepped in, still in skyborn armor, still carrying the quiet storm in his eyes.
"You should be resting," he said gently.
"So should you," she replied.
He offered a wry smile, but it faded quickly. "I did some digging. About the man who tried to steal the Crown. The one cloaked in molten steel."
Seris's body tensed. "And?"
Kaelen glanced over his shoulder, then crossed the chamber in a few strides, voice low. "He's not just a rogue mage. He was a member of the Emberguard—twenty years ago. Disappeared after the last crown war. His name was Vaerion… and he was your father's closest friend."
She froze.
"My father's…?"
Kaelen nodded. "And the most dangerous flameweaver of his generation. Some say he helped forge the current seal on the Crown of Cinders."
"But why come back now?"
Kaelen hesitated. Then pulled something from beneath his cloak—a fragment of glass, glowing with inner fire. A shard from the Crown's chamber.
"It was in the vault," he said. "Hidden beneath the old altar."
Seris took it. The moment her fingers touched the edge, visions surged through her—memories not her own.
A child, laughing beside a man with ember-bright eyes. Her father.
Another man—taller, colder—watching from the shadows. Vaerion.
The forging of the Crown. The pact sealed with blood and fire.
And one phrase whispered through time like a brand:
> "One flame to rule, one flame to hide."
Seris gasped and dropped the shard.
Kaelen caught her.
"What did you see?"
"There's another crown," she said breathlessly. "A twin—hidden."
Kaelen's jaw clenched. "Then the prophecy was true. Two crowns. Two thrones."
"And one war."
---
Later that night, Arin stormed into Seris's chamber, cloak dripping rain and fury.
"I found something," she said without preamble. "Someone's been erasing vault records. Old Emberguard reports, sealed letters, flameborn birth registries. All gone."
Seris blinked. "What were they hiding?"
Arin hesitated.
Then said, "Your mother wasn't the only heir."
Silence.
"What?"
"You had an aunt," Arin said. "Alaryss's older sister. Born with flame that turned silver in sunlight. They feared what it meant. Feared she might not be fireborn—but mirror-marked. So they exiled her. Erased her."
Seris staggered backward. "Where is she now?"
Arin's eyes were grim. "Dead. Supposedly. Killed during the first mirror war. But there's no body. No record. And…"
She pulled out a parchment. On it, a sketch of a woman cloaked in silver flame. Regal. Tall.
The same woman Seris had seen in her visions.
The same one who had worn the Crown of Cinders in the mirror future.
"She's not dead," Seris whispered. "She's alive. She's the Mirror Queen."
Kaelen stepped beside her, voice low. "Your aunt… is trying to take your throne."
---
In the deepest vault of Emberhall, beneath wards and sealed flame, a forgotten door cracked open.
Vaerion knelt before a woman cloaked in shimmering fire.
Her eyes were molten silver. Her lips curled in a cruel smile.
"She passed the trial," Vaerion said bitterly. "The flame obeys her."
"She's still unproven," the Mirror Queen murmured. "She still believes she can claim the throne without sacrifice."
"She has allies," he warned. "The skyborn. The windblade. Even her mother might waver."
The Mirror Queen turned, her gaze distant.
"I will take what she cannot," she said softly. "I will wear the crown she fears. And when I do, the Mirror Realm will spill into this world like flame through glass."
She lifted a second crown.
Not of ember—but of silver fire.
And it sang.