The skies over Ashfall darkened, not with storm clouds, but with sails.
From the cliffs above the Citadel, Kael stood with narrowed eyes, watching as dozens of ships crept across the sea. Their sails were black and gold, the sigil unfamiliar—until he spotted the phoenix crown scorched into their banners.
"That… that's her crest," Seraphine said softly from beside him.
"Her?" Kael asked, turning sharply.
Seraphine didn't answer for a long moment. Then:
"The Empress of Daranthis. Nyxera."
Kael's expression tightened at the name. He knew it.
All too well.
"She was once betrothed to me," he admitted, the words tasting like ash. "Years ago, when I was just a prince and my stepfather still held my leash. It was political. Cold. She was… unpredictable. Brilliant. Dangerous."
Seraphine looked at him, searching his face. "Did you love her?"
"No," Kael said without hesitation. "But she loved power. And when she realized I wasn't going to help her take it—she turned cruel."
"Then why is she coming now?"
Kael's jaw clenched.
"Because she thinks I took what she believes belongs to her. You. The Phoenix."
In the war room, Liam slammed a dagger into the map table. "They've docked on the Blackshore. Four battalions, with more coming. This is an invasion."
Riven, Kael's strategist, muttered darkly. "And not a quiet one."
"She's not just declaring war," Seraphine said, pacing. "She's making a statement."
Kael nodded. "She's challenging the Flame. She thinks it belongs to her."
The room went still as a royal courier burst in, breathless. "Your Majesty—Seraphine—there's a message. A gift, they said. Left outside the eastern gate."
Moments later, the group stood outside the gate, staring at the "gift."
It was a black box.
Inside?
A crown. Burned. Twisted.
And a letter.
To the usurper Queen and her cursed Prince—
Return the Flame or be buried in its ash.
—Nyxera, True Sovereign of Fire
That night, Seraphine sat alone in the war garden, the crown clutched in her hands.
Kael approached silently. "You're not her, Sera. You're nothing like her."
"Aren't I?" she whispered. "I was born with the same fire. The same hunger."
"No. She takes to control. You burn to protect."
She looked at him then, eyes glistening. "But what if I can't stop what's coming?"
Kael took her hands gently.
"Then we fight. Together."
But even as he said it, the shadows whispered treachery.
Because earlier that day, Riven had shown Kael something else.
A sealed letter.
Found in his mother's hidden chambers.
A letter that began with:
My dearest son, Kael… your true father is not the King you buried…
Kael hadn't opened the rest.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
Three days later, the ships reached the cliffs.
A golden throne was raised on the shore, and from it stepped a woman in black and crimson armor, eyes of obsidian, smile like smoke.
Nyxera.
She raised her hand—and fire erupted behind her troops.
"Send your Queen," she called to the wind. "Or I'll send mine."
From behind her, a figure stepped forward.
A young man.
Eyes of flame.
Wearing a twisted crown of thorns.
"Who is that?" Seraphine asked.
Elarion, watching from a rooftop above, whispered:
"That… is her creation. Born of corrupted flame. A mirror of your power."
Kael's gaze hardened.
"Then I'm done watching."
He turned to Seraphine.
"If she wants fire—she's about to see how hot it burns."