The envelope trembled in Kael's hands.
It bore no seal—only a single sigil, drawn in dark red wax, almost like blood. He sat alone in his tent, firelight dancing across the walls. Cindermourn lay beside him, silent but ever pulsing like a second heartbeat.
He broke the seal.
The parchment inside crackled faintly, as though it had waited too long to be read.
To my son, born of ruin and mercy,
If you read this, it means Zafira found you. It means you've survived what should have killed you.
You are not just a prince. You are the heir to two ancient lines—one born of fire, one of moonlight. And you were never meant to be hidden.
Your mother—your true mother—was not the werewolf queen who raised you, but Serelith of the Emberblood. A general, a demoness, and my beloved. She died protecting you during the Siege of the Black Pyre. Your second mother, Lyria, the werewolf queen, found you and claimed you as her own to keep you alive.
The world was not ready for you, Kael. But now… it must be.
Seek the Tomb of Ashbone. Inside lies the memory you've lost, and the key to the gate the gods fear most.
—Your father,
Bel'varoth Flameforger
Kael sat in stunned silence.
Two mothers. Two bloodlines. Everything—everything—he thought he knew about his childhood, even Lyria's love… was twisted by secrecy.
But that meant her love wasn't false. It was chosen.
And somehow, that hurt more than it comforted.
That night, Seraphine dreamed.
She stood in a sea of white feathers. A single tree burned behind her—its leaves made of starlight, its trunk whispering in a language she didn't know.
At the base of the tree was a figure cloaked in shadows. It turned to her.
She gasped. The face was hers. But older. Wiser. Her eyes glowed like moons.
"Wake up," the shadow-self whispered. "They're watching."
She jerked awake in her tent—only to find herself face to face with Zafira.
"Apologies," Zafira said, lowering her blade. "You dream loudly."
Seraphine sat up, heart pounding. "What do you want?"
Zafira studied her for a long moment. "You're not entirely human, are you?"
"…What?"
"You've touched something older. I can smell it. The gods look at you the way wolves stare at lightning—curious, hungry, afraid."
Seraphine narrowed her eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Zafira smiled thinly. "You will."
At dawn, Kael summoned his generals. "I need to leave. There's a tomb—Ashbone—hidden past the Crimson Divide. I need what lies within it."
Liam looked skeptical. "You want to march into a cursed tomb days before the war begins?"
"I'm not taking the army. Just a small party. Myself. Seraphine. And Zafira."
"And me," Liam said.
Kael blinked. "You hate tombs."
"Exactly. So if you're going, someone needs to make sure you come out."
They departed at sunrise, leaving Varyn to hold the front lines. The land to the south was scorched and silent, the sky still tinged with remnants of eclipse. The closer they got to the divide, the colder the world grew.
And on the third day, the earth opened.
It wasn't a door. It was a ribcage.
The entrance to Ashbone was carved from the skeleton of a forgotten god, half-buried in obsidian cliffs. The wind howled through its hollow bones like a dirge.
Kael pressed his palm to the runes etched in the rib. They flared with orange light. The bone cracked, shifted, and a path opened beneath them.
"Stay close," Kael warned. "And don't touch anything."
Inside was darkness so thick it felt solid. But the further they walked, the more memory came alive around them.
Faint images shimmered on the walls: Kael's first steps in fire. Serelith's face, proud and fierce. A kingdom burning. A child crying in a cradle of smoke.
Zafira paused by one of the memories and touched the wall.
"She loved you," she whispered. "Serelith. She gave her life sealing you away from the gods. This tomb is her gift."
Seraphine looked at Kael, stunned. "You were sealed here?"
Kael nodded. "Or maybe part of me was."
At the heart of the tomb stood a dais surrounded by seven broken swords and one stone coffin.
Cindermourn pulsed as Kael stepped forward.
The coffin hissed open, revealing—
A boy.
Twelve, maybe thirteen. His eyes burned gold. His skin shimmered like fire-glass.
"Who…?" Liam started.
The boy looked at Kael and smiled.
"You found me," he said.
"Who are you?"
"I'm you," the boy whispered. "The part of you that was left behind to keep the gate closed."
Kael's blood ran cold.
"What gate?"
The boy's eyes flickered.
"The one the gods fear. The one only the heir of fire and moonlight can open."
"Why would I want to open it?"
"Because it's not just a gate. It's a prison. And inside it is the only thing that can kill a god."