The girl stood barefoot at the edge of the Obsidian Chamber, dust clinging to her white robes, violet eyes glowing like dusk under moonlight.
Luceris didn't lower his flame.
"You said you watched me die," he said. "That's not something people survive."
"I didn't," she replied quietly. "Not really. I think… I came back. Just like you."
Luceris stepped forward, studying her face. She looked no older than thirteen. Her hair was the color of ash, long and tangled, and her skin was marked with the faint outlines of ancient runes faint, but unmistakable.
That wasn't a child.
That was a vessel.
"A regressor?" he asked, voice sharp. "Or something else?"
"I remember things I shouldn't," she said. "Places I've never seen. Names that don't belong to me. And when I saw you awaken that flame, I remembered it burning us both."
Luceris's eyes narrowed. The Forgotten Flame was supposed to be sealed. Even most mages didn't know it existed.
"Who are you?"
The girl hesitated.
Then she bowed her head.
"My name was Elira," she said. "Before I died. I was the last Flamebearer of the Order of Kareth. In another life, I was sacrificed to seal the flame you now carry."
Luceris stared at her. The name Kareth hadn't been spoken in centuries. Its order had been wiped out during the First Fracture War—when the empire still feared powers beyond magic.
"You were part of the ritual," he said slowly.
"I was the ritual," she replied.
He extinguished the flame in his palm. If she was telling the truth, the empire hadn't just fractured time they'd torn a soul from a sealed bloodline.
Luceris walked past her, motioning for her to follow. "Come with me. We have much to discuss."
"You trust me?" she asked.
"No," he said. "But you're the first being I've met who remembers a death not their own. That makes you valuable. Until you prove otherwise."
She nodded and stepped into line beside him, like a shadow returning to its master.
Together, they exited the Obsidian Chamber and stepped into a storm.
The palace was awake.
Guards moved fast across the marble halls, torches flaring as alarms were called. Luceris caught snippets of frantic shouting rumors of a failed assassination, a curse reborn, something stirring beneath the imperial tombs.
He smiled to himself.
Good. Let them be afraid.
He led Elira through the west wing and into his private study one of the few places untouched by the eyes of the Court.
Once the doors closed, he moved to the bookshelves and pulled a black tome from behind a false panel. It was bound in iron thread and inked in blood the lost codex of imperial lineages.
He opened to the pages bearing the seal of House Dreadwyn.
"I need to confirm something," he said.
"What is it?"
Luceris didn't answer immediately. Instead, he traced the royal sigil: three black thorns entwined around a dying star.
"I died thinking I was the only heir left," he said. "But there were bloodlines buried. Secrets even I didn't know. The empire's founders weren't chosen by gods. They made pacts burned truths into time."
"You want to know if you were born cursed," Elira said.
Luceris met her eyes.
"No. I want to know if I was born to break the curse."
Hours passed in silence as they read.
Luceris uncovered fragmented records mentions of a "Burning Son," a child born under a black eclipse, fated to either end the empire or rule it from ashes.
The seal he carried, the Forgotten Flame, was older than the Dreadwyn line. It had been bound by the Kareth Order and buried beneath the palace in the very altar where he had died.
And Elira… wasn't just a remnant of that order. She was a living relic.
"You're tied to me," Luceris said at last. "Not by blood. By fate. The ritual that killed me pulled your soul into this time."
She nodded, unafraid.
"I think the gods are tired of watching."
Luceris looked out the window.
Below, the capital city of Astravar pulsed with firelight, unaware that their prince had returned from death, armed with memories and a war yet to begin.
He clenched his fists.
"I need to act before the empire reacts. There are three who move first in this cycle always the same."
"Who?" Elira asked.
He didn't hesitate.
"Lord Sareth of the Black Lotus. My brother Elric. And the White Vicar."
The very names twisted the air.
Lord Sareth commanded the underground, brokered assassins, and fed secrets to the nobility like venom. Elric the golden child had framed Luceris in the last life. And the White Vicar?
A ghost in priest's robes. He moved kings like pawns and claimed to hear the voice of the Divine. Luceris had seen that mask torn off in death.
What lay beneath was no human.
This time, none of them would move unseen.
At dawn, Luceris summoned his first secret meeting.
The hidden chamber beneath the Tower of Veyr was meant for war councils during times of rebellion. Now, he stood alone before the shadows of his past.
Only one arrived.
General Kaelis Dorne loyal to Luceris's father, banished after refusing to serve Elric.
He stepped out of the dark like he hadn't aged, though Luceris knew the cost of exile. His left hand rested on the hilt of a sword that had drawn royal blood.
"You're supposed to be dead," Kaelis said.
Luceris tilted his head. "So were you."
"You sure this isn't a trap?"
"If it were," Luceris said, "you'd already be ash."
Kaelis gave a tired grunt. "Still smug."
Luceris walked toward the table at the center of the room and unfurled a map of Astravar. "I need your help."
Kaelis crossed his arms. "This doesn't end well."
Luceris smiled faintly. "No. But it begins with you."
The next summons would be for Serina. Then Eyrin.
But not yet. Not all at once.
That night, in the slums of the lower ring, black petals fell from the rooftops like snow.
The symbol of the Black Lotus Lord Sareth's calling card.
A message had been sent. A prince had survived. And in response, Sareth sent his blades.
Luceris expected it.
The assassin came at midnight.
He entered the prince's chamber disguised as a servant moved like air, silent, perfect.
His dagger never landed.
Luceris met him with open eyes.
"You're late."
The man froze mid-strike. Then vanished into shadow, reappearing at the far wall.
"You're supposed to be a dead boy," the assassin said. "Not a killer."
Luceris summoned flame to his palm, the black fire whispering around his fingers.
"Then you were told lies."
The fight didn't last long.
Luceris was no longer bound by the limits of mortal training. His memories were full of death his own, and countless others. He moved with purpose, no hesitation, no wasted breath.
When the assassin lay bleeding, Luceris knelt beside him.
"Tell your master," he whispered, "that the throne he bought is no longer for sale."
Then he burned the body.
By morning, the palace was in uproar.
A noble from House Trenmor had been found dead his carriage exploded by black fire. Another duke's vault was emptied. And in the central square, a black crown had been painted in ash above the imperial fountain.
Luceris stood atop his balcony, watching the chaos unfold.
Elira joined him silently.
"You're baiting them," she said.
"I'm teaching them to fear shadows," he replied. "Before I show them who owns them."
"And after?"
Luceris turned toward her, his eyes glowing faintly with the seal's power.
"Then I claim what's mine."
In the dungeons below the palace, Luceris moved alone.
The guards didn't see him.
The prisoners didn't know his name.
But he reached the cell he remembered. The one that hadn't yet been opened. Inside, a man lay in chains—face gaunt, skin burned by old runes.
"Do you remember me?" Luceris asked.
The man opened one eye. "I remember a prince."
"I'm not a prince anymore."
The prisoner grinned. "Good. Princes die. Monsters survive."
Luceris knelt beside him. "You swore to serve the flame."
"I did."
"Then serve it again."
He cut the man's chains and marked his forehead with black fire.
One servant awakened.
Thousands to go.
The pieces moved.
Across the empire, spies sent panicked ravens. Nobles recalled their banners. The churches warned of omens. Something in the air had shifted too subtle to name, but heavy like a storm on the edge of breath.
In the imperial chambers, the emperor coughed blood onto his sheets.
His time was ending.
And Luceris Dreadwyn had begun.