Long before kingdoms bore names or stars charted destiny, the world trembled at the edge of ruin.
Storms devoured the skies. The oceans boiled with rage. The very bones of the earth split under sorrow. In the heart of this dying age, three mortals dared to ascend the Stair of Moons, a celestial path veiled to all but the desperate and the bold.
They were Althea, the steadfast heart of her people, Maelion, an artificer who wove spells from stardust and steel, and Serilda, a silent seer who dreamed in prophecy. Together, they carried no armies, no thrones—only hope.
At the summit, they stood before Aetherion, the Keeper of the Boundless Sky—a being ancient as silence, whose gaze could bend time.
Althea fell to her knees. "Our world is dying," she said. "Let us give what little we have left, for one more chance."
Aetherion did not offer miracles.
Instead, he offered fire.
From his eternal core, he pulled a living ember—divided it into three, and placed one into each of their chests. A flame that would burn through blood and bone, reshaping their very being.
From this moment on, the three became more than human. Their lines were etched into the weave of existence, and through them was born the Ever Flame—a celestial power that would flow through generations to come.
But the flame, like all fire, was not without hunger.
Its gift was twofold: longevity, heightened awareness, and mastery over the natural and unseen world. But also a severing—no bearer of the Ever Flame would ever again fully belong to the mortal realm. They were now watchers, arbiters, and in time… judges.
From the bloodlines of Althea, Maelion, and Serilda came the founding of the Twelve Ever Houses, each carrying a fragment of the original flame. Their names all began with "Ever"—each rising with distinct philosophies and magical arts attuned to the world.
But one house was never spoken of.
Aetherion whispered it only to Althea.
For she, above the others, knew that power—even divine—could rot.
And so she formed a secret thirteenth branch—hidden from records, omitted from prophecy—the House of Evernox.
They did not seek mastery of an element. Their gift was vigilance. Their legacy: judgment. Theirs was the darkest manifestation of the Ever Flame—Blood Arts—the power to sense decay in the soul, preserve purity, and if needed, cleanse corruption with merciless precision.
They were the keepers of balance, the flame's final answer when all others failed.
***
The sky was too blue.
Painfully blue.
"Ugh… shut up, sun…" Therese muttered, slapping at the air like it had personally wronged her.
She cracked one eye open and immediately regretted it. The brightness stabbed her brain like a fork in a fruit jelly.
"Okay. What a terrible hungover."
She tried to sit up—and the world spun like a tavern brawl caught in a blender. Her head pounded as if goblins were mining for silver in her skull.
"I swear," she groaned, "this is the last time I drink Melic's pirate brew…"
A bottle rolled off the deck beside her with a sad little clink.
"That's what you said last time," came a chirpy voice above her.
Therese tilted her head—or maybe the world just tilted again.
Perched atop a barrel, Melic, her ever-judgmental maya bird familiar, was flipping through a tiny, weather-worn book with his clawed feet.
"…and thus, the Three climbed the Stair of the Boundless Skies, and from their flames was born the Ever Flame," he read solemnly, completely ignoring her misery.
"Are you… reading legends again?"
"Of course. Someone has to keep up the culture while you're passed out snoring like a dying walrus."
"I don't snore."
"You do."
She rubbed her face and blinked blearily at the endless sea around them. Her eyes widened.
"…Wait. Where are we?"
"Still in route to the Islands of Theron. But look behind you," Melic said casually, still flipping a page.
Therese turned—slowly this time, fearing another spin attack from the world.
Her eyes locked onto the wreckage floating behind her.
A massive ship—snapped in half, its sails torn, its proud banners now tangled seaweed. Bits of crates, splinters, and broken metal bobbed in the waves like flotsam from a bad dream.
"What the hell happened here?!" her surprised was overcome her hungover.
"That," Melic said, "is what I was trying to wake you up for. But apparently, you're part rock when you're unconscious."
Therese wobbled to her feet, pushing aside empty bottles as they rolled around her boots.
"There's a lifeboat!" she pointed. "People—there's people!"
"Three of them. Been there a while. Mostly not dead. Other than them, everyone is dead."
One figure lifted a shaky hand. "Help! Please—!"
Therese was already climbing over to the small boat.
***
Some Minutes Later…
"Thank you for saving us," said the only conscious man, his voice refined and smooth. His silver armor gleamed under the sun, and his light military cut brown hair framed his face, and gentle blue eyes shone beneath a noble brow. There was grace in his bearing—too deliberate to be casual.
Therese almost didn't trust people who looked that perfect in shipwrecks.
"Uh… why are you tying up the others?" she asked, watching as he neatly secured the unconscious man and woman lying beside him.
"For safety," he said with a practiced smile. "They're dangerous. Criminals of the highest order.
He finished the knots and stood.
"I am Chandler Everiel, knight of the Dawnforged Oath under the Empire of Lumiere," he said with a soft smile. "Might I know the name of our savior?"
"Everiel?!" Melic chirped, wings fluttering with excitement. "He's one of the Twelve Houses, Therese! The real deal! I've never met one before!"
'An Everiel…' Therese thought, eyes narrowing slightly. How unexpected.
"I'm Therese," she said, offering her hand.
Chandler took it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Therese."
"Likewise."
"You have a lively pet," he noted politely. He could only hear the chirping sounds of Melic.
"He seems to like you," Therese said, holding out her other hand. "Come, Melic."
Melic fluttered down to perch on her palm, tilting his head toward Chandler. "He usually avoids strangers. You must give off a good aura."
For a split second—Therese noticed a flicker in his expression. A chill—there, and gone.
Chandler smiled. "I'm honored, then. A pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Melic."
"He's polite! Refined! As expected from House Everiel! The House of Light!" Melic chirped again, though all Chandler heard was birdsong.
"So," she said, glancing at the tied pair, "what's the story with these two?"
"They're runaway convicts." Chandler said without hesitation. "Charged with high treason and assassination of the late Emperor and late Empress. I have proof."
He reached into his cloak and retrieved two folded sheets—Wanted posters.
Therese unfolded the first one. A young girl's face stared back—porcelain-skinned, with vivid red eyes, platinum blond hair and a crown with red ruby in the middle drawn faintly above her head.
"WANTED: ALIVE. First Imperial Princess Lauren Aurora Sunflame. Fire Mage. Charged with the murder of King Ignatius I and Queen Rebecca. Reward: 100,000 solis."
Melic hovered and read the poster.
"She's a kid…" Therese muttered.
"Loves cats and sweets," Melic added, reading the fine print aloud. "Why do they always add weird trivia to wanted posters?"
The second was a man—in his 30s, sharp- red eyes, same military cut platinum blond hair.
"WANTED: ALIVE. First Imperial Prince Paul Arthur Sunflame. Fire Mage and Swordsman. Charged with the murder of King Ignatius I and Queen Rebecca. Reward: 400,000 solis."
"Favorite drink: black coffee," Melic read again, squinting. "Is that supposed to help us find him in a café?!"
Therese knelt beside the unconscious royals. Their chests rose and fell gently. No signs of bruises. No malice. She checked their pulses. Just… two people asleep, tied like criminals.
Something didn't sit right.
'Convenient,' she thought. ,'Survivor of a shipwreck. Just happens to be a noble knight. And the other two just happen to be two of the most wanted royals in the empire…'
Melic narrowed his beady eyes. "Yep. This smells fishier than a merman's laundry."
Therese didn't say anything.