The fire had faded, but the memory of it lingered in the air.
Ardeshir stood in the courtyard of the ruined palace.
steam rising from the scorched bodies that surrounded him.
His blade hung at his side, glowing faintly, warm to the touch. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still grey, still grieving.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there—until a whisper of cloth on stone caught his ear.
He turned, sword raised.
But the man who approached did not attack.
He knelt.
Old armor clung to his body, dented and rusted.
His beard was grey, his back hunched, but his eyes burned with something Ardeshir hadn't seen in years.
Loyalty.
"By flame and throne," the man whispered, voice hoarse with disbelief. "It is you."
Ardeshir narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The man looked up, tears mixing with the blood on his face.
"General Vahram" Swordmaster of your father.
I watched you take your first step in the palace courtyard.
I watched your mother die with your name on her lips. And I have been waiting—every cursed day—for the flame to return."
Ardeshir's hand trembled on the hilt.
"General You… survived?"
Vahram nodded.
"A few of us did.
Scattered. Hunted. Forgotten.
But not broken. Not all of us." He stood.
"Come. You are not safe here. Not yet."
They moved through secret paths beneath the palace, where the bones of old kings still lay entombed.
Vahram lit a torch with shaking hands, leading Ardeshir through the ancient tunnels.
"When the empire fell, we buried more than bodies.
We buried truths. Power. Prophecy. Your father feared what the crown could become in the wrong hands… so he sealed it.
And only fire could break it open again.
They emerged into a forested valley at dusk.
The air was clean.
The 🦨Quiet.
A hidden stronghold rose from the rocks—stone huts carved into the mountainside.
Men and women watched from behind wooden doors.
Few in number. But alive.
Vahram turned to him, eyes heavy with meaning.
"This is all that remains of the Sassanid loyalists.
Farmers, smiths, soldiers with one hand left. But they remember the flame.
Ardeshir felt the weight of it—this burden they placed on him.
A dead empire's last breath clinging to a prince who had no idea what he was becoming.
Inside a modest chamber, Vahram opened a stone box sealed with gold string and prayer script.
Inside was a blackened leather tome, its pages filled with ancient writing and symbols that shimmered in the firelight.
"This,"
Vahram said,
"is the Codex of the Crowned Flame"
It speaks of relics—each bound to the soul of a king."
He turned the pages slowly, reverently.
"The Fang of Shahravar.
The Eye of Mithra.
And the Soul Ember."
"They were lost long ago. Scattered across forgotten lands.
But without them, the crown you now wear will consume you. You will burn before you rule."
Ardeshir stared at the symbols—none of them familiar.
"How do I find them?"
The answer came from behind him.
"You don't. But I can."
He turned to see her.
She stood barefoot in the stone doorway, hair tied behind her head, robes of pale blue wrapped around her like starlight. Her eyes were like moonlit glass—calm, unreadable, and terribly old for someone so young.
"This is my daughter,"
Vahram said softly.
"Taleen"
The stars speak to her, as they once spoke to the sages of Ardashir."
Taleen bowed. "I saw your fire rise before the sky did.
The heavens are watching, Ardeshir. And the path is written… but not yet walked."
That night, as they prepared to leave for the first relic's rumored resting place—beyond the great sands of Dar-Al-Sahra—the night itself betrayed them.
Steel clashed outside.
Shouts rang through the valley.
Then screams.
Vahram grabbed his blade.
"They found us."
Assassins moved through the stronghold like shadows, faces masked, blades poisoned.
Ardeshir fought beside Vahram, but it was clear:
they'd come to end the bloodline for good.
In the chaos, Taleen was nearly struck—until Vahram threw himself between her and the blade.
> "Father_!"
The sword slid into his ribs.
He dropped to one knee, blood pouring from his mouth.
Ardeshir caught him before he fell.
"No," Ardeshir whispered.
"Not now. Not like this."
Vahram gripped his forearm with the last of his strength.
"The crown has fire. But it needs… direction.
Let her guide you. Let her_"
His breath stopped.
And with it, the last of Ardeshir's childhood.
They buried Vahram before dawn, high on the cliffs overlooking the valley.
Taleen knelt in silence, fingers tracing a star map on the dirt.
"The stars have shifted," she whispered.
"They point east now.
Toward the sands.
Toward… the first relic."
Ardeshir said nothing.
He stared at the rising sun, the wind brushing his bloodstained cloak.
"Then we go," he said.
"Let the fire walk."