The wind howled like a beast through the shattered spires of Eldara's once-great castle. Beneath the ash-colored sky, a girl no older than six stood barefoot, her silver eyes locked onto the shadow in the clouds. It moved with wings too vast to belong to any bird.
"Dragon," she whispered.
As the creature descended, it circled once before landing heavily on the scorched earth before her. Its scales shimmered like molten gold, though blood poured freely from a deep wound in its neck. The girl stepped back, wide-eyed, heart pounding.
Then, a voice echoed in her mind—not her own, but deep and ancient, full of pain.
"Girl, please... listen to me. Save my child. Humans are after me."
In its trembling claws, it held something—smooth, warm, and glowing faintly with a pulsing ember of light.
The dragon lowered its head and gently placed the object at Ysara's feet: an egg.
She stared, stunned, as the dragon met her gaze. It took a ragged breath, eyes pleading.
"Run!" the voice cried.
She turned and bolted, egg clutched tightly in her arms. Behind her, she heard the rumble of chariot wheels and the sharp cries of men. Then, a sound that split the sky—a roar of pain, final and heart-wrenching, as if the world itself wept for the slain beast.
The kingdom burned that night. So did her childhood.
But somewhere in the shadows of fate, the Eternal Flame stirred once more.
Ysara stumbled back into the castle, heart still racing, her small feet tracked with mud and ash. The cold stone floor bore the messy trail all the way through the grand hall.
Her godmother, Lady Selene, caught sight of it while pacing near the hearth. Her eyes narrowed.
"By the stars…" she whispered, following the muddy prints with swift, worried steps.
The trail led her to Ysara's chamber. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, she found the child curled in the corner, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Something was wrapped in her cloak, glowing faintly beneath the folds.
"What happened?" Selene asked gently, kneeling beside her. "Where have you been?"
Ysara looked up, eyes wide and filled with terror.
"I saw a dragon," she whispered.
Selene froze. Not with disbelief—but with fear.
Hidden deep within Selene's private quarters was a scroll—old, sealed, and bearing the royal sigil. It had been left in her care by Ysara's parents before their death. She had vowed never to open it… unless the time came.
Inscribed across its surface, in ancient script, was a single phrase:
"The Eternal Flame shall rise again through the blood of fire and the child of ash."
That time was drawing near.
The Next Morning
Sunlight spilled across the castle halls, but it brought no warmth. The fires from the night before had left a haze in the air, and the servants moved with hushed urgency, glancing over their shoulders like the shadows still held secrets.
Ysara awoke in her bed, though she didn't remember how she got there. Her arms instinctively wrapped around the bundled cloak beside her—still warm, still faintly glowing. The egg.
She sat up slowly. Her hands trembled as she touched its surface, the ember inside pulsing like a heartbeat.
A soft knock came at the door.
Lady Selene entered, calm but guarded. She carried a tray of tea and bread, though her eyes went straight to the bundle in Ysara's arms.
"It wasn't a dream," Ysara said, her voice small.
"No," Selene replied. She sat beside her on the bed, brushing a silver curl behind Ysara's ear. "And you must not speak of it to anyone. Not yet."
"Why?" Ysara asked.
Selene's gaze fell to the egg. "Because the world is not ready."
She gently placed the tray on the table and pulled the curtains tighter over the windows. "Keep it hidden. I'll protect you. When the time is right… we'll know."
Ysara nodded, her fingers curled around the egg's warmth, unaware that the flame within would one day echo across kingdoms.
Later That Day
The hidden sanctuary was carved into the cliffs themselves, veiled by ancient spells and nature's silence. Only a few knew it existed—fewer still dared approach.
Ysara sat cross-legged by the hearth in Selene's chamber, Kael coiled protectively outside like a living fortress. The fire crackled softly, but Selene's gaze was distant, trained on the flickering shadows it cast on the stone walls.
"You felt it," she said without looking at Ysara. "Didn't you?"
Ysara hesitated. "I think… I heard it. Not Kael. Something older. Like a voice beneath the earth."
Selene closed her eyes. "The flame is remembering itself."
She rose, moving to a shelf burdened with old tomes and weathered scrolls. From behind a false panel, she withdrew the sealed scroll—the same one Ysara had never seen but had once been meant for her.
"The prophecy speaks of awakening," Selene murmured. "But it never said what the flame would become. Or what it would burn."
Ysara stood slowly. "You're afraid of me."
"No," Selene said. "I'm afraid for you."
She turned, scroll still in her hands, but didn't open it.
"There are whispers from the eastern cities," she continued. "A sorcerer-king who dreams of dominion over dragons. He believes they are the key to immortality. He's gathering hunters. Artificers. Blood magic."
Ysara's voice turned cold. "He's coming for Kael."
Selene nodded. "He'll want more than Kael. He'll want you."
Outside, Kael shifted, sensing the tremor of danger even through stone.
Selene stepped forward and pressed the scroll into Ysara's hands. "Your parents left this for you, should the flame return. I hoped we'd have more time."
Ysara looked down at the seal—the royal crest, faded but intact.
"What if I'm not ready?" she whispered.
"You won't have a choice," Selene said, soft but firm. "The world is already choosing you."
Far East – The Obsidian Court
The chamber was silent, save for the slow drip of blood from the antlered skull hanging above the mirror. A thin mist clung to the stone floor, coiling like something alive.
He stood alone before the obsidian glass, robed in deep crimson and black, the fabric embroidered with symbols older than language. His hands—long, precise, cruel—hovered just above the mirror's surface. Beneath the glass, faint ripples moved as if something swam within.
"Ysara," he said again, tasting the name like a spell, like a curse.
This time, the mirror moved. A shape surfaced—vague, cloaked in firelight. A girl, older than the last time he had seen her, with silver eyes like her mother's.
He smiled. Not kindly.
"She lives," he murmured. "And the beast lives with her."
Behind him, a soft shuffle—one of his Whisperbinders entered, robed and faceless, carrying a scroll wrapped in dragonhide.
The king took it without a word and unrolled the parchment. A map. Eldara marked in ink and blood.
"Two years," he said, half to himself. "And the flame still chooses her."
"Shall we send the ash riders?" asked the Whisperbinder.
"No. Not yet," the king replied.
He traced a rune across the glass, and it flared crimson. "Let them grow confident. Let the girl believe she is hidden. And when she burns, I will be there to catch the ashes."
As they vanished into shadow, the king stared once more into the mirror. Ysara's image flickered and faded, but the fire remained.
"She doesn't know what she is," he said.
Then, with quiet hunger: "But I do."
A History Buried in Fire – Selene and the Bone King
Before he was the Bone King, he had another name.
Vaeren. High Arcanist of Elareth, First Flamebearer of the Inner Circle, sworn protector of the Dragon Accord.
But ambition burns hotter than vows.
He believed dragons were not gods, but keys. Their fire could burn through time, through death. He called it Pyrael—the Eternal Flame.
Ysara's mother had it.
So did Ysara.
He tried to claim it. He failed. Elareth burned. The Accord shattered.
He did not die. He returned as the Bone King.
Now, after twenty years, the flame he chased had reappeared—in the form of a child.
Beneath the Obsidian Court
In a sealed vault, Vaeren stood before a pedestal.
On it rested a second egg.
Not golden like Kael's—but black as void, veined with red light. Dormant. Silent.
"She has the child of fire," Vaeren whispered. "But I hold the child of night."
The egg pulsed once.
And smiled.
Selene's Legacy
She was once Selene of Caer Vareth, last daughter of the Moonfire Lineage. An order sworn to the dragons.
She fought in the Flameguard. Trained by dragons. Sworn to the old magic.
She was there when Elareth fell. Saw Ysara's mother, Queen Ilthea, entrust her child to prophecy and fate.
Ilthea trusted no one but Selene.
And Selene made a vow:
"If the child of ash survives, I will be her blade. Her silence. Her shield."
She gave up her title. Disappeared. And when Ysara came to her with the egg, Selene knew the vow had taken root.
Selene – Now
She stood on her balcony, reading a letter she hadn't yet burned. Vaeren was moving.
The sword she had sworn never to raise again hummed softly in its sheath behind her. Etched in dragonlight. Forged in the old fire.
She closed her eyes.
"You're not ready yet," she whispered. "But neither was I."