The vault was silent now.
Not the silence of peace—but the aftermath of something sacred being violated.
Seris stood among the ruin, the scorched remnants of wards curling around her boots like black snow. The Crown of Cinders was gone. The thief—her twisted mirror—had vanished without a trace. And in the eerie quiet that followed the clash, a deeper dread settled over the kingdom like volcanic ash.
Kaelen coughed softly behind her, pressing a cloth to the side of his face where a jagged shard had struck during the blast. "She took it. Just… vanished into the flame."
"No," Seris murmured. "She didn't vanish. She folded the flame. Like it obeyed her. Like it knew her." She turned, voice hollow. "Like it's already chosen her over me."
Kaelen's eyes flicked to the broken dais where the crown once hovered. "Then we make it choose again."
They returned to the palace long after the moon had set. The Ember Council was in shambles—councilors shouting, guards racing through corridors, and storm-wardens from Kaelen's court called in by Queen Alaryss herself. The Queen sat in the war chamber, pale and quiet, surrounded by scrolls bearing sigils not drawn in centuries.
Alaryss dismissed the others when Seris and Kaelen arrived. Only Lord Thalos lingered in the shadows near the hearth, expression unreadable.
"Speak," the Queen ordered.
Seris relayed everything—what the thief had said, what she'd looked like, the way the crown had responded.
When she was finished, the silence was absolute.
"A future version of yourself," Alaryss repeated slowly. "Or something wearing your face."
"I don't think it's that simple," Seris replied. "She wasn't just a mirror. She was a warning. As if the crown... took me and made something else. Something hollow."
"Or perhaps she's the truest form of what you could become," Thalos said coldly. "Power changes people. And fire… fire consumes."
Seris bristled, but Kaelen stepped forward. "And fear paralyzes. That crown won't wait for us to argue over philosophies. It's already chosen a bearer."
"And now," Seris said, "we need to find her."
"But where do you even begin?" Alaryss asked. "If she's a version of you, then she'll think like you, move like you…"
Seris frowned. "She didn't fight like me."
Kaelen glanced sideways. "What do you mean?"
"She wasn't using Emberlight. She was using… something older. The way her fire bent—it wasn't forged. It was called. Like it belonged to her in a way mine never has."
Alaryss exhaled sharply. "There are… ancient orders. Fire-priests that existed long before the crown. Before even the first Ember Queen. They were said to wield wild flame—elemental and untethered."
"Didn't they all die in the Cinderfall?" Kaelen asked.
The Queen hesitated.
"Most."
---
Hours later, Seris sat on the balcony of her tower chamber, legs curled beneath her, a flickering lamp at her side. Below, the city of Solvyris stirred with restless lights. The vault attack had spread unease like smoke—families huddled indoors, prayers rose to old gods, and rumor blossomed in every corner of the realm.
She felt hollow. Not just because of the loss—but because of the echo it left behind. The thief hadn't just taken the crown. She'd taken something intimate. Something sacred.
Hope.
Kaelen joined her silently, two steaming mugs in hand. He offered one. Seris took it without a word, sipping the sharp herbal brew that scorched her throat.
"You were right," she whispered.
Kaelen blinked. "About what?"
"I touched the Mirror Gate. The visions. The fire that keeps whispering to me. I'm not just drawn to the crown. I'm bound to it."
"That doesn't make you her," Kaelen said. "It makes you a part of this story."
Seris leaned back against the stone wall. "But what kind of story is it? Am I the hero? The queen? Or the monster trying to steal a throne?"
He set his mug down and turned to her, eyes steady. "I don't care what the story says. I care about you. The real you. The woman who throws herself into danger, who refuses to let fear define her. Who makes fire into something beautiful."
Their eyes locked.
And in that moment, with the weight of destiny pressing in from every side, Seris did something she hadn't done in a long time—she leaned into him. Her head against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her like a storm-wrought shield.
No magic. No prophecy. Just warmth.
But the peace didn't last.
A heavy knock interrupted the moment. Seris stood, brushing ash from her robe as a guard entered. He bowed low, then handed her a sealed scroll.
"We found this… in the remains of the vault."
She broke the seal.
No words.
Only a single sigil burned into the parchment:
> A black crown, split down the middle, dripping glowing embers.
Seris stared at it, her stomach turning cold.
Kaelen stepped beside her. "What is it?"
Her eyes glowed faintly gold.
> "A warning."
He frowned. "From who?"
She looked to the stars above Solvyris, voice quiet as the wind.
> "From the Flame That Shouldn't Be."