The palace gardens had never looked so still — or so dangerous.
Ren Zian stood at the center of a sea of crimson petals, arms crossed, the wind tugging at his battle robe. The morning after the incident in the Valley of Mirrors had spread fast — not the details, but the whispers. Enough to stir the harem.
Lyra had not left her chambers. She hadn't spoken since her fevered sleep, where Ren heard her whisper a name — a name not his.
Across the garden, Aris emerged, her footsteps soft but her presence cutting through the air like a blade.
"So," she said, approaching him, "you finally touched the forbidden flame."
Ren didn't turn to her. "Is that what they're calling her now?"
Aris scoffed. "She's the center of every rumor. And you're the storm they orbit."
He glanced over. "Is that jealousy I hear, or worry?"
Aris folded her arms. "Don't flatter yourself. But you should know — Nyelle heard Lyra cry out a name in her sleep last night."
That made him freeze.
"She said 'Kael.'"
Ren's jaw clenched. Kael was a name not spoken since the war — a god, a traitor, and Lyra's former protector.
"She doesn't remember," Ren said lowly.
"Or she remembers too much." Aris stepped closer. "You think power alone binds us to you? Then you haven't understood what this harem truly is."
He turned to her fully now, fire behind his gaze. "Then tell me, Aris. What is it?"
She looked at him — not with anger, but with an ache. "A place of heartbreak. A place where every woman who walks through those doors bleeds for a man fated to destroy or save the gods. And now you bring back a name from the cursed past?"
Ren's hand gripped the hilt of his blade. "I'm not Kael."
"No," she said. "You're worse. Because she could fall in love with you twice."
The wind shifted. In the distance, bells rang from the Temple of Divine Measure — a signal. A decree had been sent from the Inner Realm.
"Summoning?" Ren asked.
Aris nodded grimly. "The goddess council has summoned you. Something stirs beneath the Astral Garden."
That evening, Ren stood before the mirror wall of his chamber. His mark — the Fourth Flame — pulsed faintly across his chest.
Behind him, a voice broke the silence. "You didn't come to me."
It was Nyelle.
Ren looked over his shoulder. "Because you already knew."
She walked in slowly, barefoot, a candle in her hand. "I know what I saw. And I know what I want."
Ren said nothing. Her robe slipped slightly from her shoulder, revealing the tattoo of the Third Flame — the sign she had once refused to give him.
"You burned for her," she whispered. "Will you freeze for me?"
He closed the distance, his hand brushing against her shoulder. "I don't need to freeze or burn. I need to feel something real."
She leaned in, lips grazing his ear. "Then make it real. Tonight."
Their kiss ignited like dry parchment. Fierce. Demanding. Her hands fumbled at his belt, his mouth found the soft curve of her collarbone.
But just as he lifted her, candlelight flickered — and Lyra's name echoed again in his mind.
He pulled away.
Nyelle stood frozen. "You can't even fake it?"
"I'm sorry," he said.
"No. You're not."
She left, candle in hand, eyes unreadable.
Alone again, Ren stood beneath the mirror, and for the first time since awakening, he doubted the man reflected back.