The next morning, the volcanic vents beneath Solvyris trembled.
Seris felt it before anyone else—the rhythm of the mountain shifting in her bones, the breath of fire beneath the stone turning uneven. She stood at the highest window in the Flame Spire, overlooking the crimson pools of the Ember Caverns, her fingers pressed to the glass as a dull hum rippled through her.
"Something's wrong," she murmured.
Elaryn entered behind her, robes fluttering. "The Flame Seers feel it too. The veins of the mountain are heating. Pressure builds. The forge-wards are holding for now, but…" Her pause was heavy. "The last time the caverns stirred like this was during the Night of Breaking."
Seris didn't need the reminder. She'd been a child when the ground split and the palace walls bled magma. Her father had died sealing the breach with his own body, his flame consumed to stop the flow.
"What's causing it?" Seris asked, voice low.
Elaryn hesitated. "Some believe it's you, Princess."
Seris turned sharply.
Elaryn held her gaze, steady and sad. "Your fire is tied to the mountain. Your gifts have grown volatile. The gate woke when you touched it. The dreams. The heat. There is… a connection."
Seris swallowed hard. She had felt it too—after touching the Mirror Gate, her fire had changed. It no longer burned just beneath her skin. It ached. Hungered.
She turned back to the window. "Where is Kaelen?"
"In the northern wing. Guarded, of course. The queen ordered it after your disappearance last night."
"I'll handle her."
"Seris…"
"I will. I need answers. And he has them."
---
The northern wing was silent.
Kaelen stood alone in a sunlit chamber, arms crossed as Seris entered. He looked different in daylight—less untouchable. His silver-threaded eyes still shimmered, but there was weariness in the lines of his face.
"You disappeared," he said.
"So did you. Into my mind."
He shrugged. "You invited me in."
"Don't twist this."
Kaelen sighed. "The vision we saw—it's not set in stone. But it will come to pass if the elements remain divided. The gates are reawakening. The pacts are breaking. The old magic stirs, and your kingdom sits atop its heart."
Seris paced. "Why now?"
"Because your fire is no longer dormant. Because you are the last of the Emberbloods. And because someone—something—is trying to unbind the seals that keep the ancient flame beneath Solvyris contained."
Seris stopped. "You mean the Primordial Flame?"
He nodded. "The original source. The fire that birthed this realm."
"It's myth."
"It's buried," Kaelen corrected. "But not dead."
She stared at him. "You're telling me someone is trying to awaken the soul of fire itself?"
"Yes. And if they succeed—your vision becomes prophecy."
---
Deep beneath the palace, in a sealed chamber warded by seven generations of flamecraft, something stirred.
The Ember Vault had not opened in three hundred years.
Tonight, it cracked.
A whisper slithered through the molten dark, curling around a chained relic: a circlet of black-gold and emberstone—the Crown of Cinders.
And a voice—low, ancient, coaxing—echoed from within the vault:
> "She is waking. So must you."
---
Back in her chamber, Seris stood before the flame basin, heart pounding.
The fire danced and rose, crackling with energy.
She whispered the ancient words, fingers forming the sign of the first Emberborn. The flames shimmered—
And showed her a face.
Not Kaelen.
A woman—tall, eyes like liquid gold, crowned in fire, standing in a hall of ash.
Behind her, a battlefield raged. Cities crumbled. Dragons burned.
Seris gasped and stepped back.
Elaryn burst into the room. "Princess—the queen has summoned the council. A breach has been detected in the Ember Vault."
Seris turned, cloak billowing. "Then it's started."
Elaryn hesitated. "What do we do?"
Seris drew a breath.
"Find Kaelen. Ready the guards. And send a message to the other kingdoms."
Her eyes glowed with molten light.
> "The war for the elemental realms has begun."