Far from the Ember Spires, deep within the obsidian heart of Thornevale Palace, Queen Virelya stood before a mirror of blackened glass, her expression unreadable.
The mirror rippled with heatless fire.
She had felt the surge—a flare of ancient power, unmistakably tied to the Flameheart. The boy had awakened part of it.
"The blade stirs," she murmured. "And the past with it."
Behind her, the cloaked figure stepped forward from the shadows, bowing low. "Shall I send the Hollow Watch to intercept?"
Virelya didn't answer at once. Instead, she placed a hand upon the mirror. It shimmered to show Kael—standing amidst scorched stone and fallen drakes, the Flameheart still glowing faintly at his back.
"He stands taller than I expected," she whispered. "But his fire is still raw. Unshaped."
Her nails curled against the glass.
"Let him burn brighter… before I extinguish him."
She turned to the cloaked figure. "No, not yet. Send the Whisper Wraiths. Let them test the weight of his will. And remind him of what he's lost."
The figure bowed again and disappeared into the darkness.
—
Back among the Ember Spires, Kael, Serenya, and Selira rested in the shelter of an overhang as snow began to fall—dark, ashen flakes drifting from the unnatural clouds.
Kael sat apart, eyes closed, trying to steady the turmoil inside him. The sword's memory still pulsed in fragments—visions of kings and traitors, of roaring flame and a child with silver hair, crying beneath a shattered crown.
Serenya watched him with quiet worry. "He's changing."
Selira nodded. "The Flameheart is binding to him. But it doesn't give without taking."
Serenya tilted her head. "Do you trust him?"
Selira's eyes were unreadable. "I trust that if he falls, I'll stop him."
Suddenly, the fire dimmed.
Kael stood abruptly. "Something's wrong."
The shadows around them shifted—too quickly, too fluidly.
Then a whisper echoed on the wind.
"You left him… to die."
Kael turned, face hardening. "Who's there?"
The shadows elongated, twisting into tall, wraith-like figures—pale eyes glowing faintly, their mouths curled in silent grief.
Whisper Wraiths.
Serenya's breath caught. "They speak with voices from the past."
One stepped forward, pointing a skeletal finger at Kael.
"You chose the blade over your brother. He burned because of you."
Kael staggered back. "No—I didn't… I tried to save him."
"But you failed."
The voice was familiar. It was his brother's.
Serenya leapt between Kael and the wraith. "Don't listen. They lie. They twist memory."
But Kael's fists were clenched. Fire danced dangerously along his arms. "I remember. He reached for me, and I—"
Selira's dagger cut through the air, slashing into the wraith's throat. The creature hissed, unraveling like mist.
"We kill them before they dig deeper," she snapped.
The other wraiths attacked.
Kael moved like wildfire—no longer holding back. Each strike of the Flameheart burned through shadow and echo alike. But with every wraith slain, the voices grew louder. Older memories surged. His father's disappointment. His mother's screams. His brother's final cry.
Serenya reached for him, grabbing his arm.
"This is not who you are!"
Kael blinked.
The wraiths paused. Then, as if sensing their hold weakening, vanished into smoke.
Silence returned.
Kael dropped to one knee, breathing hard. "They're not just illusions. They know."
Serenya knelt beside him. "Because they feed on grief. Regret. You must not let them shape what comes next."
Selira approached, tense. "This was a warning. Virelya knows where we are."
Kael stood, shoulders squaring once more.
"Good," he said. "Then let her know this."
He lifted the Flameheart—and its white fire flared brighter than ever before.
"I'm coming for her."