Chapter 12: The Emissary of Flame
Dreadspire Caldera, far within the Iron Empire's southern reaches, had not known peace in a hundred years. The volcanic sky bled red as molten rivers ran beneath stone bridges etched with ancient runes. And atop a jagged spire, she knelt—Seraphine Durnstahl, daughter of the Iron Empress and bearer of a sleeping storm.
Her cloak fluttered in the ash-ridden wind. Her hands were marked in flame.
Before her, the Altar of Embers crackled—carved with draconic bones and sealed with seven rings of fire. The High Priests of Pyros, flame god of ruin and rebirth, chanted in low tongues.
"From ash we rise… from ruin we reign… bring forth the one who carries your wrath…"
Seraphine rose, her crimson eyes burning. Her voice rang like molten steel.
"I am the flame that cannot be quenched."
She stepped forward and plunged her hand into the altar.
The fire screamed.
And then the voice came—terrible, ancient, and hungry:
"You are worthy, Seraphine. Rise, Emissary of Flame."
---
Elsewhere—far to the north, where snow never melted and silence reigned—the oldest of runestones cracked. The winds of the world shifted.
Jean Luther, now resting in Blackridge's moonlit courtyard, felt it.
Her eyes shot open.
Whitney stirred, sensing the tremor in the ley-lines of the divine.
Jean whispered, "Another has awakened."
Ryan nodded solemnly, poring over old maps and relics. "Two in less than a month. That's not coincidence."
Freya entered, holding a sealed scroll with Celeste's sigil.
"It just arrived through divine courier," she said. "It's from the Sanctum of Light. It says, 'The Emissary of Flame has been reborn. You are summoned to the Conclave of Divinity.'"
Jean looked up. "The gods are moving."
---
Three days later, Jean stood on the edge of a skyship platform as the Luther aerial cruiser Silver Oath lifted from Blackridge. Before her, the continent stretched wide, and the weight of her blade had never felt heavier.
Beside her, Whitney sniffed the wind. "Flame. Death. Iron."
Jean narrowed her eyes.
"The Iron Empress is playing a game."
Ryan joined her at the bow. "If Seraphine Durnstahl is the Empress's daughter… then this isn't just divine. It's political."
Jean sighed. "She was always hidden. Kept from the public eye. Now we know why."
Freya whispered, "How many more Emissaries are there?"
Jean turned away from the horizon. "At least five. That's what Celeste said… before she stopped speaking to me."
---
Far below them, in a canyon scorched by dragonfire, a mask of obsidian stirred in the sand.
A cloaked figure picked it up, eyes glowing violet.
From behind him, a whisper:
"You are next."
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