A storm brewed over the eastern sky—no rain, just black clouds swirling unnaturally fast, lightning flashing blood-red.
In the throne room, Arin stood with his wives, the ancient scroll glowing once more.
Seraphina whispered, "The eighth bride… She's close."
Freya narrowed her eyes. "I feel dark energy… but also something ancient."
Suddenly, a shockwave rocked the castle. Guards scrambled. Magic wards shattered.
A portal burst open mid-air, releasing a pulse that dimmed every light in the room.
She stepped through.
Tall. Regal. Eyes like molten lava, hair cascading like midnight flame. Clad in crimson armor laced with obsidian veins.
"I am Ignis," she said, voice echoing like a war drum. "Last daughter of the Flameborn. You will kneel before me… or burn."
Evelyn groaned. "Great. Another power queen."
Arin stepped forward. "I don't kneel."
Ignis smirked. "I know. That's why I came for you."
---
Later that night…
The flames of the fireplace flickered in rhythm with the tension in the air. Arin sat beside Ignis in the war chamber. Alone.
She traced a circle on his chestplate with her gauntlet. "You've touched ice, light, shadow… but not raw fire. My fire."
Arin caught her hand. "If you join us… there's no going back."
"I already did," she whispered. And leaned in—lips brushing his.
Their kiss ignited the room.
---
Elsewhere...
Celestia tossed a pillow. "You're telling me he kissed her already?!"
Freya calmly drank her wine. "Told you fire types move fast."
Evelyn paced. "We're running out of wing space!"
Lilith smirked. "Maybe bunk beds?"
---
At Dawn...
The scroll changed again.
A new line glowed: "Only when the ninth stands under moonless sky, shall fate unlock its true path."
Nyx read it aloud. "Ninth? You're telling me there's another one coming?"
Arin sighed. "I'm not even surprised anymore."
Lyra smiled faintly. "You will be. She's not from this world."
Everyone turned.
Seraphina's expression was pale. "You mean…?"
Lyra nodded.
"The ninth bride is from the stars."
---
[TO BE CONTINUED...]