Snow fell like ash.
It coated the broken towers and buried the black stone bones of the Flame Court beneath drifts of white silence. The castle had once blazed with life, magic, and the roar of power. Now it lay frozen. Lost. Silent. Covered in snow flakes.
Lira stood beneath what remained of a shattered archway, her breath visible in the cold air, her eyes fixed on the half-cracked throne at the far end of the ruined hall. She didn't feel like a queen. Or did she felt like an heir. Or anything other than a girl too far from home.
"This was yours," Arion said quietly behind her.
His voice didn't echo. Nothing echoed in this place. The silence here wasn't just quiet-it was watching.
"The Flame Court wasn't just a palace," Arion continued. "It was a beacon. A center of magic. Flamebloods kept the fire of the realms burning-literally and spiritually."
Lira didn't answer. She stepped forward and touched one of the fractured pillars. Symbols, long dormant, flickered faintly beneath her fingertips. Her presence was waking the place.
"Why snow?" she asked. "Why is everything covered like this? Shouldn't it be… warmer?"
"The court froze the day you died," Arion replied. "They say the last surge of your magic extinguished the heartflame at the center of the realm. Without it, winter never left."
She blinked slowly. That kind of grief felt impossible to carry. Was it her fault? Or just the cost of who she was?
Suddenly, something stirred.
Not sound. Not movement. A presence.
A voice. Not external, but not hers either. It spoke from the depth of her bones.
You have returned.
She staggered slightly.
"Did you hear that?" she asked, spinning toward Arion.
He looked at her, unreadable. "Hear what?"
The flame does not die. It sleeps.
The voice didn't explain. It didn't guide. It whispered like memory. Like bloodline. Like prophecy fulfilled.
Lira exhaled, shaken. The air around her had grown warmer. Just slightly.
"Something's waking up," she whispered.
Arion nodded. "Yes. And so will others."
Later, they took her to what was left of the inner sanctum-a hidden chamber beneath the ruined hall. Fires had once burned here in floating rings. Now, only scattered embers glowed, faint but unyielding.
She sat alone. Arion had left her with a single word: "Breathe."
So she did.
And the visions returned.
Not dreams. Not memories. Something in between.
She saw herself in a long red robe, standing atop a burning tower, her arms raised. Crowds below screamed her name. Behind her, a man stood cloaked in silver light. He touched her shoulder, and something in her broke-and rebuilt.
Then the scene shifted. Same woman. Same eyes. But now she was kneeling. Blood pouring from her palms. Her voice broke as she whispered a name:
"Kael."
Lira opened her eyes.
And there he was.
Standing at the edge of the chamber.
Same face. Just older. Tired. Real.
Kael.
He didn't speak at first. He just looked at her like he was afraid she'd vanish again.
"You remember me?" he asked eventually.
Lira stood slowly. "No."
He nodded. Pain flickered across his face, but he didn't look away.
"But I dreamed you," she added. "You were there. You always are."
Kael stepped closer. He was dressed like a knight fallen out of time-armor scuffed and scorched, cloak tattered. The sigil on his chest was unfamiliar to her but pulsed faintly with red light.
"I've followed every life you lived," he said quietly. "In each one, I found you. In most, you didn't remember. In some, you did."
"How many?"
"Seven. This is the eighth."
Lira's breath caught. "And each time... what? I died?"
"Yes."
"And you?"
He smiled bitterly. "Most of the time, I followed you into it."
She swallowed hard. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn't empty. It was loaded.
"Why?"
Kael stepped even closer. "Because no matter what name you wear, you're still you. Aelira. Lira. Flameborn. The one who holds the heartfire. My curse is that I remember. Yours is that you forget."
Lira's throat ached. She didn't know what she was feeling-loss for lives she couldn't recall, love she didn't yet feel, or rage that fate kept playing with them like puppets.
"What happens now?" she asked.
Kael's voice dropped. "Now, we prepare. The gods felt your awakening. They'll move against you again."
"Good," she said. "Let them come."
And somewhere deep inside, the voice whispered again:
Let the divine tremble.
Far beyond the broken castle, beyond the snowfields and twisted ruins, a temple bell rang for the first time in a hundred years.
In the High Hall of the Order, cloaked figures gathered. Symbols flared to life on ancient stone walls. A name echoed through the darkness.
"Aelira Thorne."
And one of the gods opened his eyes.