"You say you're fine, but your soul is screaming."
The smoke had barely cleared.
Kael didn't speak. Couldn't. His hands trembled at his sides—faint, but not missed by Elyra. She stood beside him, silently anchoring him to the present with nothing more than her presence.
The Ember Crown pulsed against his skin, too warm. Too aware.
A sharp wind swept through the shattered courtyard, pulling ash into spirals. Vespera stood several paces away, her back to them, staring into the fractured remains of the moonstone gate. She hadn't moved since her whispered warnings.
"The threads are fraying," she'd murmured before falling silent. And now, she just… listened. Or maybe she was waiting.
Kael finally moved, his voice a rasp. "You alright?"
Elyra glanced at him, then down at the thin trail of blood still trickling from his nose. "You're asking me?"
He wiped at it with the back of his hand, smearing red across pale skin. "Yeah. I'm not the one who almost got drowned in a starfire trap."
Elyra smiled faintly. "Close call builds character."
But her eyes lingered on his hands again. The way they still shook.
She reached out—hesitating just a breath—and touched his arm. "Kael, what did the Ember Crown do to you in there?"
He didn't answer right away. The burn still crawled along his veins, like fire licking the edges of paper. But deeper than pain was something else.
Shame.
"I let it in," he finally admitted. "The Pale Flame. Just a flicker. Enough to push back the trap. Enough to survive."
"You used it?" Elyra's voice was low. Not quite horrified. Not quite surprised.
Kael nodded. "Not fully. Just… borrowed the edge."
"Kael."
"I know," he snapped. Too fast. Too harsh.
He looked away.
"I know," he repeated, softer. "But I didn't have a choice."
"That's the thing," Elyra said gently. "It always makes you feel like you don't."
They stood in silence, the kind that pressed in from all sides, thicker than the smoke. Kael's breath came in shallow waves. Elyra stayed still, and when she spoke again, her voice was barely audible.
"If it tries to take more—will you tell me?"
Kael looked at her then. And something in his walls cracked. Just a hairline fracture, but she saw it.
"…I'll try."
Across the courtyard, Vespera stirred. Slowly, like her limbs moved through water. Her eyes met theirs—hollow and unreadable.
"I heard the Weavers."
Kael stepped forward. "What did they say?"
Her mouth twisted in a humorless smile. "They screamed."
Elyra stiffened. "That's… not ideal."
"No," Vespera said softly. "It's not."
A moment passed. And then Vespera tilted her head toward the far corridor.
"There's a chamber deeper in the stronghold. Sealed by hexsteel and nullruned chains. I felt it open. Just for a moment."
Kael's jaw clenched. "Another trap?"
"Or a message," she replied. "From whatever's still alive down there."
They descended.
The deeper halls were colder, despite the lingering heat above. Lights flickered in their sconces, and every step echoed like it disturbed the bones of something ancient.
At the bottom was a door. Massive. Runed. Cracked slightly ajar.
Kael placed a hand against the frame. "We go in together."
"No heroics," Elyra warned.
He managed the ghost of a grin. "No promises."
Together, they pushed through.
The chamber beyond was dark stone and silence. And in its center, a cage hung suspended by chains. Inside—barely visible—was a figure. Not corpse. Not quite living.
It raised its head as they entered.
Eyes of molten silver. A voice that sang in their minds like icewater and bells.
"Ah," it whispered, smiling with lips that hadn't moved in centuries. "The Heir and the Flamebound. Finally."
Kael stepped forward, pulse hammering. "Who are you?"
It grinned wider.
"I am what the Crown was built to imprison."