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Chapter Seven: Fire Beneath the Frost
The wind that swept through the frostbitten hills north of Velmire was no longer just the breath of winter—it was a whisper. A voice older than gods, older than kingdoms, older than dragons. It hummed Evelyne's name.
She stood at the edge of the high valley, a silver cloak coiled around her like a second skin. Her breath curled in the air like misty tendrils, her eyes fixed on the glacier that loomed before them like a sleeping leviathan. Somewhere beneath its icy weight lay the ruins of an ancient temple—the last known resting place of a skyborn relic. One that Lucien wanted. One Evelyne would claim first.
Kael stood beside her, sharpening his blade for the third time that morning. "I hate snow," he muttered.
"You hate everything that gets your boots wet."
"That's not true," he said with a grin. "I like wine. And stabbing people who deserve it."
Seraphine, sitting on a jagged stone behind them, raised an eyebrow. "And you say I'm the unstable one."
"You are," Kael replied flatly.
"And yet you follow me into frozen death traps," Seraphine shot back.
"I follow Evelyne."
"I know."
Evelyne didn't turn around. "Both of you, shut up."
They shut up.
She could feel the relic's pulse now. It wasn't audible, but it thrummed in her bones. It called to the mark beneath her skin, the fire that wanted to burn through her veins and break her apart or remake her anew.
It had been weeks since the confrontation at Velmire's court. The city had not recovered. Assassins had come—some cloaked in shadow, others wearing noble crests like masks. Evelyne had survived them all, sometimes barely. She bled. She trained. She learned. She laughed. She cried. Once, she got so drunk she mistook Kael's left arm for a loaf of bread and tried to bite it.
He didn't forgive her for three days.
But it was the nights that were hardest. In the moments before sleep, she remembered Lucien's voice, velvet and venom. We are not so different.
She wanted that to be a lie.
She feared it wasn't.
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Within the Ice
The entrance to the glacier temple wasn't found—it opened. As Evelyne approached, the cliff face shuddered and cracked, parting like ancient teeth splitting to reveal a throat of blue fire and darkness.
"Is this normal?" Seraphine asked, voice tight.
"For skyborn things?" Evelyne stepped forward. "Yes."
They descended through the frozen maw, boots crunching over age-slicked stairs and frost-covered bones. The air grew warmer, not colder, thick with magic that buzzed like bees under the skin. Strange symbols pulsed on the walls—skyborn script, written in blood centuries old.
"This place reeks of death," Kael muttered.
Seraphine sniffed. "That's your breath."
"Shut up."
"No, you shut up."
"You shut up first."
"Both of you," Evelyne snapped.
They shut up.
The central chamber was vast—circular, lit by an unseen fire that danced across crystal columns and vaulted ceilings. In the center floated a shard of metal, glowing faintly. A sword fragment. Etched with skyborn runes.
Evelyne stepped forward—and the room screamed.
A psychic wave knocked them all to their knees. A memory invaded Evelyne's mind, not hers: dragons in the sky, cities burning, a woman laughing as fire rained down, her voice familiar—
Mother?
The vision ended.
Evelyne gasped and touched the shard. It burned, but did not reject her.
---
Descent
They left the glacier behind changed.
Evelyne had seen her mother—Althea Skyborn—not as the martyr painted by rebel songs, but as a conqueror. Terrible. Glorious. Mad. Evelyne hadn't known whether to feel shame or awe.
Kael noticed the shift in her.
"You're quieter," he said, breaking camp one evening.
"I'm thinking."
"About your mother?"
"No. About Lucien."
Kael flinched. "Don't."
"Why not?"
"Because you don't think about snakes. You kill them."
She smiled faintly. "Even if the snake shares your blood?"
He stared at her. "Evelyne—"
She turned. "I'm going for a walk."
"Take your sword."
"I am the sword."
---
Dreams and Desires
The dreams returned.
This time, Lucien didn't whisper. He kissed her.
In her dream, they stood atop the burning throne of Velmire, his hands on her waist, her fingers tangled in his silver hair. He told her they were gods. That nothing could stop them.
She woke up panting, sheets soaked with sweat, thighs clenched tightly together.
Seraphine's voice broke the silence: "You moan his name in your sleep."
Evelyne's heart slammed against her ribs. "You were spying?"
"I was listening. There's a difference."
She turned to see the noblewoman leaning against the tent pole, arms crossed.
Evelyne sat up, glaring. "Say what you want."
"I will," Seraphine said coolly. "You want him."
"I hate him."
"Yes," Seraphine said with a smirk. "And hate is the sharp edge of obsession."
Evelyne looked away. "You wouldn't understand."
"I understand perfectly." Seraphine stepped forward, then knelt beside her. Her voice dropped. "But I also see the hunger in you. You want to be free of it. Or maybe you want to be devoured by it. Either way... it'll burn you."
Then she stood and walked away, hips swaying.
Evelyne didn't sleep again that night.
---
The Devil in the Court
Weeks later, they returned to Velmire to find the court on fire—figuratively and nearly literally.
Lucien had returned.
Not in flesh, but in magic. Illusions, whispers, bribes. His agents slithered through the halls like vipers. And now, the nobles wanted Evelyne to "parley."
"Absolutely not," Kael growled. "That man should be stabbed, not summoned."
"Then stab him," Seraphine said sweetly, "after we use him."
Evelyne made the call. "Invite him."
Lucien arrived on the third night.
Wearing black. Smiling like death. He kissed her hand.
"My flame," he said, voice silk.
"My curse," she replied coldly.
They danced at the court feast. Her blade was sheathed but her mind was not. Every word was war. Every glance a duel.
And still, she felt the pull.
His hand on her back. His lips brushing her ear.
"You think you're fighting fate," he whispered. "But you are fate."
She should have slapped him.
Instead, she danced one more song.
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Fire Unleashed
The relic shard responded to Evelyne. Each day, her control grew. She could conjure blades from thin air, burn enemies with a thought, summon light from darkness.
But the fire had a voice now.
It spoke to her.
Burn them.
Claim him.
Rule.
She feared it. But part of her thrilled.
Kael saw the change. He trained harder. Stayed near.
"You're losing yourself," he warned.
She smiled, deadly. "I'm becoming myself."
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Madness in the North
They rode north again—this time to the Whispering Hollow, where ancient skyborn ruins rose like broken teeth. Seraphine had found clues to a second relic.
They weren't alone.
Lucien's soldiers attacked at dusk.
The battle was chaos.
Evelyne tore through them like a tempest. Kael held the line. Seraphine summoned wild magic.
Afterward, Lucien appeared on the battlefield, clapping slowly.
"Impressive."
She raised her blade. "Come closer."
"I will. In time."
He vanished.
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Cliffhanger Ending
Later that night, Evelyne stood alone by the fire. The shard pulsed in her chest.
Lucien's voice echoed in her mind.
You'll need me. In the end.
She touched the relic.
The fire inside flared.
And in her mind, she saw a future—herself on a throne of dragons, her crown made of flame, and beside her—
Lucien, smiling.
She woke screaming.
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[END OF CHAPTER SEVEN]