Crown of Cinders
Chapter One: The Raid on Marn Hollow
Smoke rolled over the hills like a living thing—thick, black, and choking. Nyra felt it before she saw it: the sting in her eyes, the ash in her lungs, the dull roar that cracked across the sky like thunder.
Then came the screaming.
She dropped the hammer she'd been using at the forge, the sound clanging hollow and sharp against the stones. Her father, Kalven, burst through the workshop door with a face painted in soot and blood. His voice came fast and urgent.
"Nyra—get inside. Now!"
Her heart seized. "What's happening?"
"They've come," he growled. "The Regent's men. They're torching the villages."
"But why? We pay our taxes—" she started.
Kalven grabbed her by the shoulders. "It's not about coin. They're hunting anyone with the mark."
Nyra froze. Her hand instinctively went to her palm, where a faint, birthmark-shaped spiral often tingled near fire. Her father had always told her it was nothing—just a quirk of birth.
He had lied.
"Go out the back. Take the river path. Don't stop for anything."
"What about you?" Her voice cracked like glass.
"I'll hold them off. I've got iron and fire. Now run."
She hesitated only a heartbeat before she turned and fled.
The village she had known her whole life—its soft hills, its amber fields, its crooked stone walls—was vanishing into flame. Thatched roofs crumbled, the scent of burning wheat filled the air, and figures on horseback rode through the smoke like wraiths.
She ducked behind the crumbled wall of the baker's house. Flames licked the wooden beams beside her, but she didn't stop. She ran until her legs burned, until the smoke gave way to cleaner air, and the sound of river water whispered through the trees.
She dropped to her knees by the bank, her breath shallow and frantic. The mark on her palm throbbed like it had a pulse of its own.
"Get up," a voice said.
She spun, nearly slipping into the river. A man stood behind her, his face covered by a black iron mask that obscured everything but his eyes—steel-gray and steady.
He wore no crest or armor, only a cloak dark as coal and a blade strapped to his back.
"Who are you?" she asked, backing away.
"A friend," he replied. "Your father sent me to protect you."
Nyra's eyes widened. "He—he knew this would happen?"
"He knew they'd come for you eventually."
A boom cracked through the air. From the ridge behind them, Marn Hollow burned like a pyre. She couldn't speak. Couldn't cry. Couldn't think.
The man stepped closer. "We have to keep moving."
She looked back one last time. "Is he…?"
"There's no time," he said.
And she knew. Her father was gone.
The tears didn't fall until they were deep in the woods, and even then, she let them fall silently, so the trees wouldn't hear.
They traveled for two days without stopping, through rain and shadow and fog. The masked man moved like a ghost, silent and quick, always listening to the wind and watching the dark. He didn't offer his name, and she didn't ask again. Not yet.
They stopped finally at a cliffside cave, half-hidden by hanging vines and moss. Inside, a fire waited, already lit.
She frowned. "How did you—?"
"I have allies," he said simply.
Nyra sat, wrapping her arms around herself. "Why would the Regent want me dead?"
The man knelt beside the fire, feeding it carefully. "Because you're not just a blacksmith's daughter."
She laughed bitterly. "I don't even know what that means."
"You will." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a leather-wrapped bundle. Inside was a scroll, old and cracked, sealed with wax bearing a symbol she had never seen before: a phoenix rising from a crown of flames.
He handed it to her. "Your mother left this for you. Kalven was supposed to give it to you when the time came."
Nyra's hands trembled as she broke the seal. The parchment felt warm against her fingers.
*To my daughter Nyra, born of fire and crown—
If you are reading this, the kingdom has fallen into shadow. The Ember Throne was not just a seat—it was a bond to the Flamebound Line, and to the Phoenix Flame.
You are the last of our blood, the last spark of the true line. If the Regent finds you, he will drain your power to forge his false empire. But if you awaken the Phoenix within… you can burn the darkness away.
Seek the Temple of Cindralis.
Trust the masked knight.
And above all—do not fear the fire.*
The scroll dropped from her fingers. Her chest was tight, breath catching in her throat.
"I don't understand," she whispered. "Flamebound? Phoenix? Why would my father keep this from me?"
"Because it was dangerous," the knight said. "And because he loved you more than life."
She looked at the mark on her palm. It was glowing faintly now, pulsing like a heartbeat made of embers.
"What am I?" she asked.
The knight looked at her, eyes unreadable behind his mask.
"You're the last ember of a dying flame," he said. "And the world is about to burn."