Chapter Five: The Burning Letter
Nyra sat by the low fire just beyond the temple's gate, the Emberblade resting across her knees. She hadn't spoken since the trial. Kael kept watch from the edge of the ruins, but even he gave her space. She could still feel it—flame curling beneath her skin, not hot, but ever-present. Like breath. Like a pulse.
She wasn't the same girl who fled Marn Hollow.
That girl had only known heat from a forge. This one carried fire in her blood.
She reached into her cloak and retrieved the scroll her mother had left. Its edges had begun to blacken—not from wear, but from something deeper. Magic. It was aging fast, as though time had been suspended and was suddenly catching up.
As she unfolded the parchment, new writing bled through the paper in glowing red ink—lines that hadn't been there before.
If you've passed the trial, then the seal upon this letter is broken. What I tell you now must never leave your hands, not even to the Cinder Guard.
Nyra's breath caught.
The Regent who sits upon Emberhold's throne—he is not what he seems. When the last war burned through our lands, he struck a bargain in the shadows. A pact with the Grave Flame—the same power that consumed the Hollow Queen. It gives him strength… but it is feeding on our kingdom's life.
Kael stepped closer. "What does it say?"
She turned it toward him. "The Regent made a pact with death."
His eyes narrowed. "That explains the corruption spreading through the capital. The way magic's been unraveling in the east."
Nyra continued reading.
I hid the Emberblade to keep it from him. But there is another secret—buried beneath Emberhold, chained in the old catacombs. A creature of flame and ruin. A guardian from the Phoenix Age. It sleeps now, but if you reach it, and awaken it… the fire will rise again.
Beneath the text was a drawn sigil—an ouroboros of fire, wrapped around a curled beast with wings like smoke.
"A dragon," Nyra whispered. "She bound a dragon beneath the capital."
Kael stepped back, stunned. "The last one was believed slain two hundred years ago."
"She lied to protect it," Nyra said. "Because it's bound to our bloodline. And if I awaken it—"
Kael nodded grimly. "You'll have a weapon powerful enough to challenge the Regent's reign."
Nyra folded the scroll, heart racing. "Then we have to get to Emberhold."
"Not yet," Kael said. "We don't walk into the lion's den with only a sword and a secret. We need allies."
They left the temple behind the next morning, the stone doors sealing silently behind them as if they'd never been opened. The mist in Wildroot had receded, but the forest remained unnervingly quiet.
Kael led them west, toward the ruins of Old Valmere, where whispers claimed rebels still hid among the broken towers.
As they moved, Nyra's grip on the Emberblade grew more confident. Its weight was perfect. It responded to her thoughts, shifting flame across the edge when she was angry—or afraid.
"How long did you know?" she asked Kael as they crossed a stone bridge over a long-dry stream.
"That you were the heir? From the beginning."
"No," she said. "That I'd be ready."
He was quiet for a moment. "I didn't."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I watched you grow," he said softly. "You were reckless. Stubborn. Too bold for your own good. You picked fights with merchants twice your size and tried to melt your shoes off just to see if it could be done."
Nyra chuckled. "You saw that?"
"I saw everything. And despite all of it… you never once gave up. Not when your mother died. Not when your father vanished for days on rebel missions. You kept forging. You kept learning. You kept trying."
Nyra was silent for a long time.
"You're still not ready," he added. "But you're no longer alone."
She looked at him. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"Not really," he said, smirking.
That night, as they neared the cliffs of Valmere, a faint horn blew in the distance.
Kael froze. "That's a shadow signal. The Regent's patrols are close."
They ducked into an old watchtower crumbled by age. Nyra peered through the cracks and saw torchlight weaving through the distant forest.
Kael handed her a silver ring. "Put this on."
She frowned. "What does it do?"
"Hides the mark on your palm. Temporarily."
She slipped it on—and the faint glow of her birthmark vanished.
Then came a voice from below the tower.
"Step out!" a soldier called. "This area is under Curfew Order Seventeen. Anyone harboring a fugitive of the crown will be executed!"
Kael leaned toward her. "Let me handle this. If anything happens, run west. Find the rebel camp at Hollowspire."
He stepped out onto the crumbled steps.
Nyra pressed against the wall, peeking through the stone slits.
Three soldiers stood in the clearing. One wore the red crest of the Flame Legion—the Regent's personal guard.
Kael raised his hands. "Just a traveler passing through."
The officer stepped forward. "Mask off."
Kael didn't move.
The soldier's eyes narrowed. "I said mask—"
But he never finished the command.
In one fluid motion, Kael spun, drew his blade, and slashed through the officer's throat. The other two moved to attack—but Kael was faster. A blur of metal and fury.
Within seconds, they were down.
Nyra stepped out of the tower slowly.
"Remind me never to play cards with you," she muttered.
He wiped his blade clean. "You said that once. When you were eleven."
She blinked. "You were there?"
"In the tavern, yes. You cheated."
"I was learning," she said with a small smile.
Kael turned serious. "Now you're learning again. Except this time, if you lose, it's not coins you drop—it's lives."
She looked out toward the dark horizon.
Toward Emberhold.
Toward the truth waiting beneath the throne.
"I'm not losing," she said. "Not this time."