The estate was too quiet.
Not the gentle, comforting kind of quiet—but the kind that hums with tension, like the pause before a scream. Servants moved more softly than usual. Candles burned out faster. And under the velvet ceilings of Lord Frankfurt Pierce's grand home, the air itself felt heavy, as if holding its breath.
Aaron didn't sleep that night.
He sat alone in the library, surrounded by a dozen open books, none of which he had read. The rune on his palm pulsed—softly at first, then stronger, like it was reaching for something. Or someone.
He clenched his fist.
"He's inside me," he muttered. "And he's waking up."
---
The Scroll of Binding
Footsteps broke the stillness.
Frankfurt entered the room, a scroll in his hand. The parchment was bound with black wax, its surface aged and fragile.
"You're ready to see this now," he said, placing the scroll on the desk in front of Aaron.
Aaron remained silent, watching.
"You were not born cursed," Frankfurt continued. "You were made cursed."
Slowly, Aaron reached out and unrolled the scroll.
Ancient symbols flickered on the page, written in ink that shifted between fire and shadow. There were diagrams—one of a boy crowned in flame, another bare-headed. At the center: a rune identical to the one on Aaron's palm… only fractured.
"This is… me?" he asked.
"No," Frankfurt said. "That's him. The First Flame. He was never meant to survive."
Aaron's eyes dropped to the name below the drawing. It had been burned out—scorched until unreadable.
"So I'm not him," he whispered.
Frankfurt's voice was grim. "You are the seal that keeps him from returning. But the seal is failing."
---
Aaron stood abruptly, his voice rising.
"Then what am I supposed to do? Kill him? He's me!"
Frankfurt's expression was still, but fire glinted in his eyes.
"He is not you," he said. "He is everything the world feared you would become."
Aaron began pacing, his thoughts racing. "And if he breaks free?"
Frankfurt hesitated, then spoke with finality.
"The throne will burn. The kingdoms will fall. And the cursed prince… will no longer be a myth."
---
Later that night, Aaron returned to the broken mirror.
He stood before the largest shard, watching it.
This time, it watched him back.
His reflection smiled—a cruel, knowing twist of the lips.
"You're too late," the reflection whispered. "You've already started becoming me."
Aaron stepped closer, fists tight.
"Then tell me who you are."
"I'm the crown you refused," the voice replied. "The part of you that didn't kneel."
Then—silence.
Aaron stared at his reflection. His eyes were still blue, but at the edges, faint flickers of orange licked through the irises.
He didn't flinch. He didn't look away.
He leaned in, and whispered:
"Then I'll burn before I let you rule."