POV: Lyra
They came for me at midnight.
Not the Council. Not Kairo.
Rhea.
She stepped into my room like she had every right to be there, her eyes dark, unreadable.
"Put your boots on," she said.
I sat up slowly. "Why?"
"Because I'm not the one you need answers from."
She didn't explain.
She didn't ask for permission.
I followed her down winding halls I didn't recognize — passages that twisted beneath the fortress like forgotten veins. With every step, the air thickened. Magic buzzed against my skin, hot and metallic.
We descended deep beneath the war halls.
There was a door.
Iron. Sealed with three locks and a glowing rune I didn't recognize.
Rhea pressed her palm to the seal. "You only get one visit," she murmured. "And she won't give you the truth if you ask nicely."
The door groaned open.
Inside was a single chamber lit by hundreds of floating orbs — warm, golden things that hummed softly like lullabies. In the center stood a woman cloaked in shadows. Her back was to me. Long hair silver as frost. Her hands glowing over a map of old territory lines.
When she turned, my breath caught.
Her eyes were just like mine.
And for a moment, I thought I knew her.
"You've grown," she said softly, voice like fire wrapped in velvet. "I was beginning to wonder if the stone had failed."
My heart pounded. "Who are you?"
She didn't answer. She walked forward slowly, examining my face like a painting long lost.
"You carry her face," she whispered. "But not her weakness."
"Whose?"
"Your mother's."
I staggered back, spine hitting the stone wall. "You knew my mother?"
"I trained her."
I shook my head. "No. That's not possible. My mother died when I was a child—"
"She died because she tried to hide you. But not before she carved her name into your blood."
The woman reached into her cloak and pulled out a piece of parchment.
It was scorched.
But still visible.
A name in delicate, sweeping ink.
Syris Valenfire.
"She was Emberborn," the woman said. "The last of the Valenfire line. A bloodline cursed by prophecy — and hunted because of it."
My knees gave out.
I sank to the floor, hands trembling.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" She dropped the parchment. "Why else do you think the stone responded to you? Why else do you think your blood sings every time you touch fire?"
I clutched my chest. The mark on my arm burned. My bones ached with something ancient.
She knelt in front of me.
"There's more," she said. "So much more. But if you want answers—real answers—you must remember."
"I don't know how."
"You do."
Her palm reached toward my forehead.
A flicker of heat.
And then the vision exploded—
A cradle of flame.
A woman singing in a language I didn't understand.
A lullaby made of sparks.
A kiss on my forehead.
A scream.
Running.
Blood.
Steel.
"Protect her. Hide her. Bury her name if you have to—"
And then—
"Lyra, wake up."
I shot up gasping. Back in my room. Alone. No Rhea. No chamber. No woman.
Had it been a dream?
No.
The stone on my bedside table glowed bright.
And beneath my pillow—
A singed piece of parchment.
Syris Valenfire.
My mother's name.
And proof I wasn't crazy.
But that wasn't the worst part.
Because burned onto the back of the parchment… was another name.
Kairo.
And beneath it… two words scrawled in ink.
Final Key.