The throne room of the Spine was not meant for mortals.
Kaelen felt it the moment the doors opened—the crushing weight of power, like the air itself bowed before the woman seated on the obsidian dais. Queen Seraphina, Eternal Sovereign of the Fae, looked nothing like the frail, whispered rumors Lyra had spoken of. Draped in silver and midnight, her crown of living flame curled upward like a halo, and her eyes… her eyes were galaxies, ancient and endless.
And yet, Kaelen saw it. The faint tremor in her hand when she lifted her goblet. The shallow breath that betrayed effort. She was weakening, but she wore her majesty like armor.
"Bring him forward," she commanded, her voice smooth as smoke but edged with steel.
The guards shoved Kaelen to his knees. He bristled, resisting the urge to ignite—the fire inside him stirred angrily, but Lyra's glance from across the hall kept him grounded. She stood apart, her posture rigid, lips pressed tight, as if she herself was under trial.
Kaelen met the Queen's gaze. He refused to bow.
"You are bolder than most," Seraphina mused, tilting her head. "Even the fae tremble before me. But you…" Her smile was a slow curl, sharp and knowing. "You carry the fire of worlds in your chest, and yet you kneel as though you are merely flesh."
Kaelen forced a smirk. "Didn't exactly have a choice. Your guys shoved me."
A ripple of amusement spread through the court. Seraphina's eyes narrowed, though her lips twitched. "Sarcasm. A mortal shield against fear. But tell me, human—do you not wonder why you were brought here? Why your soul was plucked from your realm and set alight with fire not your own?"
He swallowed hard. "I've been wondering since day one. Care to explain?"
The Queen rose from her throne, and even weakened, her presence was overwhelming. She descended the steps slowly, each footfall ringing like a bell of doom. The courtiers held their breath.
"The prophecy is not a warning, Kaelen," she said, circling him like a predator might circle prey. "It is an opportunity. The fae lines have fractured. Old bargains crumble. Shadows spread. But fire…" She stopped before him, her fingers brushing the air just inches from his chest. The heat in him surged wildly, aching to leap toward her touch. "Fire remakes. Fire destroys—and creates anew. You are that fire."
Kaelen clenched his jaw. "And what happens when fire burns everything? Your cousin Tharos seems pretty convinced I'll destroy your realm."
A faint flicker of irritation passed her face at the name. "Tharos mistakes prophecy for doom because he craves it. He would rather see this realm fall to darkness than bend to my reign. But you—" Her eyes locked with his, searing. "You are the blade that can cut away the shadow, or cut us all down. The choice will be yours."
The fire inside Kaelen roared, pressing against his ribs, his throat, begging to be unleashed. He forced himself to breathe. "You talk like this is all planned. Like I'm just some piece on your board."
Her smile was sharp. "You are more than a piece, Kaelen. You are the board itself. Without you, the game ends."
---
Lyra finally broke her silence. "Mother, stop this."
The Queen turned slowly, her expression unreadable. "You doubt me, daughter?"
Lyra's voice shook with restraint. "You brought him here. You struck the bargain that binds him. Tell him the truth—tell him what price you paid to summon fire into flesh."
A hush fell.
The Queen's eyes darkened. "You speak out of turn."
But Lyra pressed on, voice rising. "You offered something to the Shadowborn, didn't you? That's why your strength wanes. You traded power for him."
Gasps rippled through the court. Kaelen's stomach tightened. The words of Tharos echoed in his mind—She made a bargain.
The Queen's mask cracked, just for an instant. Weariness etched into her immortal face, the kind that no crown could hide. She looked at Kaelen again, softer now, almost… human.
"Yes," she whispered. "A thousand years of my life, bound in shadow, so that you might be pulled across the veil. So that the flame would rise again."
Kaelen's breath caught. "You… gave up your own power… for me?"
"Not for you," Seraphina said firmly, the steel returning to her voice. "For the realm. For all fae. You are the weapon we needed, whether you wished it or not."
He stared at her, rage and confusion warring inside him. "So I didn't just stumble here. I wasn't chosen by fate. You ripped me out of my world. You made me this."
Silence.
The fire blazed in him, threatening to break loose. Lyra moved instinctively, stepping between him and her mother, her hand on his chest. "Kaelen, breathe. Don't let it take you."
The Queen watched, unflinching. "If he cannot master the fire, he is unworthy of it."
Kaelen's vision blurred with heat. Flames licked along his arms, curling across the floor. The guards shifted nervously, hands on their weapons.
And then, with a roar, Kaelen slammed his sword into the ground. The flames burst outward in a shockwave, rattling the throne room, sending tapestries aflame. Courtiers screamed and scattered.
When the smoke cleared, Kaelen stood panting, his blade buried in cracked obsidian, his chest heaving. He glared up at the Queen.
"I'm not your weapon," he growled. "And I'm not your savior either. If you want me to burn your enemies, fine—but don't pretend you didn't break me to get here."
Seraphina's expression flickered again—something like pride, something like sorrow. She straightened her crown.
"Then perhaps," she said quietly, "you will decide sooner than I thought."
As Kaelen stormed from the hall, Lyra hurried after him. Behind them, the Queen remained seated, her hand trembling again around her goblet. Shadows pooled at the edges of the dais, stretching, watching.
And deep within Kaelen's chest, the prophecy's words coiled tighter than ever:
One shall bind. One shall fall. And with his choice, decide it all.