Chapter 3 – The Shadow Prince
By Victor Simdrix
The cloaked stranger's capture sent ripples through Emberfall like cracks in glass. By nightfall, the villagers crowded the square, eager for a glimpse of the intruder who had dared trespass during the sacred festival. The guards chained him to the old stone pillar near the well, where torchlight flickered across his pale, scarred face. His lips twisted into an eerie smile, even as people hurled curses and rotten fruit at him.
But Nyra stood apart, her heart thudding with a strange dread. The Ember within her stirred violently, warning her in a way words never could.
The stranger's eyes found hers.
And for a heartbeat, she swore she heard his voice—not aloud, but inside her mind. "Daughter of flame. The Wraith hungers for you."
Nyra staggered back, gasping, but the crowd's jeers drowned her out. Only one person noticed her distress.
Prince Kaelith.
He touched her arm lightly. "You felt it, didn't you?" His voice was low, urgent, carrying none of the easy charm he'd shown earlier.
Nyra hesitated. No one ever believed her when she spoke of the Ember's whispers. Yet something in Kaelith's eyes—an honesty, a fire that matched her own—compelled her to nod.
"Yes," she whispered. "It was like… it spoke to me."
Kaelith's jaw tightened. "Then it is as I feared. This is no ordinary thief. He is a servant of the Ash Wraith."
Nyra's blood ran cold. The Wraith was a nightmare told to frighten children—a spirit of endless fire and shadow, sealed away centuries ago by the Flamebearers. Yet the fear in Kaelith's tone was real, far from the dismissive scoffs of bedtime stories.
Before she could question him further, the High Elder raised his staff, silencing the crowd. His robes swayed as he stepped forward, eyes gleaming with a strange light.
"People of Emberfall!" His voice boomed. "Behold the proof of our fears. The Ash Wraith's servants have come among us. And who brought them here, if not the cursed girl whose fire burns out of control?"
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Dozens of eyes swung toward Nyra.
Her throat tightened. "That's not true—"
But the High Elder's words cut sharper than any blade. "Last night, the festival pyre nearly consumed us because of her. Now a creature of shadow slinks into our midst. These are not accidents. This is fate. The girl is marked."
The villagers roared in agreement. Someone shouted, "Exile her!" Another cried, "Before she burns us all!"
Nyra's chest heaved, the Ember flaring hotter than ever. Sparks danced at her fingertips, and the crowd recoiled. She wanted to scream, to deny them, to beg them to see she was more than a curse. But her fire betrayed her. Every flicker of flame only deepened their fear.
"Run," Kaelith whispered, stepping close. His hand brushed hers, warm and steady. "If you stay, they'll tear you apart before the council passes judgment."
Nyra's eyes filled with tears. "Run? To where?"
Kaelith's gaze burned, fierce and determined. "To me. To Stormspire. I will protect you."
Before she could respond, the chained stranger laughed—a low, rasping sound that sent shivers across the square. "The flame cannot be caged," he croaked. "She will burn kingdoms. She will burn you all."
The villagers shrieked, pelting him with stones. Yet his laughter carried above the chaos, a promise of destruction.
And in that moment, Nyra knew two things with absolute certainty:
1. The Ash Wraith was not a story.
2. The High Elder would never stop until she was either controlled… or destroyed.
As the bells of Emberfall tolled midnight, Nyra stood at the edge of choice, her fire trembling in her veins.
And beside her, the Shadow Prince offered his hand.