The sun bled across the jagged peaks around Ember Court, streaking the sky in molten gold and smoldering red. Serenya Veyra stood on the balcony, her palms braced against cold stone, amber eyes fixed on the last shard of daylight before the night devoured it.
The wind tugged at her hair, carrying whispers from the court below. She could almost hear them, even here fear, awe, disgust. Dark strands whipped across her face, and with them, the fiery streaks that betrayed her. Embers threaded through her hair like sparks desperate to catch.
The mark of the Emberborn.
Her stomach twisted. She hated it not the fire itself, but what it meant. What they feared she would become. What she feared, too.
She tightened her grip on the railing until her knuckles throbbed. Power stirred beneath her skin, a restless thrum she could never fully silence. It pulsed like a second heartbeat, insistent, dangerous. This morning she'd seen it again her reflection blazing in the polished training hall floor, her silhouette outlined in flame. A girl set alight from within, moments from burning everything she touched.
A voice broke through the silence. Low. Steady. Familiar.
"You're staring at the sky again."
Serenya's spine stiffened. She turned, already knowing who she would find.
Kael Draven, crown prince of Ember Court, leaned in the doorway as if the palace itself bowed around him. His storm-gray eyes, unreadable as ever, tracked her every breath. Black hair framed a face that was all sharp lines and quiet authority. Too sure of himself. Too steady, when everything inside her was not.
She forced a brittle laugh, the sound catching on her tongue. "I wasn't staring."
He stepped closer, boots striking stone in a rhythm that made the quiet balcony feel suddenly too small. "Amber skies," he murmured, not to her but to himself. "And you, still brooding."
Heat prickled her skin. He always saw too much. "It's nothing."
"Nothing," he repeated, humor edging his voice though his gaze sharpened. "Nothing that could melt stone, scorch forests, or reduce this palace to ash?"
Her breath faltered. Gods, he made it sound like a jest. As if every day didn't feel like standing on a precipice, waiting for the fire to win.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said, softer now. "The Hollow doesn't sleep."
Her chest tightened. The Hollow. The whisper in her dreams. The shadow at the edge of her vision. She swallowed hard, lifting her chin. "I know."
His gaze locked with hers unyielding, steady. He had a way of looking at her like she was both puzzle and weapon, like if he stared long enough he could hold her together by will alone.
"One day, you'll have to master it," Kael said. "Or it will master you."
Her fists clenched at her sides. She had tried. Gods, she had tried. Every time she thought she'd contained it, the fire surged, hungry, wild.
"Come to the training hall," he said suddenly. "Tonight. With me. You need more than practice. You need guidance."
The word stuck in her throat, fighting its way free. Her instinct screamed to refuse to lock it all away, to pretend the fire wasn't inside her at all. But another voice whispered softer, deeper. A voice that had carried her through the sidelong glances, the whispers in the halls.
Say yes.
"Yes," she breathed. The word tasted like ash and hope.
The training hall was alive with the smell of smoke and iron. Torches cast a golden glow over polished stone, their light catching on the runes etched into the floor. They pulsed faintly, like sleeping embers.
Kael stood in the center, waiting. His stance was deceptively casual, but she knew better. He weighed everything the tremor in her hands, the way she hesitated at the threshold.
Serenya's steps slowed as she crossed the room. Her chest tightened when his gaze lingered too long. She hated it. Hated that she wanted his approval more than she wanted air.
"Stand there." His voice carried no hesitation. He pointed to the circle of runes carved into the floor. "Breathe. Focus."
Her heart hammered as she stepped inside. The runes warmed beneath her boots.
She inhaled. Exhaled. The fire stirred, restless. She let it rise slowly, carefully like coaxing a wild creature into her hand. Heat unfurled in her veins, searing but familiar. A flicker of light sparked at her fingertips.
The room warmed.
Her chest tightened. Too much, too fast
"Steady," Kael's voice cut in. Low. Grounding. "Good. Hold it. Don't fight guide."
The words sank into her like anchors. She exhaled, loosening her grip on fear. The flame steadied, growing into a ribbon of molten light that curled around her hands. It danced, weightless, obedient.
Her throat closed on a gasp. For once, it wasn't trying to consume her. For once, it obeyed.
Kael's lips parted, surprise flickering across his face before he masked it. "Impressive."
Her heart stuttered. "So… good enough?"
"For now." He stepped closer. His presence pressed against her like gravity, like heat itself. Sparks skittered along her skin where his nearness brushed too close. His voice dropped lower. "But skill won't save you. Trust will. In yourself. In others."
It wasn't advice. It was a challenge. A promise.
The air thickened between them, charged with something unspoken, as if the fire in her blood recognized something in him. Something it wanted.
The torchlight dimmed. A shadow swept across the high window.
Both of them turned.
A creature landed on the balcony rail, feathers shimmering ember-red and gold. Its eyes glowed, fierce and ancient. The heat in Serenya's chest surged, snapping into something sharp. A bond. Irrevocable. The Emberborn had chosen.
Kael moved beside her, his hand brushing hers as they reached at the same time. Sparks leapt, her flame curling harmlessly around his skin. His touch seared straight to her bones.
"You're not alone in this," he murmured.
Her breath trembled, but her voice was steady when she answered. "No. And I don't want to be."
Outside, the last light died and night claimed the peaks. Inside, fire and power pulsed between them bright, dangerous, undeniable.
And from the far corner of the shadows, unseen, the Hollow whispered. Watching. Waiting.