Mamir's journey had truly begun. With the map of Elandur in his hands and Kabur, the white steed, by his side, he rode north—toward the Elven Kingdom. The road ahead was filled with perils, but his heart burned with the legacy of his mother.
Yet within the halls of Harland's palace, another fire had begun to stir.
Among the cold stones of the throne chambers, intrigues were taking shape; betrayal was spreading its wings in silence.
Harlax stood by the great window of his chamber. Below, the city sprawled—children running in the market, merchants shouting, soldiers patrolling. But that sight only reopened an old wound in his heart.
For in his mind, the same memory always returned.
---
Flashback – The Day of Black Flames
It had been one of the kingdom's brightest days. Every Friday in the marketplace, a tradition was upheld: Seiren and Feiren, Harland's twin angels, would slip away from the palace to hand out food to the poor and toys to the children. The sisters, admired for their beauty and kindness, were beloved by all.
That day was no different. Seiren carried a basket full of bread; Feiren bore small wooden toys. At first, the crowd smiled warmly when they appeared. Mothers wept with gratitude, children laughed as they snatched up the gifts.
Little Mamir clung to Seiren's dress. Harlax, who usually stayed behind to play with his younger brother, had followed them in secret this time.
"I need to protect them," he had thought, slipping quietly into the crowd.
For Harlax, that day became a turning point. Until then, he had been a protective and selfless brother—lifting Mamir onto his shoulders, laughing with his sisters, bound to them all by love.
But fate changed in the heart of the marketplace.
At first, the crowd's joy was genuine. But then, from among the people, a ragged beggar stepped forward, his cracked voice ringing out:
— "Do not be fooled by them! While we starve, they feast on golden plates in the palace!"
The crowd fell silent. Eyes hardened.
Another man shouted:
— "Wars erupt because of them! Our sons die on the frontlines while they grow in safety!"
A third raised his fist:
— "We pay the taxes they squander! Our children starve while their halls glitter with light!"
The words spread like sparks through dry grass. Anger ignited in every face.
Seiren stepped forward, tears filling her eyes.
— "We are not here to harm you! My sisters and I love our people—we pray for you every day!"
But her words only fueled the flames. A woman spat and shouted:
— "If you love us, then suffer as we do! Let's see how much you truly care!"
A stone flew through the air, striking Seiren's shoulder. Then another. And another. Soon the sky itself seemed to rain stones. Feiren shielded her sister with her body; Harlax wrapped his arms around little Mamir to protect him. Cries of rage drowned out the children's screams.
Bloodied and broken, Seiren rose one last time. Her breath was shallow, her face battered, but her eyes still glowed with mercy. Her trembling voice whispered:
— "Mamir… protect them…"
Harlax's eyes widened. Why had she spoken to Mamir, not him? But Seiren had seen the fire of vengeance already burning within his heart. She had chosen not to place that burden on him.
The final stone struck her head. Seiren collapsed. Harland's angel was gone.
The marketplace fell silent. The people, horrified by what they had done, froze.
And then, the beggar raised his head. His eyes were black, his lips curled into a dreadful smile.
— "The task is done, my lord…"
The sky darkened. Black flames erupted, devouring the air itself. It was as if hell had descended. People tried to flee, but the fire clung to their flesh, their screams ripping the heavens. Stones melted. Houses collapsed.
The beggar burned as well, yet his grin did not fade. His final word rasped through the inferno:
— "Ostomas…"
In less than a minute, everything was gone. Hundreds of souls reduced to ash. Silence swallowed the square.
Only three children remained: Harlax, Feiren, and little Mamir.
But Seiren's lifeless body lay amid the charred stones.
And then—the last flicker of black flame coiled around her. Her body shimmered like light, then vanished. No ashes. No trace. As if she had never existed at all.
Harlax fell to his knees. Tears streamed from his eyes, but only hatred carved itself into his heart.
Feiren screamed. Mamir stared, frozen, at the empty ground where his sister had once been.
From that day on, Harland's fate was forever altered.
---
Now
At the window, Harlax bit his lip as he watched the city. The flames of that day still burned within him. Every face in the crowd below was a reminder of Seiren's death.
And Mamir—the boy who had been chosen by Seiren—now walked the land as the "good prince" loved by the people.
Hatred twisted inside Harlax.
And then, in the center of his chamber, black fire blossomed. From its heart, a voice whispered, low and venomous:
— "My grandson…"
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