Elira didn't sleep that night.
She holed up in the attic of an abandoned spice merchant's shop, the crown wrapped in cloth and shoved beneath a loose floorboard. But even hidden, it called to her—whispers curling through the air like smoke, tugging at her thoughts.
By dawn, her wrist burned.
She peeled back her sleeve and gasped. A mark had bloomed on her skin overnight—fiery orange, shaped like a flame encased in a circle. It pulsed faintly, in rhythm with the crown's glow.
The man from the alley—Kael—found her before she could bolt.
"You're marked now," he said, stepping through the broken doorway like he'd been invited. "The Ember Crown doesn't choose lightly. It's bonded to your soul."
Elira backed away. "I didn't ask for this."
Kael's gaze softened. "No one does. But the crown sees what we don't. It chooses those who can survive the fire."
He tossed her a satchel. Inside: dried meat, a map, and a dagger etched with runes.
"You'll need these," he said. "The Order won't protect you. Not anymore. They'll hunt you."
Elira stared at the map. It showed a path through the Ashlands—a cursed region no one dared enter. At the center was a single word: Solmira.
"What's there?" she asked.
Kael's voice dropped to a whisper. "The truth. And maybe… a way to break the bond."