Prince Kael of Vulmir slept as he lived: surrounded by smoldering intensity and the quiet threat of eruption.
His bedchamber was not a place of soft repose, but a grotto carved from the living rock of a dormant volcano. The walls, striated with veins of obsidian and raw, pulsating magma, glowed with a constant, amber light. There was no fireplace; instead, a fissure in the far wall, protected by a runed grate, vented geothermal heat that made the air shimmer. The floor was polished black basalt, so smooth it reflected the slow dance of embers that drifted from the ceiling like lazy fireflies. His bed was a massive slab of dark stone, heaped with furs from fire-resistant beasts, their hides the color of charcoal and burnt umber. The air tasted of sulfur, stone-dust, and power.
Kael was sprawled amidst the furs, one arm thrown over his face, his dark red hair a vivid stain against the grey pelts. In his dreams, he was soaring on Ignathar's back, the world a map of flame and shadow beneath him, utterly free.
Thump. Thump. THUMP.
The sound was an obtrusive, mundane hammer against the grandeur of his dreams. He groaned, rolling over and burying his head under a pillow of wyvern leather.
"Go. Away," he growled, his voice gravelly with sleep.
The door, a massive slab of bronze-etched obsidian, swung open with a low grind. A guard clad in armor of blackened steel and red enamel stood at attention, his helm fashioned to resemble a dragon's snarling maw.
"Your Highness," the guard intoned, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. "My apologies. You have… visitors."
Kael didn't move from beneath his pillow. "If it's another trade delegate from Terravale complaining about the smell of our forges, tell them to take their stone-baked bread and shove it—"
"It is not, Your Highness," the guard interrupted, a rare note of uncertainty in his voice. "It is Prince Thalor of Aqualis."
That got Kael's attention. He lifted the pillow, one amber eye cracking open. "Thalor? Here?" A slow grin spread across his face. "Did he bring a swimming pool? The air's going to dry his gills out."
"And…" the guard hesitated, clearly out of his depth. "He is accompanied by… the other one."
Kael sat up fully, the furs pooling around his waist. "What 'other one'?"
"The… the one from the wanted posters, Your Highness. The Ice Fox."
Kael's grin widened into something sharp and delighted. He swung his legs out of bed, bare feet slapping against the warm stone. "Now this is a morning worth waking up for. Where are they?"
"The Sun-and-Steam Pavilion, sire. I… I did not know if we should arrest the fugitive…"
"And deprive me of the entertainment? Don't be dull." Kael stood, stretching like a great cat. "Bring them something to drink. Something that isn't water. And for the love of Ignathar, try not to stare. The Ice Fox is notoriously shy."
The Sun-and-Steam Pavilion was an open-air structure perched on a cliff edge, overlooking the vast, smoldering caldera that housed the Vulmir capital. Hot springs bubbled up through artfully arranged rocks, filling the air with warm, mineral-scented mist. It was a place of negotiation, where the heat of Vulmir met the open sky.
Kael found them there. Thalor stood by the railing, looking elegantly out of place in his blue and silver robes, his gaze on the rivers of magma far below. And beside him, looking like a stray cat that had wandered into a dragon's den, was Ryn.
The infamous Ice Fox was trying very hard to look nonchalant, but Kael could see the tension in his shoulders. His usual mask was in place, but his eyes darted around, taking in the armored guards, the oppressive heat, the sheer, violent power of the landscape.
"Well, well," Kael announced, striding into the pavilion. He'd thrown on a loose, crimson tunic and black trousers, his feet still bare. "Look what the magma tide washed in. The ocean's favorite pacifist and the continent's most wanted snowball. To what do I owe the distinct honor of my palace becoming a haven for criminals and traitors?"
Thalor turned, a faint, long-suffering smile on his lips. "Your charm is, as ever, overwhelming, Kael."
Ryn gave a weak wave. "Hey. So, your kingdom is… warm. Very, very warm. I think my boots are melting."
"It builds character," Kael said, dropping into a stone chair that groaned under his weight. He gestured to a jug of dark, spiced wine. "Drink. You look like you're about to faint, and I'd rather not have a puddle of meltwater on my floor." He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with amusement. "So, Fox. Last I saw you, you were playing lovestruck fugitive with a Lumarian princess. Now you're here, smelling of panic and pine needles. Did you get bored of her?"
Ryn's posture straightened defensively. "It's a long story. The short version is I left before my presence got her and her entire family executed. And now I need to… relocate."
"Relocate," Kael repeated, pouring himself a generous goblet of wine. "How quaint. And you came to me? I'm touched, really. But I'm not in the business of refugee resettlement."
"We need passage, Kael," Thalor interjected, his calm voice a counterpoint to the simmering heat. "Safe, discreet passage to the northern empire. To Cryalis."
Kael paused, his goblet halfway to his lips. He set it down with a soft clink. "Cryalis," he said, the word a puff of steam in the cool morning air. "The Ice Empire. The one place on this continent where your little friend here might not spontaneously combust, and the one place most likely to hand him over to my dear brother Caelum for a pat on the head. You'll forgive me if I don't see the appeal."
"I have my reasons," Ryn said, his voice low. "The spirit… the one inside me… it's pulling me there. I think there's something in Cryalis I need to find."
"Fascinating," Kael drawled, leaning back and feigning a yawn. "A magical quest. How original. My answer is no. Caelum has his eyes everywhere. Smuggling the most wanted man in Artheria through the heart of the continent, to the doorstep of an empire that owes its current misery to Solvane, is not a 'discreet' operation. It's a suicide mission. And while I enjoy chaos, I prefer the kind I survive."
He picked up his goblet again, signaling the end of the discussion.
Thalor and Ryn exchanged a look. It was a look that spoke of a prior agreement, a plan B. Thalor's lips quirked in a tiny, almost imperceptible smile.
"A shame," Thalor said lightly, turning his gaze back to the smoldering vista. "I had heard that Princess Seraphyne Valenore has recently emerged from her seclusion."
Kael froze. The goblet stopped, perfectly still, a hair's breadth from his lips.
Thalor continued, his tone conversational. "The Seventh Dawn, they call her now. The bearer of the Light Spirit. They say she holds court in the Crystal Spire again. That she's… radiant."
Ryn, picking up on the cue, chimed in with forced casualness. "Oh, Seraphyne? The one with the silver hair and eyes like… what did you say they were like, Thalor? 'Frozen starlight'? Yeah, her. Heard she's single. And probably not a fan of your brother, which is a plus in my book."
Kael slowly, deliberately, placed his goblet back on the stone table. The amber liquid sloshed dangerously. He fixed Thalor with a stare that could melt steel. "You're playing a dangerous game, water-breather."
Thalor met his gaze, unflinching. "I am merely sharing courtly gossip. The decision to travel north, of course, is entirely yours."
A silence stretched between them, thick and heavy as the volcanic air. Kael's mind raced. Seraphyne. The name was a ghost he hadn't allowed himself to chase since the Spirits fractured. The princess who was supposed to bear the Ice Dragon, until it chose Caelum. The woman who had been given a spirit that had never existed before. He had met her only once, years ago, at a summit. She had been quiet, fierce, and her eyes had held a sorrow that mirrored the emptiness he sometimes felt when Ignathar's fire burned low.
And Ryn, the walking anomaly, was being drawn to her kingdom by a force even the dragons didn't understand. It wasn't just a simple smuggling job anymore. It was a convergence. And Kael had never been able to resist the pull of a gathering storm.
He let out a long, slow breath, a plume of smoke curling from his nostrils—a trick he'd perfected as a boy. He stood up, the casual lethargy gone, replaced by a coiled, predatory energy.
"Fine," he said, the word a low rumble.
Ryn blinked. "Fine? Just like that?"
"No, not 'just like that'," Kael snapped, striding over to them. "We do this my way. We leave at nightfall. We take the Scoria, my personal skiff. It's fast, it's armed, and it flies low to avoid Caelum's sky-watchers." He jabbed a finger at Ryn. "You stay below deck, you don't use your ice magic unless we're about to die, and you do exactly as I say. If we get caught, I'm telling Caelum you hypnotized me with frost magic and I am blameless in this entire, idiotic endeavor."
Ryn held up his hands. "Deal. No frosty hypnosis. Got it."
Kael turned his glare to Thalor. "And you. You're paying for fuel. Magma crystals aren't cheap."
Thalor bowed his head, the picture of serene agreement. "A small price for such noble companionship."
Kael grunted, turning on his heel and marching back towards the palace, already barking orders about pre-flight checks and supplies. As he walked, a grin—one of genuine, reckless anticipation—spread across his face.
He was going to see Seraphyne. And he was going to help a wanted man sneak into her kingdom, potentially destabilizing the delicate political balance of the entire continent.
It was, he decided, going to be one hell of a trip.