(Lián Xinyue POV)
The air outside the Crimson Palace burns like the breath of a dragon.
I stand in line with the others, girls draped in silks of red and gold, faces powdered pale, hands trembling despite the elegance drilled into us. The courtiers call it the Choosing of the Tribute, but everyone knows what it really is.
A sacrifice.
Every decade, the Flame Court demands one "Emberborn" to renew the bond between mortal and flame. No one ever returns.
My name shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here.
But when the priest read the list aloud, the syllables fell like an execution bell:
"Lián Xinyue, daughter of the late General Lian Feng."
The murmurs that followed burned more than the heat itself.
"Her?"
"The cursed child?"
"The one whose mother's fire devoured half the capital?"
I kept my head bowed, though every whisper sliced through me. My hands shook only once, when I met the eyes of the prince on the dais.
Ren Kaien.
He stood beside the Flame Throne, dressed in ceremonial crimson, his posture perfect, his expression unreadable. Everyone said he was born of fire itself, molded by the gods to lead the court. I believed it the first time I saw him. But now, under his gaze, I felt less like a girl and more like kindling.
The High Seer's staff struck the marble. "Bring forth the Tribute."
I walked. Each step echoed in the silence. The heat pressed closer, thick and alive, curling around me like unseen smoke.
"Do you understand what it means to bear the Ember Mark?" the Seer asked.
"I do," I said, though my throat ached. "It means to burn."
A ripple of laughter passed through the nobles, cruel and sharp. The Seer's eyes, veiled and ancient, glowed faintly. "Then let the flames judge your worth."
The circle at the center of the court flared open, molten gold carving symbols into the marble. The air shimmered with heat. I swallowed hard as the priests began to chant.
Kaien's gaze didn't leave me.
I knelt, pressing my palm against the runes. Fire answered. It crawled up my arm like a serpent, bright and hungry. My vision blurred. I bit back a cry as the pain turned to something else, weightless, pulsing, alive. My heartbeat merged with the rhythm of the flames.
And then… it stopped hurting.
The fire didn't consume me. It wrapped around me.
When I opened my eyes, the court was silent.
Golden embers drifted from my skin like dust from a dying star. My hair glowed faintly, the ends catching the light. I should have been ash. Instead, I stood, whole, unburned, breathing.
Whispers broke through the quiet.
"Impossible."
"She lives—"
"An Emberborn reborn…"
Ren Kaien took one step forward. His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes did, something sharp and searching, as if he'd just seen a ghost.
The Seer bowed low. "The flames have chosen. The Ember Crown recognizes Lián Xinyue."
Chosen.
Not dead.
Not cursed.
Chosen.
But all I could think was, why me?
Hours later, the hall was empty. I stood alone before the molten reflection of the throne room, my body still tingling with the memory of fire. My reflection flickered in the polished obsidian floor. For a heartbeat, I saw flames in my eyes.
I blinked, and they were gone.
"You shouldn't linger." The voice came from behind me, low and smooth.
I turned. Ren Kaien leaned casually against one of the obsidian pillars, arms crossed, eyes sharp as flint. "Most tributes spend their first night praying," he said. "You, apparently, prefer staring into your reflection."
My heart kicked once, too hard. "I didn't ask to be chosen."
"No one does," he said simply. Then, after a pause: "But you survived the Trial Flame. That makes you dangerous."
"Dangerous," I echoed softly. "Is that what the court will call me now?"
"They already have," he said. The faintest smile touched his lips. "But I think they're afraid. And fear is… useful."
I frowned. "You sound like someone who's used it often."
His gaze held mine, too direct, too calm. "Fear teaches people where the power lies."
"And where does it lie now, Your Highness?" I asked before I could stop myself.
The smile faded. For a moment, his eyes looked like banked coals, dark, smoldering, alive. "With the one who lived through fire."
The air between us crackled. The scent of ember and smoke filled the space, something ancient stirring just beneath my skin. I looked away first, because if I didn't, I wasn't sure I'd remember to breathe.
He pushed off the pillar, walking past me toward the great doors. "Be ready tomorrow," he said over his shoulder. "If you're to survive the Crimson Palace, you'll need control. And I don't train cowards."
I stared after him, my pulse still unsteady. "I'm not afraid," I whispered.
But the truth was, I was. Not of him. Not even of the fire.
Of myself.
That night, I dreamed of flames.
Not gentle warmth, but wildfire, racing across mountains, devouring forests, splitting sky and earth alike. And in the center of it all, a figure stood with eyes of molten gold, whispering my name.
Xinyue… the Hollow stirs…
I woke with my heart pounding, my palms burning faintly against the silk sheets. When I lifted them, a faint trail of smoke rose from my fingertips.
The fire was awake again.
I didn't know if it belonged to me or if I belonged to it.