They burned at dawn. Seris Aurelian stood barefoot on the obsidian balcony while the palace bells screamed below, their sound jagged and wrong, like metal tearing its own throat out. The air smelled of oil and iron. Smoke climbed the sky in thick, bruised spirals. She was five years old. Her hands were small. Her nightdress was thin. Her crown too heavy, too cold cut into her brow where it rested, crooked, as if even gold knew it did not belong on a child.
Below her, on the steps of Valecrown Palace, the Emperor and Empress of the Aurelian Dominion burned. Flames swallowed silk first, then skin, then screams. Someone behind her sobbed. Someone else whispered prayers. Someone else smiled. Seris did not cry. She watched as fire climbed her father's shoulders, as her mother's hair caught like dry grass, as the crowd roared not in grief, but relief. Kings died every age. Empires survived.
A hand rested gently on her shoulder.
"Do not look away," said Lord Caelum Rhydor.
His voice did not shake. It never did. He was tall, broad, wrapped in steel and shadow, his gray-streaked hair tied back in the fashion of generals who had buried too many soldiers to count.
"They want to see you break," he continued quietly. "If you do, they will eat you alive." Seris nodded once.
The flames reached the marble steps. The bells fell silent and something old, deep beneath the palace, stirred. Sixteen years later, the court still believed she had broken that day. The Empress of Ten Kingdoms sat on her throne like a ghost draped in silk. Seris Aurelian Valethrya Empress, Queen, Sovereign kept her shoulders slightly hunched, her gaze lowered, her hands folded demurely in her lap. Her gown was pale gray, unadorned, her crown thin and modest. She looked smaller than she was. Softer. Weak.
The nobles whispered.
"She looks ill."
"She always does."
"A shame the bloodline thinned so early."
"She won't survive the year." Seris listened to every word. She always did.
The throne room of Valecrown stretched long and high, its black stone pillars carved with the history of conquest and fire. Sunlight filtered through stained glass depicting emperors astride dragons images now considered myth, childish legend. The world had decided dragons were dead. Good, Seris thought. Let them sleep. Lord Caelum stood at her right, immovable as stone. His eyes tracked every shifting foot, every too-long glance, every hand that strayed near a dagger hilt.
A noble stepped forward. Duke Harrow of Thornfall smiling, perfumed, venom behind his teeth.
"Your Radiance," he said, bowing low. "Disturbing news from the western roads." Seris lifted her eyes slowly. Just enough.
"Yes?" Her voice was soft. Breath-thin.
Harrow smiled wider. "Caravans attacked. Merchants slain. Survivors claim… beasts."
A ripple moved through the court.
"Bandits?" someone scoffed.
"Wolves?" another offered.
Harrow shook his head solemnly. "They say the earth itself rose and swallowed men whole."
A lie, Seris noted calmly. Or a fragment of truth twisted into panic.
She inclined her head. "How… troubling." Her fingers tightened in her lap.
Far below the palace, in caverns carved by magic older than the empire, Bronthex shifted, irritated. Lies, rumbled a voice only she could hear. Patience, Seris answered silently. Not yet.
Lord Caelum stepped forward. "Thornfall will increase patrols. The Empress will not be burdened with rumor." Harrow bowed again, his smile tight. As he stepped back, Seris felt it the familiar prickle at the base of her skull. The hum of danger. The taste of blood on prophecy's tongue. She did not look at the balcony doors behind the throne. She didn't need to. The assassin was already there. He moved like smoke.
A shimmer in the air. A whisper of steel. Lord Caelum's sword cleared its sheath with a scream.
"DOWN!" he roared.
The blade meant for Seris' throat struck the throne instead. Sparks flying as ancient wards flared. The impact hurled the assassin backward, his form flickering, glamor collapsing. Chaos erupted. Nobles screamed. Guards surged forward. Someone fell. Someone died. Seris remained seated. Her heart did not race. Her breath did not hitch. She rose slowly, calmly, as if this were expected. As if she had seen it a thousand times before. Because she had.
The assassin scrambled to his feet, eyes wild, blood streaking his mouth. "You're not fit to rule!" he spat. "The empire needs strength!" Seris looked at him. Really looked. Then she smiled. A small thing. Almost kind.
"You're right," she said softly. The words echoed strangely, as if the air itself leaned closer.
"I'm not fit to rule." The assassin blinked.
The court leaned forward. Seris lifted one hand. The room went silent. Not quiet but silent. Sound itself bowed.
In the depths of the palace, ten ancient hearts stilled. She let just a fraction of herself slip free. The assassin's knees buckled. Blood poured from his ears. He screamed once then nothing. He collapsed, lifeless, before her feet. Gasps tore through the court. Seris let her hand fall. The silence shattered. Noise rushed back in a Panic, Prayer and Terror. She swayed on purpose.
Lord Caelum caught her instantly. "Your Radiance!"
"I'm…." she whispered, letting her voice tremble. "I'm sorry… I feel faint…".The nobles saw what they expected: a fragile empress nearly undone by violence. They did not see the truth.
Lord Caelum lifted her effortlessly. "The court is dismissed!" As they carried her from the room, Seris closed her eyes. They're getting bolder, Nyxavor murmured from the dark between breaths.
Yes, she replied. Which means it's time.
Across the eastern border, beyond Elarion's forests and into the shadowed mountains of Ravenspire, another girl stood before a throne that did not yet belong to her. Elowen Vireth Morrayne burned. Not with fire but with fury. She knelt on cold stone, hands bound in silver chain that bit into her skin, witch-marks flaring angrily beneath. Her raven hair hung loose down her back, her green eyes locked forward, unbowed.
Queen Ysvelda sat above her, draped in crimson and venom. At her side stood Prince Caian smiling, smug, already imagining the crown.
"You shame this kingdom," Ysvelda said sweetly. "Refusing marriage. Practicing forbidden magic. Defying your future king." Elowen laughed. It echoed sharp and dangerous through the hall.
"My future king?" she repeated. "You mean the man you picked to chain me to a bed so your son can steal what isn't his?" Gasps. Murmurs.
Ysvelda's smile cracked. "Careful, girl."
Elowen rose to her feet despite the chains. "Careful is how women die in this world." The torches flickered. Magic stirred.
Far away, across borders and bloodlines, Seris Aurelian opened her eyes in her darkened chamber and felt it. A pulse, A spark and A witch's fire awakening. She smiled into the shadows. Found you, she thought. And somewhere between crowns and chains, destiny took its first breath.
The curtains of Seris Aurelian's chamber were drawn tight, sealing the room in twilight though the sun still lingered outside. Valecrown Palace breathed around her stone settling, guards shifting, whispers sliding through corridors like rats. Seris sat on the edge of her bed, feet bare against the cold marble floor, her back straight now that no one was watching. The weakness fell from her like a discarded skin.
Lord Caelum knelt before her, his expression carved from iron restraint. "You used too much," he said quietly.
She tilted her head. "I used barely anything."
"You killed a man without touching him."
"He came to kill me," she replied, calm as still water. "I returned the favor."
Caelum exhaled through his nose. "The court saw terror today."
"They always do."
"But they also felt it." His gaze sharpened. "Something ancient moved. Even the wards trembled."
Seris rose and crossed the chamber to the tall mirror framed in dragonbone. She studied her reflection the pale face, the soft mouth, the faint shadow beneath her eyes. The girl they believed in. She pressed two fingers to the glass.
"I can't keep this balance forever," she said. "They grow bolder. The nobles test how far they can bleed me without consequence."
"Then stop pretending."
She met his eyes in the mirror. "Not yet." A low vibration rolled beneath the floor, subtle but unmistakable. She is restless, Selphira whispered, her voice like moonlight on water. They all are. Seris closed her eyes. Soon, she promised. But not before I know who pulls the strings.
Caelum stood. "The assassin was Thornfall-trained. Duke Harrow will deny involvement."
"Of course he will." Seris smiled faintly. "Which means he's either guilty… or a distraction."
"And the western attacks?"
"Bronthex sneezed," she said dryly. "A caravan was unlucky enough to be nearby."
Caelum almost smiled. Almost. A knock came at the door.
"Your Radiance," called a servant, voice trembling. "A raven from the eastern border." Seris' smile vanished.
The message was sealed in black wax marked with Ravenspire's sigil a crowned raven with spread wings. Seris broke the seal slowly. She read once. Then again. Her pulse quickened not with fear, but recognition. Witch unrest. Heir refuses marriage. Queen Ysvelda demands imperial intervention to 'restore order' in Ravenspire.
Caelum read over her shoulder. "They want you to send troops."
"They want leverage," Seris corrected. "And a reason to measure me."
She folded the parchment carefully. "Prepare the council. At dawn."
"And you?" Seris turned toward the balcony doors, where night pressed eagerly against the glass.
"I want to see the witch who laughs at queens."
In Ravenspire, laughter had consequences. Elowen's back struck stone hard enough to steal her breath. The silver chains yanked her arms above her head, locking her in place against the dungeon wall. The torches burned low, their light flickering across damp stone and old blood.
Queen Ysvelda's footsteps echoed closer.
"You always had too much of your mother in you," she said mildly.
Elowen spat blood onto the floor. "And you always hated her for it."
Ysvelda crouched before her, perfectly composed. "Your mother knew her place."
"My mother was burned for refusing to kneel."
"Yes." Ysvelda smiled. "As witches should be."
Pain flared white-hot as Ysvelda's ring pressed against Elowen's throat, magic crackling cruel and sharp. Elowen hissed but did not scream.
"That throne," Ysvelda whispered, "will never hold a woman again." Elowen's eyes glowed faintly green.
"You can't kill me," she said hoarsely. "The covens would tear Ravenspire apart."
"I don't need to kill you." Ysvelda stood. "Just break you."
She turned to leave. "Tomorrow, you'll announce your engagement." Silence fell heavy. Then Elowen laughed. Low. Wild. Dangerous.
"You think I won't burn this kingdom to ash before I let a man own me?" Ysvelda paused.
For just a heartbeat, something like unease flickered across her face. That night, Elowen dreamed of fire. Not the wild witchfire she commanded but a deeper flame, ancient and vast. She stood on a blackened plain beneath a sky split by gold light. Ten shadows circled her, enormous and watching. And at the center, A girl with silver-black hair and eyes like a storm held still.
"You're late," the girl said. Elowen woke screaming. Magic ripped free. The dungeon torches exploded. The chains shattered like glass.
Guards outside the cell cried out as stone cracked and sigils burned themselves into the walls. Elowen stumbled forward, breath ragged, power roaring through her veins like a storm unleashed. Run, whispered a voice she did not recognize. She ran. Far away, in Valecrown, Seris jolted awake. Her chamber glowed faintly gold. The dragons were awake now fully.
A witch has broken her cage, Virexa purred. How delicious. Seris sat up, heart hammering. That was you, she thought. I felt you. She swung her legs over the bed, eyes blazing in the dark.
"Caelum," she called.
He was there instantly. "What is it?"
"The game just changed." She smiled sharp, dangerous and real.
"And so do I."
Ravenspire woke to screaming stone. Elowen ran barefoot through corridors older than memory, her breath tearing at her chest, her pulse screaming louder than the alarms now ringing through the fortress. Witchfire licked her skin green and gold, volatile, furious. It left scorched footprints where she stepped, stone cracking beneath her weight. Guards poured from side halls.
"STOP HER!!!!" Elowen turned, raised her hand , The air bent. Not exploded, Not shattered but Bent.
The guards were flung sideways as if the world had decided they no longer belonged in it. Bodies struck walls. Bones broke. Someone screamed her name not in command, but fear. She didn't look back. She burst through the eastern gates just as iron chains slammed down behind her, sealing the keep. Arrows hissed through the night. One grazed her arm. Blood bloomed, hot and real.
Good, she thought wildly. I'm alive. The mountains swallowed her whole. By dawn, Ravenspire was in chaos. Queen Ysvelda stood before the war council, fingers clenched around the arm of her throne hard enough for the gold to creak.
"She escaped," reported a captain, pale and shaking. "She-she shattered silver binding. Burned through sigils centuries old." Murmurs exploded.
"That's impossible."
"She shouldn't be that strong."
Prince Caian smiled thinly. "Or perhaps she's been hiding it." Ysvelda's gaze snapped to him.
For a moment, something ugly passed between them fear masquerading as control.
"Seal the borders," Ysvelda ordered coldly. "Send word to the Aurelian Empress. If she wants peace, she will return my stepdaughter in chains." She paused.
"And issue the decree. Elowen Morrayne is declared a traitor to Ravenspire." Valecrown received the news by noon.
Seris stood at the tall windows of the council chamber, hands clasped behind her back, the city unfolding beneath her markets alive, banners fluttering, people laughing in ignorance.
"How many?" she asked quietly.
Caelum read from the scroll. "Three guards injured. Two dead. Structural damage to the eastern wing. Ravenspire is calling it an act of terror."
Seris hummed softly. "They always do." The council erupted.
"She must be captured!"
"This could mean war!"
"We cannot shelter a witch!" Seris turned slowly. The room fell silent. She let her shoulders slump. Let her breath hitch just enough.
"I… I don't understand," she murmured. "Why does Ravenspire think I can control their internal conflicts?" A masterful performance. Even Caelum felt the shift.
"Your Radiance," said an elderly lord cautiously, "they demand cooperation. If you refuse…."
"They'll accuse me of harboring a criminal," Seris finished gently. "And use it as justification to move troops east." She walked back to the throne and sat.
"I will send envoys," she said. "Peaceful ones."
"And the witch?" someone pressed.
Seris' eyes flickered briefly gold.
"We will find her," she said. "For her own safety." The council exhaled. They believed her.
That night, Seris descended. The path beneath Valecrown was not marked on any map. Stone spiraled downward, etched with sigils erased from history. The air grew warmer. Heavier. Lord Caelum stopped at the threshold.
"You don't need to go yourself," he said.
"I do," Seris replied. She stepped into the cavern.
Ten massive shapes stirred in the half-light scales glinting, eyes opening, power humming like the breath before a storm..A witch has fled her fate, Aethyrix said, voice smooth and commanding. Why does she matter?
Seris lifted her chin. "Because Ravenspire will burn the east to get her back." Let them, Pyralis snarled eagerly.
"No," Seris said softly. "Not yet." She placed her hand against the cavern wall.
"I want her found." The dragons stilled. Nyxavor's voice slid through her bones. She is walking toward you already....Seris' breath caught. Elowen collapsed at the edge of the Blackwood Expanse just before dawn.
Her legs gave out. Her magic flickered dangerously low. The forest loomed before her ancient, whispering, alive with things that watched without eyes. She pressed her forehead into the dirt and laughed weakly.
"So this is exile," she murmured. The wind shifted. Footsteps approached silent, measured. Elowen rolled onto her back, summoning the last of her power, fire trembling at her fingertips. A shadow fell across her.
"Easy," said a calm voice. Female. Young. Unfamiliar. Elowen's eyes snapped open.
The girl before her wore no crown. No armor. Just dark riding clothes and a cloak clasped in silver. Her silver-black hair was braided simply down her back. Her gaze steel-gray and unsettlingly calm studied Elowen like a chessboard.
"You look terrible," the girl added mildly.
Elowen snarled. "Come closer and I'll burn you." The girl smiled. Not cruel, Not mocking but Interested.
"You could try," she said. "But you won't." Elowen pushed herself upright, magic flaring and abruptly vanished. One blink she was standing.
The next, she was on her knees, breath knocked from her lungs, pressure holding her gently but absolutely in place. Elowen stared up, stunned. The girl crouched in front of her, close enough that Elowen could see the faint gold flecks in her eyes.
"My name is Seris," she said quietly. "And Ravenspire is looking for you."
Elowen's laugh came out breathless. "Of course they are."
Seris tilted her head. "You can come with me willingly…" She leaned closer, voice dropping to something dangerous and intimate.
"…or you can keep pretending you're not already caught." Their gazes locked. The forest held its breath. Somewhere far above, thunder rolled without clouds.
The forest did not move. Leaves stilled. Insects fell silent. Even the wind seemed to hesitate, as though the world itself had leaned in to listen. Elowen's chest rose and fell fast beneath the invisible pressure pinning her to the ground. It wasn't pain worse than that. Control. Precise, effortless, absolute. Her magic strained against it, witchfire crackling uselessly along her veins.
"Let me go," Elowen said through clenched teeth. Seris did not move. Up close, she was not as fragile as Elowen had expected. There was something unnerving about her stillness, the way her presence pressed inward rather than outward, like gravity pretending to be air.
"No," Seris replied simply. "Not yet." Elowen laughed, sharp and breathless. "You catch witches for Ravenspire now?"
Seris' eyes flickered not with offense, but calculation. "If I did, you'd already be in chains." She rose smoothly to her feet, the pressure easing just enough for Elowen to breathe properly again but not enough to escape. It was deliberate. Measured.
"I'm not here for Ysvelda," Seris continued. "I'm here for you."
Elowen's smile faded. "Then you're a fool."
"Possibly," Seris said. "But I'm a curious one." She turned, gesturing toward the deeper forest where shadows twisted between ancient trunks. "Come with me."
Elowen stayed where she was. "And if I refuse?" Seris looked back over her shoulder.
"Then Ravenspire's hunters will find you by nightfall," she said calmly. "They brought bloodhounds. And silver. And men who enjoy hurting girls who don't kneel." Silence stretched tight between them. Elowen's fingers curled into the dirt. Rage burned hot but beneath it, colder things stirred. Logic. Survival.
"You talk like you know them well," Elowen said.
"I do," Seris answered. "I've been surrounded by people like them since I was five." That landed harder than any threat. Elowen pushed herself upright slowly. The pressure vanished entirely.
"You're lying," Elowen said. "You're too young to play this game." Seris stepped closer.
"So are you." They stood barely a breath apart now. Elowen could smell rain on Seris' cloak, metal beneath silk, something older like ash that had learned patience.
"You don't even know who I am," Elowen said.
Seris' lips curved, just slightly. "Elowen Vireth Morrayne. Firstborn. Witch-blooded. Disowned in all but name. Wanted alive. Preferably broken." Elowen stiffened.
"You've been watching me."
"Yes."
"For how long?" Seris met her gaze without flinching. "Long enough."
The forest shuddered. A horn sounded in the distance low, echoing, unmistakable. Ravenspire.
Elowen swore. "They're closer than they should be."
Seris' jaw tightened. "They're moving faster." Another horn. Nearer.
Elowen looked back at Seris, fire flaring instinctively in her eyes. "If this is a trap…."
"It's not," Seris said sharply. The ground trembled.
From between the trees, shadows began to shift figures moving too quietly for ordinary men.
Elowen's heart slammed. "They brought trackers." Seris exhaled once.
"Then we're out of time." She grabbed Elowen's wrist. The contact sent a shock through both of them.
Magic reacted violently witchfire flaring green, something deeper answering in gold. The air warped. The trees groaned. Elowen gasped as images flashed behind her eyes mountains, fire, wings blotting out the sky.
"What are you?" Elowen whispered.
Seris did not answer. She pulled Elowen closer, voice low and urgent. "Listen to me. Right now, you have two choices." Another horn right behind them now. Seris' grip tightened.
"You trust me," she said, eyes burning, "or you die here." Elowen searched her face really searched it. Saw the weight behind the calm. The scars beneath the silence. The truth hiding in plain sight.
"You swear," Elowen said, breath shaking, "you won't hand me over?" Seris did not hesitate.
"On my crown," she said. The words carried power. Ancient. Binding. Elowen swallowed.
"Fine," she said. "I trust you."
The moment the words left her mouth . The forest exploded with light. A roar tore through the earth, so vast it crushed sound itself. Trees bent. Hunters screamed. Shadows scattered like frightened animals. Elowen clutched Seris as the ground fell away beneath them.
"What did you do?" Elowen shouted. Seris held her steady, eyes blazing gold now, her calm finally cracking into something fierce and terrifying.
"I stopped pretending," she said. Above them, the sky split. Something enormous moved within the clouds. And the world learned too late that dragons had never truly slept.