Elara moved like a shadow through the palace, guided not by duty but by instinct. Her fingers still tingled from touching the carved symbols in the underground shrine. The word Flamebearer echoed in her mind like a drumbeat: not just a name, but a lineage that had been erased… or buried.
She found herself wandering toward the east garden not the royal courtyards where nobles took tea, but the one behind the servants' quarters, wilder and overgrown. Vines tangled around broken stone benches, and ancient trees leaned as if listening.
She didn't know why she was drawn here, only that she was.
At the far edge of the garden stood an old willow, its branches heavy with rain and silence. And beneath it, a half-cracked stone slab peeked through the moss.
She knelt, brushing dirt away, revealing a faint symbol etched into the surface.
The same symbol that had pulsed under the shrine.
A voice startled her.
"You shouldn't be out here alone."
M. stepped from the shadows, his usual calm replaced with a tight wariness.
"You followed me?" she asked, standing.
"You disappeared from your room. Again. The guards are looking in the kitchens." He paused, eyes flicking to the stone.
"What is this place?"
Elara shook her head slowly. "I don't know. But I think… it remembers me."
He didn't laugh. Instead, he crouched beside her, running his fingers over the same symbol.
"I've seen this before," he muttered. "In a rebel ledger. Mark of the Flamebearers. They weren't just a forgotten bloodline. They were hunted. Purged."
Elara felt the chill creep up her spine.
"They were killed for what they carried," M. added. "Not just power. Hope."
They sat in silence for a beat. Above them, the wind stirred the branches, and Elara could almost hear the whispers again like her mother's voice, soft but firm.
Not all fires burn to destroy. Some warm. Some lead.
M. stood. "You need to be careful. The Empress isn't sleeping well these days. The stone choosing you wasn't part of her plan."
"She'll come for me?" Elara asked.
"She already is. But not with daggers. With smiles."
That afternoon, the Empress summoned her.
Elara expected coldness, interrogation but instead, she was greeted with rose-scented air, warm pastries, and a velvet-lined room drenched in luxury.
The Empress was alone. No guards. No council.
Just her and Elara.
"You've been quiet lately," she said, sipping tea. "Studying? Wandering?"
"I find the palace… large," Elara replied carefully.
The Empress smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You're special, Elara. The stone saw it. And we see it now too."
Elara said nothing.
"Which is why I want you to stay close. Protected. Loved. We'll move you to the west wing. Better quarters. Silk robes. Private tutors. Anything you need."
It sounded like kindness. It felt like a cage.
"And in return?" Elara asked softly.
The Empress set her cup down, tone shifting. "Loyalty. A girl with power can burn down an empire. Or light the path forward. Which one will you be?"
Elara met her gaze. "The one who remembers."
That night, Elara stood by her new balcony, overlooking the city lights beyond the palace walls. People whispered of her now. Nobles watched. Servants bowed lower. Children left flowers at the gates.
The pampering had begun but not all of it was affection.
Some of it was fear.
And yet, for the first time, Elara didn't feel alone.
She felt ready.
Because fire could be feared, yes. But it could also be followed.
And she would make sure her fire did both.