Chapter: The Other Flame

Pain came first.

A sharp, searing sensation spread through Airam's chest, as if her veins had been laced with molten fire. She gasped, coughing, and realized she was no longer in the underground chamber. No longer in the castle. No longer anywhere she recognized.

She was lying on a smooth obsidian floor beneath a sky that wasn't a sky—swirling red clouds hung low, thunder groaning behind them. Great jagged black towers jutted out of the earth in the distance, and everything pulsed with a faint reddish hue, as if the world itself breathed with the fire.

Airam pushed herself to her knees.

The floating crystals were gone.

The molten figure—gone.

But something else remained.

A presence.

Standing at the edge of the jagged platform was a boy—no, not a boy, something older, ancient, but with the form of someone not much older than her. He had raven-dark hair, pale skin veined with flickering embers, and eyes like twin solar eclipses—rings of gold around infinite black. He didn't look surprised to see her.

"You came through the gate," he said quietly.

Airam rose to her feet, body trembling. "Where am I?"

He tilted his head. "Between flame and shadow. A resting place for the unwanted. Or the exiled."

"You're the heir," she whispered.

He smiled—but there was no joy in it. "I was. Until your line stole the flame."

"You mean the throne?"

"No," he said softly, "the flame. The true power. The soul of our people. Your ancestors took it, locked me away, and raised your kind to believe that power belonged to you."

Airam shook her head. "That's not true. I didn't even want any of this!"

He took a slow step toward her, the ground beneath his feet crackling. "Yet here you are, carrying my birthright in your veins. You burn... beautifully."

She braced herself, fingers twitching. "What do you want from me?"

He stopped just a breath away from her. "I want to offer you a choice."

"A choice?"

"Merge with me," he said. "Together, we bring back what was lost. We restore the balance. I take the throne, and you... you become something more than a puppet queen."

Airam stared at him. "And if I say no?"

The sky rumbled above them.

"Then I rip the flame from you piece by piece and leave your world to burn in my wake."

There it was. The threat. The truth behind the charm in his voice.

She squared her shoulders. "You think I'd just give in to you? After everything I've seen—after everything you've done?"

"I haven't done anything," he said, eyes glinting. "Not yet. But the longer the flame stays with someone unworthy, the more unstable it becomes."

Airam stepped back, shaking her head. "You want power, not balance."

The boy's expression darkened. "So be it."

He raised his hand, and fire leapt from his palm—dark fire, fire that whispered and screamed as it flew through the air.

Airam threw up her arms.

And then—something inside her ignited.

A blinding golden-white flame burst outward, shielding her, blasting the dark fire away. The heat was unbearable. The energy overwhelming. But she didn't feel afraid.

Not anymore.

She stood taller now. Eyes burning gold. The air humming around her like a storm ready to break.

"You're not the only one who carries fire," she said, voice steady.

The boy's face twisted—not with anger, but awe.

"You've awakened it," he whispered.

Airam didn't know what he meant, but she didn't wait to ask.

She thrust her hand forward. The flames roared, and the world trembled.

---

Meanwhile…

Back in the real world, Liam sat upright in bed, his breath caught in his throat. His mark—given by the queen's seal—was burning on his wrist.

He threw off the covers, grabbed his sword, and burst into the corridor where Lara was already rushing toward him.

"You felt it too?" she asked.

"She's in trouble," Liam said.

"She told you not to follow—"

"I never listen well," he snapped, and stormed toward the stables.

---

Back in the in-between realm…

The battle between light and shadow had already scarred the land.

Airam stood over a cracked ridge, panting, golden energy flickering at her fingertips. The boy—still standing, but wounded—smiled through bloodied lips.

"Interesting," he said. "You may yet be worthy."

Then a sudden gust of wind swept the plain.

And a third presence stepped onto the broken stone.

Tall. Cloaked in white and gold. A mask made of bone covered their face. They radiated silence—not peace, but the kind that came before a storm or a death.

Both Airam and the dark heir turned to face the new arrival.

The figure raised a staff, and the world paused.

A voice rang in their minds—not male or female. Just... ancient.

"The flame has been awakened. The war begins."

Then the figure vanished in a flurry of white petals.

The dark heir looked at Airam, eyes wide.

"You don't understand," he whispered. "They were never supposed to return."

"Who—" she started, but he was already gone—vanished into smoke.

And Airam was alone once more, on the edge of a world cracking beneath her feet.

The obsidian beneath her began to crumble.

And she fell.

Straight into the abyss.

---