The Silver Flame

The girl stood barefoot in the snow, her silver hair whipping in the wind.

Around her, a ring of blackened trees smoldered — though no fire touched the air.

She opened her eyes.

They glowed — not golden like Elara's, but the pale silver of a dying star.

A man stepped forward from the shadows, cloaked in thorns and frost.

"She has the second shard," he said. "And she travels with the last Seer."

The girl tilted her head. "Then they're ahead."

He nodded. "But not beyond reach."

She stepped toward him, every movement sharp and deliberate. "Is the last temple still locked?"

"Yes. The Flame Gate sleeps under the ice. It will open only for the rightful heir."

Her lips curved slightly. "Then let's see which of us the flame remembers."

He hesitated. "What if she isn't your enemy?"

The girl's smile vanished.

"She carries Isolde's legacy," she said. "She was born under light. I was born in ashes. I grew with nothing but the hunger left behind."

She looked down at her hands, where faint silver fire flickered between her fingers.

"She walks with protectors, a name, a cause. But me?" She lifted her chin. "I am the fire that was denied. The one they buried."

The man bowed his head. "Then what shall we call you, my lady?"

Her voice rang clear as crystal and sharp as flame.

"Aelira. Daughter of the forgotten. Flameborn of ruin."

She turned away from the charred grove. The wind curled around her like a beast answering its master.

"Tell your shadows to ready the path," she said. "I want to look her in the eyes when I take everything back."

---

Meanwhile, deep in a forest beyond the Temple of Ash…

Elara paused as her flame pulsed erratically in her chest.

Kael looked at her. "What is it?"

She didn't know how to say it, not yet.

But her fire — her very soul — was reacting to something.

Something familiar.

Something opposite.

"She's awake," Elara whispered.

Kael stepped closer. "Who?"

Elara's hand clenched around the shard at her neck.

"My shadow."