CHAPTER NINE - Maravelle, City of Sand and Secrets
It began with a dream.
No—a memory.
But not hers.
Eira stood in a desert, golden and endless, beneath a sky painted in fire and storm. Towers pierced the clouds like spears of obsidian. In the distance, singing—low and ancient, in a language she didn't know, yet her soul ached to remember.
A city swallowed by time.
Maravelle.
She awoke gasping, her palms hot, her throat tasting of salt and sand.
Kael was at her side instantly, dagger drawn.
"It's calling me," she breathed. "The city beneath the dunes."
---
The Journey South
They left Azareth behind.
Left its crumbled thrones and haunted stairways, the ghost-fires still burning in Eira's wake. South, through the frostbreak valley, where spring never came and the trees grew twisted in mourning. South again, through merchant roads abandoned after Elowen's rise, past villages turned to whispers, until the land grew dry.
And then—desert.
The Sea of Dune, stretching endlessly in every direction. A place untouched by rain, where the stars burned brighter just to keep the sky from breaking.
Kael had traded their last coins for desert gear: loose, white tunics that deflected heat, thick scarves for their heads, boots that kissed sand instead of sinking. He'd worn desert robes before, and his ease showed. His tan skin glowed under the sunlight, his shoulders broad beneath the weight of their packs. He moved like someone who belonged to the horizon.
Eira, by contrast, did not.
She sweltered. She stumbled.
But she never stopped.
Because the voice in her bones was getting louder.
---
First Sign of the Lost City
Three days in, the storms found them.
Not rain.
Sand.
A wall of it, hissing and howling, like the desert was made of teeth.
They buried themselves in a hollow beneath a ruined dune temple, curling into the sand, eyes and mouths covered. Kael held her tightly through the roar, shielding her body with his. Even then, Eira could hear it in the storm.
Whispers.
Dozens of them.
Chanting.
Calling.
And when she blinked—just for a moment—she saw a thousand burning eyes staring back.
The storm passed.
But the world didn't feel the same.
---
The Gates of Maravelle
The next evening, just as the sun dipped beneath the sea of dunes, they found it.
A ruin.
Half-buried, half-glorious, like the gods had tried to swallow it but choked on its pride.
Obsidian towers—some broken, some standing. Statues of flame-winged women, their eyes lined in gold. Walls made of sandglass that caught the moonlight and threw it into a thousand stars.
And at the center: a gate.
Not metal. Not stone.
But fire.
Kael stepped back.
Eira stepped forward.
The flames licked toward her—and parted.
---
Inside the City
They wandered in silence.
Maravelle wasn't dead.
It slept.
The streets were lined with scorch marks that shimmered faintly in the dark. The buildings hummed with forgotten energy. The ground beneath her feet thrummed like a second heartbeat.
Kael whispered, "It's like it's breathing."
"It is," Eira said. "It's waiting."
He frowned. "For what?"
Eira didn't answer.
Because the answer came for her.
---
The Order of the First Flame
A cloaked figure emerged from the archways—then another. Then more.
Twelve in total. Their hoods embroidered with ancient flame sigils. None carried weapons, yet power radiated from them like sunlight through storm clouds.
The tallest stepped forward and dropped her hood.
She was beautiful in the way statues were beautiful—sharp, regal, and entirely immovable. Her skin was copper, her hair jet-black, coiled into a braid so long it touched the ground. Her eyes were molten gold.
"You've returned to us," she said.
Eira blinked. "I've never been here before."
The woman smiled. "No. She has not."
Eira's heart stumbled. "Who are you?"
"We are the Daughters of the First Flame," the woman said. "And you are our heir."
---
The Truth of Blood and Betrayal
That night, Eira sat beneath the open dome of Maravelle's central hall, the stars spinning overhead. The head of the Daughters—her name was Naima—told stories in a voice like woven silk.
Of the First Flame, born from a star that fell to the earth.
Of the line of women who bore its gift—fire not as destruction, but as creation.
And of the last heir.
"Aurelia Wynter," Naima said. "Your ancestor. The brightest of us all."
Eira's eyes widened.
"My family… my mother—"
"Fled," Naima finished. "To keep you from Elowen. Because Elowen once walked among us. She was flame-born, too."
Kael, listening beside her, sat straighter. "You're saying the Queen was one of you?"
Naima nodded. "She was. Until she broke the sacred bond. Until she stole the Flame Crown and twisted it into the Ember Throne."
Eira's blood turned to fire.
And something inside her—something old and royal—sat up.
---
The Room of Echoes
Naima led her to a chamber beneath the temple—a room filled with mirrors. Each one flickered with visions. Not just of the past. But of possibilities.
Eira saw herself in battle, flames trailing from her hands.
Saw Kael wounded, blood spilling like ink across the sand.
Saw herself kissing him, fire and moonlight tangling in their hair.
Saw a throne.
Saw a funeral pyre.
And above them all, her own face—older. Wiser. Worn by war.
"Choose who you will become," Naima said softly. "But know: all paths require sacrifice."
---
That Night — On the Rooftop
Eira stood on the rooftop overlooking the city, cloaked in starlight.
Kael joined her, two cups of desert wine in hand.
"You didn't come from nowhere," he said. "You're not a mistake. Not a weapon. You're a legacy."
"I don't want to be someone else's prophecy," she murmured.
He clinked his cup against hers. "Then make your own."
A pause.
"You saw something, didn't you?" he asked.
Eira looked at him.
And in the silence, her heart gave her away.
"I saw you," she whispered. "Bleeding."
Kael didn't flinch.
Instead, he leaned in.
And pressed his forehead to hers.
"Then you better stay close."