Chapter 15 – The Crimson Accord

The wind sang through the valley as Seren descended from the Dravari peaks, golden flame curling around her fingertips, Ashryx soaring high above. The silver dragon's wings shimmered in the pale dawn like a living comet.

Kael and Nyara walked silently behind her, each grappling with their own unease. It wasn't fear of the dragons — they had seen the worst that beasts and monsters could offer. No, their fear now centered on something else.

What Seren was becoming.

She wasn't the hunted girl from the gallows anymore. She wasn't even the firebrand who'd defied a vampire king or stared down a dragon elder.

She was rising.

And it showed in her eyes.

---

They rode for three days through the lowlands, moving east toward the Veilscar border — the edge of the old human kingdom, now a no man's land scorched by war. There, the remnants of humanity's army were gathering under a single banner: the Crimson Accord.

It was no kingdom. It was a resistance — a desperate coalition of soldiers, rebels, and old blood nobles who'd survived the vampire uprisings.

And Seren needed them.

But convincing them wouldn't be easy.

---

On the fourth day, they reached the outskirts of Emberhollow — the Accord's temporary camp.

Tents stretched over scorched fields, patched together from stolen silk, worn leather, and shredded banners of dead kings. Children trained with rusted swords. Fire pits burned all day and night. It was not a kingdom.

It was a warning.

"Do we walk in like diplomats?" Nyara asked, eyeing the guards near the gate.

"No," Seren said. "We walk in like fire."

She raised her hand.

Golden flame blossomed from her palm.

And the guards stepped aside.

---

They were taken to the war tent where the leaders of the Crimson Accord stood over a map of broken lands. Five of them — each bearing scars of old battles and worse memories.

But only one of them truly mattered now.

General Ronan Vael.

Seren had heard stories — a man who once set his own castle on fire rather than surrender it to vampires. A man who never bowed, never begged.

And he was looking at her like she was a threat.

"You expect us to trust a girl who walks with dragons and glows like a damn torch?"

"I don't expect your trust," Seren replied. "I expect your help."

The tent fell silent.

Nyara shifted uncomfortably, hand near her dagger.

Kael stood tall beside her, calm but alert.

Ronan leaned forward. "You're the one they whisper about. The Flameborn. The Thornblood heir. You think because a few dragons follow you, we'll kneel?"

"No," Seren said. "I want you to stand."

Ronan's eyes narrowed.

So she continued.

"There's a storm coming — worse than you've ever seen. The vampire courts are stirring. The ancient ones — Vireon was only the beginning. Aru'vethra walks again."

Someone gasped.

Even Ronan's jaw twitched.

"You're lying."

"I wish I were."

Seren stepped forward and drew her blade — not to threaten, but to reveal. Golden flame ran along the steel.

Then she unfastened the clasp at her throat and exposed her collarbone.

There, glowing faintly, were the four keys — embedded into her skin like runes of power.

Fire. Ice. Blood. Ash.

"I carry the truth," she said. "And I carry a crown I never asked for."

"But you intend to wear it," Ronan growled.

She didn't blink.

"Yes."

"And why should I follow you?"

Seren looked him in the eye.

"Because if you don't, your children will die screaming in a vampire's cage."

Silence.

Then, slowly… Ronan smiled.

It was bitter, broken, and full of hate — but it was a smile.

"You have teeth, girl. Good. You'll need them."

---

That night, the Accord held a gathering.

Not a feast — they had no luxury for that.

But warriors from every bloodline came to see her: the girl with fire in her veins, the one who had dragons and darkness dancing at her heels.

They called her many names — some in awe, some in fear.

But one began to rise above the rest.

"The Thornbearer."

Seren sat by the fire as Ashryx landed behind her, his silver scales glowing softly. Children ran to touch him, laughing. He let them.

Kael sat beside her, quiet.

"You did it," he murmured.

"No," she said. "I've only just begun."

He looked at her then — really looked.

"You're not the same."

Seren smiled sadly. "Would you love me more if I were?"

He hesitated.

"I don't know."

She looked down.

"I don't know either."

---

Later that night, Nyara returned from scouting.

Her face was grim.

"What is it?" Seren asked.

"The Accord had spies in the capital," Nyara said. "Two days ago, they were executed. Publicly. The vampires sent a message."

She pulled a blood-stained scroll from her cloak.

Kael read it aloud.

> "The crown belongs to the old blood. Any who follow the pretender shall burn. The Thornbearer will bleed."

Seren stared at the fire.

"Then let them come."

---

That night, she dreamed.

She stood in a field of thorns. The sky bled. Ash fell like snow. A shadow approached — tall, cloaked, wearing a crown of black crystal and bone.

Aru'vethra.

But he said nothing.

Just raised a single finger and touched her chest.

Flame exploded in every direction — not gold, but black.

She screamed.

And awoke gasping, Kael at her side.

"You're shaking," he whispered.

"I saw him again."

"Was it a dream?"

Seren looked into the darkness beyond the tent.

"No. It was a warning."

---

At sunrise, the Accord began to move.

Seren rode at the front, golden flames flickering along her hands, Ashryx flying overhead like a banner of silver vengeance.

The war had not begun.

But the pieces were in place.

The Thornbearer had chosen her path.

And it led straight into the jaws of ancient power.

But she would not run.

She would rise.