The Second Herald

Chapter Eighteen: The Second Herald

They followed the fire.

Not the golden, life-giving kind.

Not the warm hearths of home.

But something ancient—flame that flickered violet and blue, dancing in patterns no wind should shape.

It led them to the Scorchlands.

Once the center of a powerful volcanic trade route, the region had been abandoned after the Hollow Queen's purge. Entire rivers turned to ash, villages melted into slag. Nothing should have survived there.

But something had.

And it was calling Nyra.

They crossed obsidian flats beneath a blood-orange sky. Lava once flowed here in veins wide as rivers, but now only silence remained—crackled ground, brittle trees turned to cinder sculptures.

Kael pulled his cloak higher against the sulfur wind. "Feels like the world forgot this place."

Nyra shook her head. "No. The world remembers. It just doesn't want to come back."

Estra, scouting ahead, called out, "Footprints!"

Everyone froze.

Tarek stepped closer, studying the faint impressions in the soot.

"Human. Barefoot. At least a dozen different paths… all leading to the same place."

He pointed.

A hill of scorched bone, blackened at the base and still steaming.

At its summit stood a single stone arch.

And a woman beneath it.

She was barefoot, robed in red silk untouched by dust, her silver hair billowing around her like smoke. In one hand she held a long, black staff etched with violet fire runes. Her face was hidden by a half-mask of glass.

But Nyra already knew.

The second herald.

The Crown Below's chosen.

The woman spoke without moving her lips.

"Child of both flame and shadow. You are expected."

Nyra approached slowly, her palm burning beneath the gauntlet. "Who are you?"

"I am Selira. Keeper of the Second Flame. Voice of the Molten Veil."

Kael whispered, "What the hell is a molten veil?"

"What lies between fire and ash," Selira replied, turning her glassy face toward him. "A veil the world forgot to lift."

Estra stepped forward, blade drawn. "What do you want?"

Selira extended her free hand toward Nyra.

"To give her freedom."

Nyra didn't move. "You think I'm in chains?"

Selira's lips finally parted.

And she smiled.

"You are fire wrapped in rules. In duty. In guilt. You call it strength—but it's just a prettier prison."

The ground trembled.

From beneath the hill, cracks split open—and flame surged upward. But not red. Not gold.

Violet.

It poured like water down the slope, carving trenches into the earth, swirling around Selira but never touching her.

Behind her, shadows flickered.

Figures appeared.

Not monsters. Not corpses.

People.

They stood barefoot, eyes glowing dimly violet. Men, women, children—even elders. All marked with fire runes on their foreheads.

Estra gasped. "They're alive."

Tarek shook his head. "No. They're… in between."

Selira turned to them.

"I did not enslave them. I freed them. From fear. From time. From flame that consumes without asking why."

She looked at Nyra.

"And you can join them."

Nyra stepped forward, anger rising. "You serve the same thing the Hollow Queen did. The Crown Below. You just wear prettier lies."

Selira's smile never faded.

"Perhaps. But tell me—how long before your kingdom betrays you? How long before those you saved forget what you bled for?"

Nyra faltered.

Kael stepped beside her. "That's enough."

Selira's staff slammed into the ground.

The fire answered.

A wave of violet flame swept outward.

Kael raised his shield, Estra shouted a warding spell, and Tarek braced himself—but none of them were the target.

The fire only touched Nyra.

And it didn't burn.

It whispered.

We could have saved your mother.

We could have kept your throne.

You don't need to fight alone.

Nyra staggered, eyes wide. Her blade shook in her grip. The mark on her arm spread further, now reaching her shoulder.

Selira stepped forward, her voice like wind in a furnace.

"Let go, Nyra. You don't have to carry the world. You don't have to be its flame."

Nyra dropped to one knee, vision blurring, the fire inside her pulling in two directions.

Kael rushed to her, dropping beside her, gripping her shoulders. "Look at me!"

Her eyes flickered between gold and violet.

"Nyra!" he shouted. "You said fire doesn't rule you. Prove it!"

She gasped.

The Emberblade lit like a sun bursting through fog.

A shockwave of red-gold light exploded from her chest, slamming into Selira and sending the flame-carved villagers scattering.

The ground cracked.

The arch shattered.

And Selira screamed.

Not in pain.

But in rage.

"You could have ruled beside me."

Nyra stood, blood on her lip, eyes blazing.

"I'd rather burn than kneel."

She swung the Emberblade.

And fire met fire.

The battle that followed didn't feel like war.

It felt like truth.

Selira's staff unleashed bolts of violet fire that warped the air, but the Emberblade cut them open. Kael and Estra held back the corrupted villagers—fighting to subdue, not kill—while Tarek hurled firebombs enchanted with daylight.

But Selira was more than human.

She rose above the hill, floating now, her limbs wreathed in flame and shadow. The mask cracked, revealing a face not beautiful, not monstrous—just… empty.

Nyra leapt from a crumbled spire and drove the Emberblade forward—

And this time, it pierced flesh.

Selira choked, staggered—

Then smiled.

"Too late."

She exploded into violet flame—

And vanished.

The fire died instantly.

The villagers collapsed, unconscious but alive.

Nyra fell to her knees, exhausted.

Kael caught her again, holding her as she shivered. Her arm was nearly covered in the mark now. Only her hand remained untouched.

Estra looked around at the carnage. "Was she destroyed?"

Nyra shook her head.

"No. Just… released. Like the first."

Tarek kicked a bit of scorched rock. "How many of these heralds are we going to have to fight?"

Nyra looked east.

Toward the horizon that never stopped burning.

"I don't think we're fighting heralds," she whispered.

"We're fighting pieces of something whole."