Lilitha_Ntlebi

In a world where mirrors whisper prophecy and fire remembers everything, two souls must choose between power and peace—before the last crown reignites.

The ancient mirrors—once shattered to save the world—have begun to awaken.

Talen, a reluctant heir with a mysterious past, and Lira, a fierce flame-binder with no kingdom to serve, are drawn into a quest to recover the seven mirrors of power. Each mirror reveals not only magic, but devastating truths—about the world's forgotten history, and about themselves.

As storms ignite, fortresses burn, and visions of the past twist into possible futures, Talen and Lira must confront the cost of memory and the seduction of destiny. With every shard they reclaim, the Crownfire stirs—an ancient force that doesn’t seek a ruler, but a vessel.

But what if the only way to save the world… is to refuse to lead it?

In the gripping fourth installment of Crown of Cinders, battles are no longer just fought with swords or flame—but with the truth, with grief, and with the power to walk away.

The fire never sleeps.
But perhaps, it can finally rest.

Crown of Cinders

Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Gathering Storm

Whispered through the flames. Echoed in the mirror shards. Burned into the sky like prophecy seared across the world's skin.

It was called The Crownfire.

Talen and Lira rode east on borrowed horses, cutting through the ghostlight fog that clung to the lower marshes. Thunder rumbled, not from clouds, but from beneath the earth itself—as though the world's heart beat faster with each mile they traveled.

The shard Talen carried had grown heavier.

They stopped at a cliff overlooking the Scorching Barrens.

Ashwatch Citadel was visible in the distance, its black towers stark against the horizon. The red haze above it pulsed like a wounded eye.

Lira squinted. "They've opened the mirror."

Talen swallowed hard. "And now something else is open too."

Master Eron, weakened but not broken, ordered every gate sealed, every torch lit, and every relic-ward reactivated. Apprentices scrambled through the fortress, inscribing flame-runes on the walls, chanting verses older than memory.

"The mirror has begun to speak in other voices," Eron rasped, pacing before the Vault.

His second-in-command frowned. "Whose voices?"

The mirror in the Vault pulsed again.

Far to the west, Nyra stood atop Riverfort's central tower, robes whipping in the bitter wind. She held the final ember-stone—the one she had sworn never to break.

The promise she made long ago was broken the moment Talen stepped into her orchard.

The flame that rose wasn't silver.

Talen and Lira reached the broken walls of an abandoned Emberwatch outpost near the Barrens' edge by sunset. The stones were cracked. The well had long run dry. But the structure still stood—barely.

And the wind howled like it remembered every secret the world had forgotten.

As night fell, Talen stood alone near the fire, his fingers tightening around the mirror shard.

"You're quiet tonight," Lira said, approaching.

He nodded. "I feel it watching me."

She didn't ask what. She already knew.

"When we reach Ashwatch, we might have to fight them. Not just to take the mirror."

"But to keep it from taking us," she finished.

They stared at each other a moment too long.

Distant at first, but growing stronger.

They climbed to the outpost wall. Far on the horizon, something stirred. A wall of dust and fire—racing across the Barrens like a living tide.

"The storm has found us."

Back in Ashwatch, the mirror pulsed once more.