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 Forty-One: The Fifth Reflection

The air grew colder with each step.

Gone were the firestorms and broken cities. The echoes of Ashwatch faded behind them like smoke chased by wind. Talen and Lira now traveled north—into the Frostmarch, where silence ruled and secrets froze rather than burned.

But in a place so old, it had no name left on any map.

They crossed rivers that had forgotten how to flow and climbed ridges made of wind-polished stone. With each mile, the sun weakened, and the snow deepened. The sky was low and gray. The world had gone quiet.

But inside Talen's cloak, the shard burned with new life.

Its pulse was slower now. Deeper. As though attuned not to flame, but to ice.

By their third day in the Frostmarch, they reached the edge of a chasm.

Lira peered down. The walls were sheer and slick with frozen moss. But far below—barely visible—lay a glow of blue light.

"It's not the mirror itself," she said. "It's the chamber around it. The Mirror of Stillness… it's said to reflect only truth that was buried."

Ice cracked underfoot. Ropes strained. Snow fell in sudden gusts. But eventually, they reached the mouth of a cave where blue frost rimmed the stone like veins of frozen lightning.

The entrance was carved—not by nature, but by intent.

Someone had hidden this place on purpose.

The cold of memory.

They found the Mirror of Stillness at the center of a domed cavern. It floated just above the ground—no frame, no stand. A perfect oval of blue glass, unblinking and utterly still. Around it, six stone figures stood frozen in various poses—some kneeling, some weeping, one with its hands to its eyes.

Himself, perhaps—but not quite.

Smaller. Frailer. Standing beside a woman with hair like copper leaves.

Now the boy screamed, reaching for the woman as flames consumed her and the world behind her collapsed.

This time, she saw herself, as a child—not the girl who studied in temples, but the girl who was abandoned in a snowstorm and left for dead.

Behind her: a soldier's hand pulling away.

She clenched her fists. "I knew it."

Not alive—but witnesses.

Talen and Lira looked at each other.

Then the voice came—not from the mirror.

From the stone itself.

But the cost of knowing will always be memory."

"I don't want to forget," he said.

"Then you must choose what to carry."

This time: Talen standing before the throne, wearing no crown—offering it to someone else.

Now she stood above Riverfort's walls, holding back an army—not with magic, but with words.

"They're not showing power," she whispered.

"They're showing sacrifice."

And in its place, on the stone floor, lay a shard.

Talen reached down, his hand shaking.

As his fingers closed around it, the cavern trembled.

As they climbed from the chasm, snow began to fall—not in silence, but in a spiral of voices.

And far ahead, beyond the mountains—