Chapter 9: The Priestess Speaks

The fires of Kareth had finally dimmed.

Riven stood in the village square, shadows clinging to the edges of his cloak. Around him, dusk bled into broken stone. Where fear once lingered, something quieter stirred—something like hope.

Lord Ashek was gone, dragged away in chains. In his place, Riven had named Captain Halen, a war-hardened man with gray in his beard and loyalty in his bones. Halen didn't bow or make speeches—he only looked the people in the eye and nodded. It was enough.

Provisions were packed. Bread, dried meat, water skins. The warband moved with silent precision. Kael checked saddles. Torren murmured a joke no one laughed at. Syrina's gaze flitted toward Riven, unreadable.

Then came the soft patter of small feet.

The little girl stepped forward, arms wrapped around something in her fist. Her cloak hung lopsided over her shoulder.

She stopped in front of Riven and opened her hand.

A worn coin rested in her palm. The edges dulled, the center smooth from time.

"My father said this saved him in a battle once," she said. "Maybe it'll save you."

Riven stared at it, then crouched before her. He took the coin without a word, weighed it in his palm. Something about the weight felt real in a way nothing else had lately.

"Then I'll keep it," he said. "Until I don't need saving."

She smiled—small and sure.

Riven rose, tucked the coin inside his cloak, and mounted his horse. He didn't look back.

Night wrapped around the forest like a cloak. At the edge of the trees, Aeris stepped into the open, drawn by a restlessness she couldn't name. The sigil on her palm hadn't flared in days, but it pulsed under her skin like a second heartbeat.

The air was wrong. Still, but expectant.

"Aeris."

The whisper rode the wind, quiet but unmistakable.

She turned—and there, at the edge of the trees, stood a woman.

She hadn't approached. She hadn't spoken again. She simply was.

She wore robes that shimmered with faint threads of starlight. Her skin was deep umber, weathered like stone. Her long, silver hair caught no wind. Her eyes—clouded white, endless.

"Behold the one with starlight in her veins," the woman said. "Daughter of flame, child of the broken throne."

Aeris froze. Her breath caught. The sigil on her palm flared bright for a moment.

"You know who I am," Aeris whispered.

"I have known since the stars first whispered your name to the sacred winds," the woman said. "You are the ember Queen Seraphina died to protect. The light that will either restore the balance... or end it."

"Then why are you here now?" Aeris asked, steadier this time.

"Because your flame stirs. The seal weakens. And beyond these woods, the sacred ones wait. The stargrave, silent watcher of the forgotten gate, has turned its eye to you. The whisper wolves circle the vale. The lumi faes dance between the folds of waking and dream. Even the dwarf-fae guardians stir in the deeper roots."

Aeris felt a pulse of something ancient slide beneath her skin.

"I've been seeing them," she murmured. "In fragments. In dreams."

"It is no longer dream, starlit one. It is beginning. They answer the old prophecy. They sense the blood of light that runs through you."

The priestess stepped forward, and though her feet touched the earth, she left no trace. "Your magic was sealed, but not silenced. It listens. Hungers. Soon it will rise—and when it does, the world will see. So will your enemies."

"Talien," Aeris said, her voice low.

Lysira's voice darkened. "He already moves. He knows where you are. Vareth is not safe. If you stay, all who shelter you will burn."

Aeris swallowed hard. "You came to warn me?"

"I came to awaken you. To tell you that the path opens. The realm of starlight and ruin stirs for your return. You must leave. The time to run is over. Now you must begin."

A gust of cold wind surged through the trees—and Lysira was gone.

Aeris burst into the cottage.

Maela rose at once from her seat by the hearth. Mira startled from her herbs.

"What is it? Aeris, what happened?" Maela asked.

Aeris didn't speak. She paced once, twice, her hands shaking. Her eyes were too wide.

Maela moved to block her path, hands on Aeris's shoulders.

"You saw something. Who?"

"Not something," Aeris managed. "Someone. A seer. An ancient one. She knew everything. My name. My blood. She said... mystical creatures are waiting. That the seal is breaking. That Talien knows where we are."

Mira looked at Maela sharply. "She said he knows?"

"Yes." Aeris finally stopped moving. "She said if we stay, we all burn."

Maela's mouth pressed into a grim line. "Lysira. The Oracle of the Third Flame. If she came, the old ways are awakening."

"She said the stargrave watches me. Lumi faes, whisper wolves—all of them. They're waiting. I've seen them. In dreams."

Maela exhaled sharply. "Then it's no longer safe to delay. We leave by first light."

Mira whispered, "Where do we go?"

"To the mountains first," Maela said. "There's an old path there... one not touched by Talien's spies. We'll go through the roots. And after that—"

"To find the rest of the prophecy," Aeris finished.

Far from Vareth, in a dark chamber veiled in molten glass, Talien stood before a cracked blood mirror.

The shards flickered with silver light.

He pressed his palm to the center.

"She was here," he growled. "Lysira."

A priest entered the chamber, trembling. "Shall I—"

"Send word to the Black Hounds," Talien snapped. "The girl is in Vareth. She won't flee fast enough."

"Yes, my lord."

Talien turned to a map, marked with sigils and ink. His eyes burned.

"It's begun," he said. "The stars bend. The blood calls."

He marked Vareth with a dark sigil.

Then clenched his fist.