The girl stepped into the glowing chamber like she belonged there—like the fire had been waiting for her.
Her bare feet made no sound on the cavern floor, yet the moment her gaze met Kael's, the flame in his chest stirred. Not as a warning—but as recognition.
She bowed slightly, never breaking eye contact. "I am Lysaria."
Kael blinked. "You're a flamebearer."
"I was," she said quietly. "Before they tried to extinguish me."
Elara looked between them, her voice low and cautious. "How are you alive?"
Therin, the warden, answered instead. "I found her in the ruins of Solgar. The Court left her for dead when she was only ten. She should've burned out… but she didn't."
Lysaria raised her hand, and a small flame danced across her fingertips. Unlike Kael's warm orange glow, hers was blue—cold, flickering like moonlight. Yet it did not waver.
"She sings to the flame," Therin said with pride. "Not commands it like you. Not fights with it. She coaxes it, like a memory returning to life."
Kael stepped closer. "How long have you been hiding?"
"Six years," she replied. "Training. Listening. Learning the songs the fire forgot."
Kael frowned. "Songs?"
Lysaria nodded. "Flame is more than heat and light. It's memory. It's emotion. Every fire has a voice. Most just forget how to hear it."
Her words made something click in Kael's mind. He remembered the visions—the phoenix queen raising fire with a hum, not a roar. Not brute force, but harmony.
"You think you can help us restore the flamebearers?" Kael asked.
"I don't think," she said softly. "I know."
Elara crossed her arms, studying her. "Then why wait here? Why not fight back?"
Lysaria hesitated, then looked at Therin. The warden sighed.
"Because," he said grimly, "there's more than Court assassins out there. Something older has awakened. Something colder."
Kael tensed. "Colder than the Court?"
"They're not using flame anymore," Therin said. "They're using void."
Elara stiffened. "Void? That's a myth."
"No," Lysaria whispered. "It's real. It feeds on what flame leaves behind. It's fire turned inward. A hunger without light. It's what destroyed Solgar. Not soldiers. Shadows."
Kael's stomach churned. "And it's spreading?"
Therin nodded. "If it consumes the Ember Caves, every remaining trace of the old ways will vanish."
Kael clenched his fists. "Then we don't hide. We gather. We fight. We light the world again."
Lysaria stepped forward and offered her hand.
Kael hesitated—then took it.
A spark surged between them, sudden and blinding. The obsidian throne behind them pulsed with light, its flame-runes flaring. Carvings on the walls shifted, revealing symbols long buried: two figures—one of flame, one of frost—standing side by side beneath the phoenix wings.
Therin gasped. "The prophecy... It wasn't one. It was two. A pair."
Kael turned to Elara, stunned.
But Elara had gone pale. Her eyes fixed not on the carvings—but on the entrance of the chamber, where a flicker of shadow darted across the stone.
"They've found us," she whispered.
A terrible cold swept through the cave.
The flame in Kael's palm flickered violently.
And from the darkness, a voice like shattering ice rang out—
> "The last light dies tonight."
A voidspawn—tall, faceless, wrapped in tendrils of smoke and shadow—stepped into the flame-ringed chamber.
Lysaria screamed.
Kael drew his flame with a roar.
Elara unsheathed her blade.
And together, they faced the night.