The Radiant Court – Hall of Mirrors
The light fractured suddenly.
Golden walls wavered, reflecting not perfection but distortion—an echo of something foreign breaking through the veil. The Courtiers of Radiance stilled mid-debate, their expressions flickering between confusion and dread.
"He's touched something that predates the Flame Court's rise," murmured Lady Ves, her mirror-mask fracturing with stress lines.
"He should not be able to," a priest of light replied.
Yet he had.
And the Mirror Oracle, usually silent, whispered now for all to hear:
"The Forgotten Flame awakens. The Soul that defies all scripts nears the Threshold."
The Storm Court – Vault of Thunder
Lightning froze mid-air.
High Stormkeeper Vael gritted his teeth as his divine web spasmed. "What did he just touch? That resonance—none of ours. None of theirs. It's older."
Another archon stepped forward, rain pouring from her skin. "He found her, didn't he? The lost ember."
Vael turned, voice bitter. "The one the Flame Court buried beneath generations of silence. We let them. We let them lie. And now this mortal unearths it."
He looked up at the crackling skies.
"Chen Ming... if you are truly walking her path, then even our storms will one day kneel."
The Crystal Court – Library of Echoes
Books flew off their shelves. The Archivists swarmed like bees, but none could silence the great tome that had burst open by itself. Page after page flipped on unseen wind, halting on a passage long sealed:
"And when the bearer of Soulflame breaks the seal of the Forgotten One, the spiral resumes."
Mistress Elyra exhaled, her gem-encrusted staff dimming.
"She's not gone," she whispered. "They never erased her. Only buried her under doctrine."
A junior scholar looked up, trembling. "Do we warn the Flame Court?"
Elyra's voice was ice: "No. Let them burn with the shame of what they feared. Let him light the path."
The Flame Court – Inner Sanctum, Emberthrone
The Matriarch stood in silence.
Before her, divine runes blinked erratically, relays shrieking warnings not heard in millennia. One glyph in particular flared: CRUCIBLE BREACHED.
She didn't speak. She didn't rage. She simply closed her eyes.
So, the boy had found her.
A goddess they had exiled not by judgment—but by fear.
"The others will begin to stir," murmured her vizier.
"They already have," the Matriarch said. "And if he reaches the heart of her memory, we may not be facing rebellion."
She turned her crimson gaze skyward.
"We may be facing redemption."