The storm had passed, but its echoes lingered in the palace walls.
Elara sat in the quiet stillness of her new chamber no longer the cramped servant's alcove near the kitchens, but a high-vaulted room with marble floors and windows overlooking the moon-kissed gardens. A promotion in name, gifted by the Empress. But Elara knew a gilded cage when she saw one.
She couldn't stop thinking about M. His words haunted her more than the fire beast ever had. You're a spark. And sparks start fires.
But she didn't want to start a war. She wanted to understand why the stone had chosen her, what it meant. And more than that, she wanted to survive.
The stone's power hummed beneath her skin, like a second heartbeat. She'd learned to hide it, to let it settle beneath her ribs where no one could see. But it was growing. With each passing day, it felt more alive.
She needed answers.
A soft knock broke the silence.
Not a guard too timid.
Not the Empress too polite to knock.
Elara opened the door cautiously.
It was Rina, the young maid who used to sneak her bread crusts back when she was just a kitchen shadow.
Rina's eyes were wide with something between fear and excitement. "Mistress Elara… you have to come with me. Now."
Elara hesitated. "What is it?"
"There's someone in the old catacombs. He says he knew your mother."
The words punched the breath from her chest.
"My mother is dead," Elara whispered.
"I know," Rina said. "That's why I think you need to hear what he has to say."
The catacombs were forbidden.
Winding beneath the palace like a forgotten maze, they were sealed decades ago after a fire, after a rebellion, after a death no one dared name. But Rina knew the way. Every twist and creaking stone door.
The moment they stepped into the dark, the air shifted cooler, heavier. The torches flickered as though the shadows breathed.
Rina stopped before a cracked stone archway. "He's in there. I won't go further."
Elara entered alone.
At first, she saw nothing. Then a voice, dry as dust and sharp as steel, echoed from the gloom.
"You have her eyes."
A tall man emerged from the dark, cloaked in tattered navy robes that hadn't seen sunlight in years. His hair was silver, his posture regal, but his face carried the weight of someone who had lost everything.
"You knew my mother?" Elara asked.
"I served her," he said. "Before they erased her name. Before the Empress took the throne."
Elara's blood chilled. "You're saying my mother… was royalty?"
He stepped forward. "She was more than that. She was a wielder of the stone. Like you."
The truth unfolded like a map burned at the edges.
Her mother had been one of the last of the Flamebearers, a line sworn to protect the sacred stone, not exploit it. When the Empire discovered what the stone truly was, they feared it. They wanted to contain it, to control it.
So they betrayed the Flamebearers.
"They called it a rebellion," the man said.
"But it was a massacre."
Elara felt her knees weaken. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"To protect you," he said. "Your mother made sure you were hidden before they came for her. You were never meant to touch the stone, but it called to you anyway."
Elara looked at her hands, trembling.
"You carry more than the stone's power," he said. "You carry a legacy. That's why they fear you. Not for what you are. For what you represent."
She tried to breathe. The palace. The Empress. The whispers. They all made sense now.
"They'll come for me," Elara said.
He nodded. "They already are."