"She was raised to be worthy of a throne.
But no one warned her the crown might come forged in ash… not gold."
Isla's footsteps were the only sound in the corridor.
Each one echoed, quiet but heavy,
as though even the floor felt her unrest.
The stone in her palm was cold.
Silent.
Useless.
She'd hoped for a flicker.
A whisper.
Some divine mistake to prove this wasn't real.
But the truth pressed against her skin.
Still no fire.
Still no answer.
Behind her, the solar doors clicked shut.
Inside, the air remained thick and sharp with things that hadn't been said.
"You forget yourself sometimes," the King said,
his voice a warning, low and simmering.
The Empress turned from the window, slow and deliberate.
Her face stayed calm,
but her eyes sparked.
"Do I?" she said.
"Isla isn't ready. And you know it."
She stepped closer, chin lifted.
"I'm not feeding her lies. I'm preparing her.
She's stronger than you see."
"Stronger?"
His jaw clenched.
"You're feeding a storm and calling it vision.
She's barely holding together."
"You fear her," the Empress said.
"And anything you fear, you try to silence."
His gaze sharpened.
"Don't twist this."
"I'm not.
I remember what it's like to burn too soon."
"You weren't there," he said quietly.
"Not after the massacre.
You didn't watch flames consume everything we built.
That's what defiance brings."
Her voice softened, but didn't bend.
"This isn't defiance. It's faith in her."
"No," he said.
"It's ambition.
And she's not your tool."
A knock broke the standoff.
A servant entered, bowing.
"Message from Eldoria, Your Majesty. King Harran."
The King cracked the seal.
His expression remained unreadable as he read until a slight shift in his posture betrayed something deeper.
He looked up.
"King Harran sends congratulations.
News of a Flamebearer has reached him."
The Empress's brow lifted.
"So the fire stirs across borders."
"And…" the King continued.
"His Crown Prince returns from the East.
He proposes an alliance."
Silence.
Her lips curved.
"A royal match.
If Isla cannot bear flame, perhaps she can still forge a throne."
The King exhaled, dry.
"From fire to marriage. You are never tired of maneuvering."
"Would you rather we sit still while others move?"
"I'd rather you stopped turning your daughter into a blade you plan to throw."
Her smile faltered.
"I want what's best for her."
He turned to the window.
"No.
You want what's useful.
There's a difference."
The fire snapped in the hearth.
"What you're doing to that girl, it has to stop.
She's already losing herself.
Don't drown her in your expectations."
"She's not ordinary," the Empress murmured.
"She's not ready," he said.
"And chosen or not, she's still just a girl.
Let her be one."
The Empress stared at the flames, voice low.
"Then let's pray she lasts long enough to become more."
Outside the chamber, tucked behind the archway
Isla stood frozen.
She'd heard everything.
The weight of the stone in her palm hadn't changed.
Still cold.
Still closed.
But something inside her did.
A flicker.
Small.
Alive.
And growing.