The moonlight spilled through the glass tower like a pale wound. Sharp. Cold.
He stood there, silent, watching the stars as if daring them to look back.
The storm had passed, but its voice still echoed in the wind around the spires.
Prince Ruvan Malrec did not flinch. He hadn't flinched in years.
He moved like shadow made flesh — tall, lean, precise. His breath misted against the glass, though the fire in his chest burned cold.
On the wall behind him, an enchanted flame flickered in its sconce.
Ruvan turned.
He lifted one hand and snapped his fingers.
The flame froze.
Not died — froze.
The orange light turned white-blue, then cracked like glass and shattered into dust.
That was his power.
Not creation.
Control.
Footsteps behind him. He didn't turn. He already knew who it was.
A captain, nervous in his boots. "Your Highness… a report from the Blackwood."
Ruvan's tone was silk wrapped in ice. "Speak."
"She's alive."
He finally turned, one eyebrow raised. "The girl?"
"Yes, sire. The Fireborn. She escaped the village. A shadowbeast was sent."
The captain swallowed. "She burned it."
There was silence.
And then the edge of Ruvan's lip twitched.
Not a smile. Something colder.
"Good," he said.
He stepped away from the window, his boots silent on the stone. He walked to the tall mirror in the center of the room — an ancient artifact rimmed in iron and etched with curses older than the kingdom.
The mirror did not reflect him.
It showed a mask of bone. A face of smoke.
Serevas.
The god-fragment.
The whispering horror inside the Shard.
Ruvan spoke calmly.
"She's awakening."
The creature behind the glass hissed, "And so are you."
Ruvan touched the center of his chest.
There, hidden under his shirt and skin, pulsed the Shard—melted remnants of a Fireborn queen's power, forced into him by his father as a child.
He hadn't cried that day.
He'd only screamed once.
And then gone quiet, forever.
"I don't care about thrones," Ruvan said to the mirror. "Or bloodlines. I want peace."
"You want silence," Serevas whispered. "You want to stop the fire inside you from choosing someone else."
The prince said nothing.
Then he turned from the mirror and walked to his sword, strapping it to his back.
He didn't wear a crown.
He didn't want to rule.
But if the Fireborn girl truly lived — if she carried even a flicker of the blood that once chained gods and shattered kings —
Then she was a threat.
Or worse.
A promise.
He stepped toward the captain again. "Where is she now?"
"With rebels. Moving east. Likely toward Emberdeep."
Ruvan's voice lowered.
"Send spies. No attacks. No fire. I want her to believe she's safe."
He paused.
"And when she starts to hope…"His silver eyes flashed like the edge of a blade.
"That's when I'll take it from her."