Embers of the Past

  The air shimmered with heat and memory as Elysia stepped onto the Phoenix Sacred Grounds, a place so ancient its name was no longer spoken aloud, only felt in the beating of the earth’s molten heart beneath it.

  Stone arches twisted with blackened vines framed the scorched path ahead, and the scent of smoke lingered in the air—not acrid, but warm, like the last breath of a fire gone to rest. Here, the air hummed with a familiar resonance, and the sky always seemed a shade brighter, as if the sun honored this ground’s sacredness.

  She didn’t expect to see anyone. And yet, as she rounded one of the vine-covered arches, she nearly stumbled into Ash.

  They both paused, surprise flickering across their faces.

  “I didn’t think anyone else would be here,” Elysia said.

  “Neither did I,” Ash replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I come here sometimes… when I need clarity.”

  She smiled faintly. “Then I guess we both needed the same thing.”

  They walked a short distance in silence before settling beside the crumbling remains of a half-buried brazier, its center pulsing with faint embers.

  Ash leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “This place… it was once a temple. Before the Thalrasi. Before the wars. We came here to learn the rites, to awaken our flames. It’s the oldest known sacred ground for our kind.”

  Elysia listened but then shook her head slowly. “This wasn’t my sacred ground.”

  Ash looked at her, curious. “No?”

  She turned her eyes toward the distant horizon, toward something only she could see. “My home was the Last Aerie. Towering spires of obsidian flame, nested high on the edge of a cliff surrounded by fire-fed winds. It was where the Phoenix gathered before the fall. Before the purge. That’s where I belonged.”

  Ash blinked, taken aback. “The Last Aerie? You remember it?”

  “In pieces,” she whispered. “The sky would blaze gold at sunset. The walls sang with heat. I remember laughter, warmth, then fire… and silence.”

  Ash nodded slowly. “The Aerie was the final stand. A legend now. Most thought it lost forever.”

  Elysia reached into the pocket of her cloak and pulled out a shard of obsidian etched with gold sigils. “I’ve seen this in my dreams.”

  Ash’s eyes widened. “That’s from the Heartstone. It shattered the night the Aerie fell.”

  She handed it to him. “Then it’s time we stop letting the past burn us… and start remembering who we were.”

  Ash studied the shard, then gave her a solemn nod. “You weren’t just part of it, Elysia. You were its flame. The others followed you because you gave them hope. Maybe… maybe it’s time to do that again.”

  Elysia looked out across the scorched landscape as a breeze stirred her hair, carrying the scent of fire and memory.

  “I’m tired of running from the past,” she said. “It’s time to rise from it.”

  And in the stillness of the sacred grounds, the embers glowed just a little brighter.

  Ashes of the Temple

  The wind whispered through the scorched trees surrounding the Phoenix Sacred Grounds, carrying the distant scent of smoke and the memory of fire. Elysia sat cross-legged by the ancient brazier, her eyes closed, letting the heat settle into her bones. Ash stood nearby, watching the fading light dip beyond the horizon, his expression unreadable.

  It had taken him a long time to speak.

  Finally, he broke the silence.

  “I never told you what happened here the day the Temple burned.”

  Elysia opened her eyes slowly. “You don’t have to—”

  “No,” he said, voice low. “I think I do.”

  He moved closer, his silhouette outlined by the embers still glowing faintly behind her. “I was young when it happened. Still new to my flame. They called it a purge, but it was more than that. It was meant to erase us completely—our knowledge, our traditions, our very name from the world.”

  Elysia watched him closely, her breath shallow.

  “They struck at dawn,” he continued. “The Thalrasi came not in legions but in silence. They breached the wards with dark magic none of us had seen before. I remember waking to the smell of burning parchment, the screams of fledglings who couldn’t control their flames.”

  His jaw clenched.

  “The elders tried to fight back. They summoned the firestorm—one final act of defiance to protect what remained. But it wasn’t enough. The flame that once rose from this temple and connected us to our ancestry was extinguished. Snuffed out.”

  Elysia felt her heart twist, images flashing in her mind that didn’t belong to her memory. Still, she stirred something old and grief-stricken within her.

  “I tried to go back once,” Ash said. “To find something—anything—of what we lost. But the land had changed. Twisted. The fire was gone. Only ashes remained.”

  She reached out, her fingers brushing his wrist gently. “But something survived.”

  Ash looked down at her. “You.”

  “No,” she said, voice firmer than she expected. ”We. You survived. So did others. Maybe not all, but enough to keep the flame alive. You said the land remembers. That means it can still be rekindled.”

  Ash stared into the brazier as its embers glowed a little brighter, sparked not by magic but by conviction.

  “You really believe that?” he asked.

  “I have to,” she replied. “Because if we let the past burn away everything, then the Thalrasi already won.”

  Ash gave a slight nod, the firelight flickering in his eyes. “Then maybe it’s time to stop mourning the ashes… and start rebuilding the flame.”

  Together, they sat silently, watching the brazier pulse in quiet defiance. For the first time in a long while, the Phoenix Sacred Grounds felt less like a graveyard—and more like a beginning.

  The Last Flame

  The corridors of Lux Arcana were quiet as Elysia returned from the Sacred Grounds. Her steps were slow, and her mind was heavy with Ash’s shared stories. The memory of fire, loss, and a legacy burned to ash haunted her.

  When she reached their suite, Ronan was already inside, seated near the hearth with a book and drink. The moment he saw her, he stood, concern flickering in his amber eyes.

  “You’re back,” he said softly.

  “I needed the air,” she replied, crossing the room to him.

  He wrapped his arms around her, holding her in the steady warmth of his embrace. She breathed him in for a moment—strength, safety, the scent of storm and pine that was always him.

  Then she pulled back, her expression serious.

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  “I don’t want to be the last of anything, Ronan,” she whispered. “Not the last Phoenix. Not the last memory. I thought… maybe I was okay carrying that weight. But I’m not.”

  Ronan’s brows furrowed. “You don’t have to be alone in it.”

  She stepped back, looking at him fully now. “How many Phoenixes have you known? In all your lives, all your years… is it just me?”

  He hesitated. Not because he didn’t know the answer but because of the sorrow that came with it.

  “You’re the only one I’ve known in this life,” he said. “And in the ones before… there were whispers. Echoes. I think I’ve seen glimpses of others, but only from a distance. Most were already gone, or in hiding. But none like you.”

  Her eyes searched his. “So I really might be the last.”

  “I don’t know,” Ronan said gently. “But even if you are… you are not alone.”

  Elysia turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t want to be a relic, Ronan. I want to be a spark. Something that lights the way

  forward, not something mourned in sacred grounds.”

  He came up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Then be the spark. You don’t have to carry the past. You can rewrite the future. If there are more Phoenix out there, they’ll find you. And if not, then you build something new, something that outlives even you.”

  She leaned into his touch, eyes misting.

  “I want to try,” she said.

  Ronan pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Then we will.”

  The Morning of the Vault

  The sun had yet to rise, but the war room at Lux Arcana was already alive with movement.

  The table glowed with the shimmer of enchanted maps, their markings shifting as Nyx made final adjustments to the path leading to the Vault of Cinders. Dorian leaned over the layout, voice clipped and precise as he confirmed extraction points and fallback routes. Valarian checked the arcane locks prepared for the descent. At the same time, Astrid whispered last-minute protective incantations, her hands glowing faintly with power.

  Elysia entered, the tension in her chest matching the energy humming in the room. She’d barely slept, her mind turning over every step, every possibility. Today, they would attempt the impossible.

  They would break into the Vault.

  Ronan stood at the head of the table, clad in black with his coat unfastened, amber eyes sharp and steady. He didn’t need to raise his voice to command the room—his presence alone did that.

  When he saw Elysia, he met her with a brief nod before addressing the group.

  “This is it,” he said. “We leave within the hour. Everyone knows their roles.”

  He looked to Dorian first. “You handle the wards. Kaelor, you’re with him. Selmira and Nyx will keep the barrier spells stable while we move. Valarian—supply backup and summon support once we breach the outer chamber.”

  Then his gaze shifted to Ash and Cassian and, finally, to Elysia.

  “You three are the final line. If anything goes wrong—anything—Ash and Cassian, you get her out.”

  Elysia’s spine stiffened. “We talked about this—”

  “And I haven’t changed my mind,” Ronan said, calm but unwavering. “You are the key to what’s coming. If this mission collapses, you must survive. That is not negotiable.”

  Ash crossed his arms. “We’ve got her.”

  Cassian gave a nod. “No one’s getting to her unless they come through us first.”

  Elysia shot a glare at both of them, then turned to Ronan. “And what about you?”

  Ronan met her eyes. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Her jaw clenched, but she nodded.

  He stepped closer, lowering his voice for her ears alone. “This isn’t about control, Elysia. It’s about giving us the best chance. You’re the only one who can make sense of what we’ll find in that Vault. If something happens… you have to finish what we started.”

  She searched his face, saw the weight he carried behind every word, and after a long moment, she whispered, “Then don’t make me finish it alone.”

  “I won’t,” he said.

  Outside, the horizon began to lighten. The final preparations were complete. And the war they’d been trying to outrun was finally catching up to them.

  They moved as one, a force born of prophecy, pain, and hope, ready to carve their path into the ashes of truth.

  The Vault of Cinders

  The Thalrasi Citadel loomed like a wound carved into the earth’s spine—dark, ancient, and alive with warded power. Storms clashed above its spires, and the obsidian stone radiated a cold that bit deeper than flesh.

  The team moved with precision, cloaked in shadow and silence. Nyx disabled the outer wards while Valarian and Kaelor neutralized the sentries. They descended through a hidden breach in the cliffs, led by Dorian’s knowledge of the prison fortress layout.

  They reached the entrance to the Vault of Cinders—a massive door embedded with runes pulsing a dull red, sealed since the prophecy was first buried.

  Astrid stepped forward, her voice rising in an incantation so old it turned the air to ice. The runes responded, light searing outward as the Vault groaned open.

  Inside, the chamber was circular, impossibly vast, and humming with restrained power. The walls were inscribed with the complete prophecy—not the twisted version Thalrasi had fed the world, but the unbroken truth.

  And in the center of it all sat the Final Core of the Seal, untouched, waiting.

  But they had only moments.

  A pulse echoed through the floor.

  Then the air turned.

  The Citadel trembled.

  Thalrasi soldiers swarmed from hidden corridors encircling the chamber.

  At their center stood Lord Varek, eyes glowing with twisted satisfaction.

  “You came to steal fire," he said, lifting a gauntlet etched in blood metal.

  “Let me show you what it costs.”

  He struck the floor with his hand, and the forbidden weapon awakened.

  Rings of black and gold magic ignited beneath Ronan and Elysia, tethering them to the core. A deafening hum filled the air as the device drew power from them, targeting their bond—the Eclipsed One and the Phoenix.

  Ronan staggered first, knees buckling, a cry tearing from his throat.

  “Ronan!" Elysia screamed, turning to reach him.

  His eyes were burning, the amber light flickering erratically.

  And then it happened.

  A surge of memory. A flood of pain.

  Elysia gasped as images slammed into her all at once—lifetimes of death, of burning cities, of blades and betrayal, and last goodbyes. Every cycle. Every fall.

  Ronan dying. Her screaming. Time rewinding. Over and over.

  “No," she whispered, falling to her knees.

  The memories crashed into her like fire—too much, too fast. Ronan on a battlefield. Ronan falling from a tower. Ronan bleeding out in her arms under a moonless sky.

  “No. Not again.”

  The words left her throat in a broken cry as the full force of who she was—who they were—returned.

  This was the cost of remembering. The pain of all their failures.

  Tears blurred her vision as she crawled toward him. Ronan collapsed to the stone floor, his breath shallow, the weapon still draining him.

  She threw herself over him, hands glowing as her fire instinctively pushed against the weapon’s pull.

  “I remember now," she whispered, her voice shaking. “All of it.”

  She pressed her forehead to his.

  “This time, I’ll save you.”

  And with a scream that split stone and soul, Elysia ignited.

  The Ashes We Escaped

  Chaos erupted the moment Elysia’s scream lit the Vault.

  The force of her ignition blasted outward, throwing several Thalrasi soldiers off their feet. Selmira, Cassian, Nyx, Kaelor, and Dorian surged forward; blades were drawn and magic humming at their fingertips, clashing with the enemy in a storm of fire, steel, and shadow.

  Elysia crouched over Ronan, shielding him with her body, flames crackling around her like wings made of wrath. Every breath she took fed the inferno that now lashed out at their enemies, scorching armor and searing through enchanted weapons. Her fire burned with purpose—not just rage, but restoration.

  The black and gold energy of the forbidden weapon hissed and recoiled, retreating from Ronan as Elysia’s flames burned through its hold.

  He coughed weakly beneath her, eyes fluttering open, though he was far from whole.

  “Hold on," she whispered. “Just a little longer.”

  Dorian saw his opening. With a blur of movement, he appeared at Elysia’s side, another vampire materializing beside him in a flash of dark mist.

  “Now!" Dorian barked.

  The second vampire grabbed Ronan as Dorian swept Elysia into his arms. Before she could protest, the world vanished in a crack of pressure and shadow.

  Moments later, they reappeared inside Lux Arcana’s protective walls, the scent of ozone still clinging to them.

  “Get the others!" Dorian snapped.

  One by one, more vampires appeared through the veil, dragging the rest of their team from the collapsing Vault. The moment the last of them arrived, Dorian barked out to the nearest guards, his voice ringing through the halls:

  “Healers! Now! And find out what the hell that weapon was!”

  Ronan was barely conscious, his skin pale, energy flickering like a dying ember.

  Elysia collapsed beside him, drained from the fire, from the visions, from the soul-deep battle that had nearly consumed them.

  As the healers rushed in, the flames on her skin died down.

  They were alive.

  But just barely.

  And the war was far from over.

  Echoes of Orlathis

  Night blanketed Lux Arcana in silence, save for the distant crashing of waves against the cliffside below. While the healers worked tirelessly to stabilize Ronan and Elysia, the rest of the Inner Circle gathered in the war room, drained but alert, awaiting answers yet to come.

  Astrid stood apart from the others, one hand pressed against the cool glass of the window. Her eyes were unfocused, her breathing shallow. Then, without warning, she gasped and staggered.

  Nyx was at her side instantly. “What is it?”

  Astrid blinked rapidly, the vision still burning behind her eyes. “I saw something. A place… buried in history. Forgotten by time.”

  Cassian leaned forward. “Another vault?"

  "No," Astrid said, voice low and certain. “Older. Untouched. It’s not a prison—it’s a sanctuary. A city hidden beneath the earth. Carved in light and stone. It’s called Orlathis.”

  Valarian stepped forward, brow furrowed. “Orlathis is a myth. A fairy tale whispered to scare Thalrasi into respecting the old ways.”

  Astrid looked at him, her eyes glowing faintly. “It’s real. I saw it. And it holds the full prophecy—not broken fragments or altered interpretations. The original truth. Before the Thalrasi corrupted it.”

  A heavy silence settled.

  Dorian broke it. “We don’t exactly have many options. The Vault nearly killed Ronan. We need more than scattered truths if we’re going to end this.”

  Nyx nodded. “If Orlathis still exists, then it might be the only place safe enough—and sacred enough—to unlock what Elysia’s visions have been circling.”

  Cassian crossed his arms. “So where do we start? A city buried for centuries doesn’t exactly show up on a map.”

  Astrid closed her eyes. “I saw a mountain range. White peaks. A stone gate sealed with flame and marked with the sigil of the first Phoenix. That’s where we begin.”

  Ronan stirred faintly in the next room, and the air around the war table shifted. They all felt it.

  The next step had revealed itself.

  The journey to Orlathis would not be easy.

  But it was the only path left.

  And it was time to follow the flame into legend.