The Crown's envoy arrived before the army.
A single black carriage rolled through the southern gate under a white flag, escorted by six knights in silver armor. The people of Kirevale stood back, uncertain whether to spit or kneel.
Elira waited in the square, flanked by Garran and Auren. Her flames simmered just beneath her skin, restrained but ready.
From the carriage stepped a man in deep crimson robes, his hair oiled and slick, his smile too smooth.
> "Lady Elira," he said, bowing deeply. "How radiant rebellion looks on you."
Auren bristled. "Name yourself."
> "I am Envoy Virel, of the High Council. I bring a message… and an offer."
---
In the makeshift war room, Virel poured wine without asking. He sipped it with elegance, as if he weren't surrounded by people who hated him.
> "The Crown does not wish for unnecessary bloodshed," he said. "Surrender Kirevale, and your people will be spared."
Elira stared. "And me?"
He smiled like a dagger. "You'll be… studied. Treated with the reverence owed to a relic."
Garran growled, but Elira raised a hand.
> "You come offering mercy from a Crown that knows only chains."
Virel's smile didn't fade. "Chains are useful. They hold kingdoms together."
She stepped closer, fire blooming in her palms.
> "Tell your masters: I am not a relic. I am the reckoning."
---
After Virel was escorted out—without his wine—Elira remained silent for a long time.
> "He's the serpent," she finally whispered.
Auren frowned. "From the woman's warning?"
She nodded. "Silk robes. A voice like honey. But poison underneath."
> "He knows more than he said. About the Flameborn. About the Vault."
Auren placed a hand on her shoulder. "Then we'll find it first."
---
That night, a messenger hawk arrived at the rebel camp.
It carried no seal—only a single black feather and a map burned at the edges. The location marked was deep in the northern forests, far from any known road.
Carved beside it were four words:
> Vault of Embers Awaits.
Elira traced the words with trembling fingers.
> "It's calling to me."
Auren looked toward the distant dark. "Then we go. But not without a plan."
---
In the distance, the Crown's army lit their campfires.
Kirevale's night sky glowed with the promise of war.
But inside the rebel camp, a brighter flame stirred—one that would not bow, would not break.
And as Elira turned toward the firelight, her eyes burned like suns.
> She would not be studied. She would be remembered.
The fire is rising. Are you with us?
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Stand tall, rebel hearts. The Crown is watching.