The sky bled red over the capital.
Far from the temple, the once-glorious city of Valeborne trembled under whispers and shadows. The royal citadel, once shining with dragon-glass towers and enchanted banners, now stood dim and guarded.
Inside the high council chamber, Melara, Queen Regent, stood before the circle of flames that flickered along the walls. Her reflection danced in each fire—tall, cold, and draped in robes of pearl and midnight.
She knew.
She had felt it—the moment the prophecy stirred again. The twins had reunited.
And the realm would begin to burn.
"You failed," she said, turning to the kneeling Shade behind her. "She survived. He survived. You let the flames breathe."
The Shade's body trembled. "My Queen, they are stronger than we calculated. Their power—"
Melara raised a single finger.
The Shade screamed as her body twisted into ash.
"No one speaks of their power," Melara whispered. "Not unless I allow it."
Then she turned back to the council.
"There is only one path left."
The twelve cloaked figures nodded.
"Prepare the Crown of Binding," she said. "The real war begins now."
---
Back in the sacred temple, Saren and Seren stood over the basin of flame. The air was still charged with magic, as if the fire itself waited for command.
Kael, arms crossed, leaned against the ancient pillar, watching the siblings quietly.
Nyara paced, fingers twitching toward her twin blades.
Laziel, for once, was silent—his usual sarcasm buried beneath awe.
"So what now?" Nyara finally asked.
Seren looked up, her face changed—stronger, sharper.
"We go to Valeborne."
The room fell silent.
Kael straightened. "You want to walk into the city ruled by the woman who tried to erase your bloodline?"
"I don't want to," Seren said. "But the prophecy is moving. And Melara will come for us soon—unless we strike first."
"She won't be unprepared," Saren said darkly.
"No," Seren replied. "But she won't be expecting us together."
---
Later that night, after the fire had dimmed and the temple slept, Seren found herself alone in the stone library—books scattered around her, parchments glowing with sigils and forgotten names.
She traced one name with her finger.
Valtheron.
The First Dragon King.
The last time the twin fire wielders had risen… the kingdom had either fallen or become something unrecognizable.
"I won't let that happen," she whispered.
But the deeper she read, the more the truth became clear:
Their power was not meant for peace.
It was born of balance—a fire that could either restore or destroy.
And the only way to control it… was to face the Serpent Throne.
---
At dawn, the group gathered outside the temple. Horses waited, saddled and anxious. Laziel tightened his cloak, frowning at the pale horizon.
"You sure we shouldn't just burn her castle and fly off with the ashes?"
Seren offered a small smile. "Tempting. But no."
They rode in silence for hours, through broken valleys and haunted woods. Along the way, Seren and Saren talked—quietly, sometimes with laughter, sometimes with pain.
She learned how he'd survived—hidden among forest guardians, trained by a secret order that feared Melara's rise.
He learned how she had grown—under pressure, under doubt, and under the constant weight of a crown that never truly fit.
But what bound them deeper was what they didn't say.
The flame between them.
It didn't burn them. It sang. A harmony. A warning.
---
As night fell again, they reached a ruined watchtower near the edge of Valeborne's forest.
Inside, Kael laid out maps.
"If we enter through the lower aqueducts, we avoid the sentry towers," he said. "There's still a secret passage under the old dragon forge."
Laziel scoffed. "If it hasn't collapsed."
Nyara drew a knife and spun it. "Let's hope it hasn't."
Seren stared at the map, then touched the mark on her wrist—the dragon seal that still pulsed with ancient fire.
"She'll be expecting me at the gates," she said. "Let's give her what she wants."
---
The next night, the storm rolled in.
Valeborne's skies cracked with lightning. The city buzzed with rumors—of flames seen in the old forests, of two riders wrapped in storm-fire, of the queen's strange silence.
At the palace gates, Melara stood atop the obsidian steps, her crown dimmed.
She felt it again.
They were near.
"Open the outer wards," she told the guards. "Let them in."
The guards hesitated.
"But, my queen—"
"Do it," she snapped.
Let them come.
Let them see.
Let them try.
---
Below the city, in the forgotten tunnels, the group moved like ghosts.
Kael and Nyara led the way, torches flickering against dripping stone. Saren walked beside Seren, his magic humming softly in his fingers.
When they reached the final wall, Kael pressed a rune.
The stone shifted.
Beyond it—light.
They had reached the old throne cavern.
But it wasn't empty.
Rows of red-robed acolytes stood in silence, forming a half-circle. At their center sat a throne carved from dragonbone and serpent scale.
On it—
Melara.
Not a queen.
A serpent goddess in mortal skin.
She smiled.
"Welcome home… children."