Kael dreamed of snow.
Not the gentle kind that flutters from the heavens like falling feathers—but the kind that hurts. The kind that bites skin, burns lungs. The kind that buries kingdoms.
In his dream, he was a boy again.
Kneeling beside a fire that wouldn't catch.
A voice, older than war, whispered: You were made for cold things, Kael. Not warmth. Never warmth.
He woke with a start—pain shooting through his ribs. The firelight above him flickered. His mouth tasted like ash and copper. His hands… his hands were still trembling.
"Easy," Eira whispered, brushing the sweat from his brow. "You're safe."
But he wasn't.
Not anymore.
Because something had followed him out of that fire.
And it had his name.
---
The Scar Beneath His Shirt
Two days had passed since the battle with Mavrek. Maravelle was healing—slowly, like a body waking after too many years asleep. The Daughters walked the streets, reinforcing wards, breathing flame into ancient stone.
And Kael?
Kael couldn't stop bleeding.
Not outside. Inside.
A black mark had bloomed just beneath his collarbone—veined, spreading. It pulsed sometimes, like a second heart. He hadn't told Eira.
Not yet.
Because he knew what it was.
And who had given it to him.
Elowen.
He stood alone on one of the high terraces that night, shirt open to the wind, palm pressed to the curse scar.
"I don't have much time," he whispered.
And behind him, Naima spoke.
"You were her hound once," she said softly. "Her favorite blade."
He didn't turn around.
"I was her mistake," he said.
"And now?"
Kael exhaled. "Now I'm trying to be someone else's redemption."
---
Eira's Discovery
Eira stood in the Hall of Embers, watching her reflection in the flame glass. The image shifted, blurred, then split.
Two versions of her stared back.
One wore a crown of fire.
One wore nothing but ash.
She touched the mirror, and the room shuddered.
Naima found her there.
"She's pushing," the older woman said. "Elowen. Testing your boundaries. Testing your blood."
"She'll keep coming," Eira whispered.
"Yes. And next time, it won't be a general. It will be her."
A pause.
Then: "There's something wrong with Kael."
Eira stiffened. "What?"
Naima just nodded toward the terrace. "Go see. Before he bleeds out what's left of him."
---
The Truth Beneath the Moon
She found him just as he was wrapping a new strip of cloth around his chest.
Too late.
She saw the mark.
And everything shattered inside her.
"That's hers," Eira breathed. "That's Elowen's mark."
Kael met her gaze. "I didn't want you to know."
"Why?"
"Because you'd blame yourself. And because—" He stopped, voice ragged. "Because I wasn't sure if I was still me."
Eira stepped forward, placed a hand over the scar.
It didn't burn her.
Not physically.
But it ached.
"You are still you," she whispered. "But you are fading. How do we stop it?"
Kael hesitated. "There's one way."
She narrowed her eyes. "Say it."
"We find the Bloodforge. And we break the bond."
Eira blinked. "That's a myth."
"No." He shook his head. "It's a weapon. Older than fire. Forged when the world still spoke in magic. It can sever anything—even a soul-tether."
"And the cost?"
Kael looked away.
"…a piece of the person who uses it."
---
The Message from the Queen
That night, as moonlight bathed the Temple of Flame, a messenger arrived.
No horse. No beast.
Just smoke.
A figure carved from ash and shadow stepped into the hall, dropped to one knee, and burned before it spoke.
But not before it screamed the words:
"ELIRA WYNNNTER—THE QUEEN SUMMONS HER REFLECTION. COME TO THE ASHEN SPIRE. OR I WILL PEEL THIS WORLD TO FIND YOU."
And then it collapsed into embers.
Eira stared at the ashes, breath caught.
She turned to Naima.
"Where is the Ashen Spire?"
The old woman closed her eyes.
And whispered, "The place where all queens fall."
---
The Decision
Eira sat beside Kael's bed that night. He was asleep. Pale. Shivering. The mark had grown.
She stroked his hair, watched his lashes twitch in some dark dream.
Then she whispered to the wind:
"I will find the forge. I will break the bond. I will end her."
"And if I lose myself in the process…"
She kissed Kael's forehead, soft and trembling.
"…then may he never remember me as anything but fire and love."
---
Elsewhere — Elowen's Court
The Queen sat in her hollow throne.
A black blade rested in her lap.
And in the mirror of bone beside her, she watched Eira touch Kael like he was something worth saving.
She smiled.
But it was not joy.
It was possession.
"Let her come," Elowen whispered. "Let her burn."
"I made her. And I will unmake her."