Kael didn't bleed.
But he burned.
Three days had passed since Aven vanished into frost, since Seraphine had stood tall against her uncle and chosen love over lineage. The battle had left scars on the kingdom, and deeper ones within Kael himself.
Now, as dawn broke over the shattered capital, Kael stood shirtless before a mirror—not the enchanted one, but an ordinary looking glass. His eyes were sunken. His body was littered with wounds that refused to heal, and at the center of his chest, the Mirror of Binding shimmered beneath his skin.
A glowing rune, once steady, now pulsed erratically—like a heartbeat out of rhythm.
He pressed his palm to it, and pain lanced through his spine.
It was happening again.
The Mirror was fracturing.
Each crack carved a piece of his soul away.
And Seraphine would feel it soon.
Seraphine refused to sit still.
Even after the battle, the revelation, the blood, and Aven's haunting words—You are the last Ember Flame—she couldn't rest.
She spent hours in the old war library, poring over lost texts, demon bloodlines, and forbidden volumes from the time of the Celestial War. She searched for anything on the Ember Dynasty, the Mirror of Binding, and—
Kael's true lineage.
Aven's final words echoed in her head:
"You still don't know what you are, Prince Kael.
Not even your mother told you the truth."
"What did you hide from us, Queen Veyla?"
Then she found it.
Buried in the last pages of a crimson-bound demon codex: a sigil. A twin mark to the one burning in Kael's chest.
But it wasn't werewolf.
And it wasn't his stepfather's.
It belonged to the Obsidian House of Wrath—one of the seven ruling demon clans, long thought extinct.
Kael wasn't just half-demon.
He was born of a royal demon bloodline.
And someone had gone to great lengths to erase that truth.
Kael sat alone in his chambers, clutching the hilt of his sword, when the visions began.
Not dreams. Memories.
A woman with silver horns and molten eyes.
A throne room made of obsidian and flame.
A demon lord standing tall, laughter like thunder, lifting a boy into the air—Kael—before everything went black and screaming.
He gasped, falling to his knees.
The Mirror pulsed once more.
This time, Seraphine screamed across the castle, clutching her chest.
She felt it too.
The bond—they were bleeding into each other.
That night, Seraphine sought help in desperation.
She broke the seal on a book forbidden even in demon libraries—a whispering tome. Ink that moved. Pages that breathed.
It answered only to flameborn.
"What do you seek?" it hissed.
She steadied her voice. "The truth about Kael. And how to stop the Mirror from killing him."
"The Mirror is not killing him," it said. "The lie is."
The flame inside her flared.
"Then tell me. Who is he?"
"He is the Scorched Heir.
Last son of the Obsidian Throne.
Born of vengeance and fire.
Hidden by love. Hunted by ice."
"By Aven?"
"No," the book said.
"By someone worse."
At dawn, Tharion entered Kael's chambers with a sealed envelope.
"We found this in Queen Veyla's locked chamber," he said gently. "Addressed to you. Written... before the siege."
Kael took it with trembling hands.
He broke the seal.
My son,
If you're reading this, I am gone. I pray you never need these words. But if the Mirror has awakened and your flame is cracking—know this:
Your father is not the man you called King.
He is not even your kind.
Your real father is known to demons as Ashar, Lord of Ruin.
I hid you to protect you. From him. From the war. From yourself.
You were born with fire strong enough to burn the world—or save it.
But it will destroy you, if you don't find your brothers.
They are the key.
Follow the silver path.
Trust Seraphine.
She is your anchor.
I love you, always.
—Veyla
Kael dropped to his knees, the letter crumpled in his fists.
The Mirror in his chest cracked again.
And outside, a shadow with silver eyes watched the castle from the cliffs.
Not Aven.
Ashar had returned.