The moon was a pale sliver above the capital, cloaked behind restless clouds. Lanterns flickered in the lower quarter, casting molten halos over the cobbled streets of the trade district. The city never truly slept—but tonight, even the usual hum of market life had dimmed, as if holding its breath.
Eira walked quickly, her hood pulled low. Every footstep was calculated, every glance over her shoulder precise. This was not the palace's gilded cage. This was the shadow beneath it. And here, she was no longer a noble.
She was prey.
"Eira," a low voice rasped from the alley up ahead.
She tensed, then exhaled.
Dare stepped out of the shadows, his dark clothes blending seamlessly with the stone. His eyes scanned her, quick and sharp.
"You came alone?"
"You told me to," she replied.
"I didn't think you would."
She gave him a dry look. "Then you don't know me well enough."
A hint of a smile ghosted across his face. "I'm starting to."
He motioned her forward.
They slipped through the narrow alleys of the old district, winding deeper into territory few from the palace dared tread. Here, the Queen's eyes didn't reach. But others did.
"Where are we going?" Eira asked quietly.
"To someone who can give us answers."
"Another rebel?"
Dare shook his head. "Worse. A seller of truths."
---
They stopped before an ancient building nestled between two collapsed towers. It had no windows. Only a single iron door with no handle—just a brass panel inscribed with a phoenix whose wings had been scorched away.
"Knock three times," Dare said.
She did.
A moment passed.
Then the door groaned open, revealing darkness and the scent of earth and ink.
They entered.
---
Inside, the space was dim, lit only by candlelight flickering in glass orbs suspended from the ceiling like stars. Books lined every inch of the walls—books chained shut with iron, sealed with wax, and scrawled with runes that twisted when looked at too long.
A figure sat behind a curved desk of bone-white wood.
She was older than the walls themselves, or so it seemed—skin pale as moonlight, hair a sheet of silver, and eyes completely black. Not dark. Black. Like voids.
"Ah," she said, her voice echoing strangely, as though layered. "The girl who survived the fire. The one with the mark that should not be."
Eira stiffened.
The woman smiled.
"You smell of flame and forgotten blood. Sit."
Dare pulled out a stool and nudged Eira forward. She sat slowly.
"What is this place?" Eira asked.
"A memory," the woman said simply. "And a prison. And occasionally… a marketplace."
Eira's eyes narrowed. "And what do you trade in?"
"Secrets." She leaned forward. "And warnings."
Eira exhaled. "Then here's mine: the Queen isn't just hunting rebels. She's unearthing something old. Something dangerous."
The woman's grin widened, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Oh, child. The Queen isn't unearthing it. She is it."
Eira blinked. "What do you mean?"
The woman turned, reaching for a tome bound in obsidian leather. She laid it on the table and opened it with fingers lined in silver rings.
From within, a map unfurled—hand-drawn and incomplete. Eira recognized parts of it: the capital, the Ember Vale, the Ashen Mountains.
But in the center was a black circle marked only with the word: Velruin.
"She was born there," the woman said. "Not of flesh. Of ruin. A creature built from the bones of fallen kings and the last breath of magic itself."
"That's impossible," Eira said. "The Queen—she's human. I've seen her bleed."
"Blood is a costume," the woman replied. "Even gods wear masks when it suits them."
Dare leaned in. "So what is she?"
"She is the last of the Hollowborn," the woman said. "A bloodline forged not from wombs, but from war. They were sealed centuries ago. But the Queen found a way to live. To reign."
Eira's stomach turned.
"She killed my mother," she whispered.
"She feared your mother," the woman corrected. "And now she fears you."
The candlelight flickered as the words sank in.
Eira swallowed. "So what do I do? Fight her? Alone?"
The woman gave a slow shake of her head. "No, little fire. You do what she cannot. You forge a bond. You create something not even darkness can devour."
Eira met her gaze. "A new alliance?"
The woman nodded.
"But first," she said, voice low, "you must retrieve something she has hidden. Something from the old world. A shard of power that even she dared not destroy."
Eira leaned in. "What is it?"
"A mask."
The word sent chills down her spine.
"A mask of bone and blood. One of the seven relics of Velruin. Each carries a piece of the forgotten truth. She's already found two."
"And where's this one?"
The woman smiled again, and this time, it was cold.
"Beneath the palace. In the catacombs. Guarded by those who were never meant to die."
---
Eira and Dare left the shop in silence.
Outside, the clouds had scattered. The moon blazed fully now, casting the rooftops in silver.
"What she said—do you believe it?" Eira asked.
Dare glanced at her. "I believe the Queen is hiding more than anyone knows. And I believe you were never meant to be just a pawn."
She looked at him. "And you? What are you?"
He hesitated.
Then: "A man trying to make sure the world doesn't burn before its time."
"Not exactly comforting," she muttered.
He smirked. "Didn't say I was good at it."
---
They returned through the hidden passageways beneath the outer walls of the palace. It was nearly dawn when Eira collapsed into her quarters.
Her head swam with visions—of masks and hollow kings, of ghostly voices and burned-out names.
She had made a deal in the dark.
Not just with the silver-eyed woman.
But with herself.
To uncover everything.
To risk everything.
To become the thing even the Queen couldn't predict.
Not just flame.
But legacy.