Fire and Fury

  Elysia threw herself into training with everything she had.

  The war room discussions, the prophecy, and the weight of history pressing down on her faded when she stepped onto the training floor. There was no past or future, only movement—only fire.

  Ash pushed her harder than ever before, but for once, he didn’t need to taunt or provoke her into fighting. Something more profound—determination already fueled her.

  She wanted to be ready. Not next week, not next month—now.

  If Ronan was going to the Vault of Cinders, so was she.

  Ash stood at the edge of the sparring ring, arms crossed, watching as she dodged a strike, twisted, and sent a column of fire roaring toward her opponent. The enchanted construct she was fighting barely had time to react before the flames ripped through it, leaving nothing but scorched metal in its wake.

  Elysia didn’t hesitate. She pivoted, palms open, summoning another surge of heat, her body a living weapon.

  For hours, she pushed herself—attacking, defending, refining. She used every lesson Ash had drilled into her, every instinct honed from years of running and fighting.

  By the time the session ended, even Ash looked impressed.

  He ran a hand through his hair and let out a low whistle. “Well, well. You might actually survive this trip after all.”

  Elysia shot him a dry look, sweat rolling down her back as she grabbed a towel. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  Ash smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

  She caught movement in the shadows as she stepped away from the training mats.

  Cassian.

  He stood near the entrance, watching her, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He must have come in at some point during the session, but she had been too focused to notice.

  Elysia grabbed a water bottle and sat at one of the nearby benches, gesturing for him to join her. “Enjoy the show?”

  Cassian let out a short chuckle before sitting across from her. “I’ve seen worse.”

  She snorted. “That was almost a compliment.”

  Cassian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I wanted to talk.”

  Elysia took a long sip of water before nodding. “About what?”

  His expression shifted, something quieter, more introspective settling into his features. “About why I’m here. About my mother.”

  Elysia frowned, setting down her bottle. “Astrid said you found out recently that you’re Valrek’s son.”

  Cassian exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. I grew up believing my father was just another Thalrasi warrior who died before I was born. My mother—Amaris—raised me on her own. She kept us away from the High Council, away from their wars. We had a good life. Quiet. Until they found us.”

  Elysia’s breath hitched. “They killed her.”

  Cassian’s jaw clenched. “Not right away. They took her first. Tortured her, thinking she had hidden something from them. They thought she was part of the resistance. But she hadn’t. She just... refused to give me up. They killed her for that.”

  Elysia felt the truth of his words, the sharp ache behind them.

  “So you have just as much reason to want him stopped as I do.”

  Cassian met her gaze. “I have lost something precious, it is true, but I understand what has happened to you, and Ronan is so much worse. You lost each other over and over. I vow to you I won’t let it happen again.”

  Elysia studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Why us?”

  “I can only hope that helps.

  Cassian’s lips curled slightly, a ghost of a smirk, but the weight in his eyes remained. “You really plan on going with Ronan to the Vault?”

  Elysia’s grip tightened around her towel. “Yes.”

  Cassian leaned back, considering her. “Then I am going, too. I vowed to someone very special to me that I would protect you so you could see the real prophecy through. And because of that place? It’s a death trap.”

  Elysia exhaled slowly, her fire humming beneath her skin. Then I’ll burn my way through it.

  The Web of Resistance

  The corridors beneath Lux Arcana were eerily silent at this hour, the torches lining the stone walls flickering with a faint blue glow. The deeper levels of the fortress rarely saw visitors except those who knew where to look. Selmira knew precisely where she was going.

  She moved through the winding halls with practiced ease until she reached a hidden chamber, its entrance marked by an intricate rune carved into the archway. With a brief pulse of magic, the sigil flickered before fading, allowing her passage.

  Inside, Astrid waited.

  The Oracle sat at a large circular table, books and scattered parchment sprawled before her. Unlike the grand war room upstairs, this was a place of secrecy, of whispers traded between those who moved between the cracks of power.

  Astrid barely looked up as Selmira entered. “You’re late.”

  Selmira smirked. “And yet, you’re still awake. Almost like you knew I’d be here.”

  Astrid finally met her gaze, her eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight. “You think I wouldn’t be prepared for this conversation? I’ve been waiting for it.”

  Selmira crossed the room, sliding into a chair across from her. “You knew we’d come. You knew Cassian, Kaelor, and I would find our way here. You didn’t warn Ronan?”

  Astrid leaned back, studying her. “I didn’t need to. You’d find your way here eventually—whether I warned him or not. And besides… I already knew Cassian’s intentions. I’ve been watching him for a long time.”

  Selmira stiffened. “So you knew he was Valrek’s son?”

  Astrid’s expression didn’t change. “Yes.”

  Selmira let out a breath, shaking her head. “You really are as infuriating as the rumors say.”

  Astrid smirked, finally picking up a page from the table. “I take that as a compliment.”

  Selmira’s gaze drifted across the room. It was smaller than the main war room but older, filled with scrolls and hidden records that likely never saw the light of day. The resistance was woven into the very fabric of Lux Arcana—more than Selmira had realized.

  She exhaled. “You’ve been part of the resistance for a long time, haven’t you?”

  Astrid didn’t hesitate. “Longer than most. Before Ronan, before Elysia’s return, before the war escalated into what it is now.” She leaned forward, resting her chin against her hand. “I knew what the Thalrasi were before most did. And I knew that the war they started was built on a lie.”

  Selmira frowned. “How?”

  Astrid tapped a finger against the table. “Because I know the people who risked everything to save Ronan.”

  Selmira’s eyes widened. “You knew Elira.”

  Astrid nodded slowly. “Not just her. Selyne Morath, too.”

  Selmira sat back, trying to process this. “You knew Selyne?”

  Astrid’s lips quirked into something like amusement. “Of course I did. Do you think someone just hides a child like Ronan without help? Without connections? The Thalrasi hunted him for years, but they never found him because they were never looking in the right places. We made sure of it.”

  Selmira’s fingers tapped against the table. “So Ronan was never truly alone.”

  Astrid exhaled. “No. He was always protected, whether he knew it or not. We couldn’t reveal ourselves, but we were there. Elira patched his wounds when he was injured. Selyne passed along information that kept him ahead of the Thalrasi. And I ensured that when the time came, he would be more than just a survivor. He would be a leader.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Selmira studied her, a slow realization settling over her. “You don’t just see the future, do you? You make sure it happens.”

  Astrid smiled, slow and knowing. “I do what’s necessary.”

  Silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant sound of the ocean crashing against the cliffs outside.

  Selmira finally leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “Then tell me, Astrid—what happens next?”

  Astrid’s violet eyes burned with something ancient, something fierce.

  “Next, we take back what was stolen. And we burn the Thalrasi empire to the ground.”

  The Vault of Cinders

  The study was dimly lit, the glow of scattered lanterns casting long shadows across the walls lined with ancient tomes and half-unfurled maps. The scent of old parchment and ink permeated the air, mingling with the sharp tang of whisky from the glass in Dorian’s hand. He sat at the head of the long table, eyes scanning the myriad of documents before him, each holding a sliver of truth about the fabled Vault of Cinders.

  Valarian paced at the room’s far end, his long coat swishing around his boots. His sharp gaze flickered over each scrap of knowledge they had compiled, yet frustration gnawed at his patience.

  Cassian, perched on the edge of the table with an old leather-bound tome in his hands, flipped through brittle pages with care. “So far, every mention of the Vault is steeped in myth,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Some accounts call it a prison, others a reliquary. But what concerns me is this—” He placed the open book before them, tapping a page adorned with a faded, circular sigil. “The Seal of Cinders.”

  Dorian leaned in, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “The seal is the key to unlocking the vault?”

  Cassian nodded. “More like the key to surviving it. Every record claims the Vault isn’t just locked—it’s warded with an ancient flame, something unnatural. Something living.”

  Valarian stilled, his fingers curling into a fist. “A living fire? You mean a sentient force?”

  “Yes,” Cassian said gravely. “The ‘Cinderbound’ flame. Legends say that those who enter unprepared are consumed by it, their essence feeding the fire’s power.”

  Dorian exhaled slowly, pressing his palms against the table. “Then we’ll need to find a way to either contain or appease it.” His gaze drifted over the scattered notes, his mind working through possibilities. “Tell me more about this seal.”

  Cassian traced the circular emblem with his gloved finger. “It was crafted by the first wardens of the Vault, bound by ancient magic. This text suggests it was broken into three fragments, each hidden in different strongholds.” He turned a few more pages, his frown deepening. “And retrieving them won’t be simple. They were hidden centuries ago, protected by trials meant to deter those unworthy.”

  Valarian scoffed. “And yet, here we are.” He crossed his arms, his sharp smirk not entirely hiding the glint of unease in his eyes. “So, let’s say we find these fragments and reconstruct the seal. That just gets us inside. How do we ensure we’re not turned to cinders the moment we step in?”

  Dorian pulled another document from the pile, an aged map with edges scorched as if touched by flame. “There’s a reference here to a ‘Cinderheart Relic.’ It’s said to be able to suppress the Vault’s flames, at least temporarily. But there’s little on where it is.”

  Cassian’s fingers tapped absently against the tome. “If the relic exists, we need it before we attempt anything. We need all the advantages we can get.”

  Valarian let out a dry laugh. “Is anyone else appreciating the irony here? A Vault of Cinders meant to protect something—from a phoenix?”

  Cassian’s brows lifted slightly. “It is strange. Fire preserving something from fire.” He exhaled. “Or perhaps keeping something out. If a phoenix’s flames can burn away even the strongest magic, it would make sense to create a flame that cannot be extinguished.”

  Dorian took a slow sip of his whisky, contemplating. “And we just happen to know someone who is a phoenix.”

  Cassian and Valarian exchanged glances.

  “You think Elysia could counteract the Cinderbound flame?” Valarian asked.

  Dorian tilted his head, his lips curling into a wry smile. “If anyone can challenge fire with fire, it’s her.”

  Cassian frowned. “Even if she could, we don’t know what effect that would have on her. This flame consumes, feeds on energy. If it turns on her—”

  Dorian’s expression darkened. “Then we find another way.” He set his glass down with a quiet thud. “But if she’s willing, we may have a weapon the Vault’s creators never anticipated.”

  Silence settled over the study as they considered the implications.

  Valarian finally sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright. We find the seal fragments, we hunt down this relic, and then we deal with whatever nightmare is waiting for us inside the Vault.”

  Dorian gave a solemn nod. “It seems there’s no other way.”

  Cassian closed the tome with a quiet thud. “Then we should move quickly. The Vault has remained sealed for centuries—but something tells me we are not the only ones seeking to break it open.”

  A chill settled over the study as their gazes met, the understanding unspoken yet heavy.

  The race for the Vault of Cinders had begun.

  Consumed by Fire

  The bedroom at the Lux Arcana was dimly lit, golden candlelight flickering against the rich velvet drapes and polished mahogany. The rain outside tapped softly against the balcony doors, a distant hum contrasting with the storm brewing between them.

  Elysia stood before Ronan, her fists clenched, her fiery gaze locked onto his. “I’m going with you.” Her voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. “You can fight me all you want, but when you step into the Vault of Cinders, I will be right there beside you.”

  Ronan’s jaw tightened, his arms crossed over his chest, muscles taut with tension. “Elysia, it’s too dangerous.”

  “And you think I care?” She stepped forward, her fire meeting the storm in his eyes. “You are not doing this alone. I won’t let you.”

  He opened his mouth, but she cut him off, voice rising with conviction. “I swear to the gods, Ronan, if you try to leave me behind, I will follow you to the ends of the—”

  His lips crashed against hers, swallowing her words, silencing her resistance in the most intoxicating way possible. Elysia gasped, her body arching into him as his hands found her waist, gripping her tight, pulling her against his heat, against his hunger.

  The world outside ceased to exist. The Vault of Cinders, the looming danger, and the battles yet to come burned away in the fire between them. She melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair. Pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss, he claimed her with a fervor that left her breathless.

  She moaned against his lips, the sound sending a shudder through him. His hands roamed over her, possessive and desperate, as if he needed to map every inch of her skin before the world could take her away. He pushed her back against the edge of the silk-covered bed, his lips trailing down her jaw, his breath hot against her throat.

  “Ronan…” Her voice was a whisper, half plea, half demand.

  He groaned against her skin, his name on her lips undoing him. He lifted her, pressing her down onto the bed, his body covering hers, the warmth of him sinking deep into her bones. Her fingers slid beneath his shirt, tracing muscle and scar, feeling the tension thrumming through him.

  He pulled back just enough to look at her, his gaze dark with desire. “I want every inch of you,” he murmured, reverence in his voice. “You are mine, Elysia.”

  He kissed her again, slower this time, savoring her taste. His lips trailed down her neck, pressing hot kisses against her collarbone, his tongue tracing her skin. He moved lower, his lips caressing every inch of bare flesh he uncovered, worshiping her with every touch, every whispered breath against her.

  When his mouth found her breast, he licked the sensitive peak before blowing cool air over it, making her gasp, her back arching into him. A wicked smile curled at his lips before he took her nipple into his mouth, rolling it gently with his tongue. Pleasure shot through her, a moan escaping her lips as he massaged the soft weight of her breasts, his fingers teasing, kneading, sending heat pooling low in her belly.

  She writhed beneath him, every nerve set ablaze by his touch. “Ronan,” she breathed, her fingers threading through his hair, holding him against her.

  His hand trailed lower, skimming over her stomach, teasing the sensitive skin at her hip before his fingers slipped between her thighs. His warm touch found her slick heat, and her breath caught before she let out a breathy moan of pleasure.

  “You’re so perfect,” he murmured, pressing a kiss against her navel. “Mine.”

  He slid a finger inside her, slow and deliberate, his thumb circling just enough to make her gasp. Then another, pressing deep, finding the spot that made her tremble beneath him.

  Her eyes locked onto his, dark with need. “Baby, don’t stop,” she moaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

  Ronan growled low in his throat, his fingers working her relentlessly, his name a whispered plea on her lips as he drove her higher, closer. Her breath hitched, her body tensing, pleasure coiling tight before it shattered through her, leaving her trembling in his arms.

  He held her close as she came undone, his lips pressing against her temple, murmuring her name like a sacred vow. He never wanted to let her go or be anywhere else but with her now.

  She was his, and he was hers, bound by something more profound than fire, more potent than fate.

  A Sip of Something Dangerous

  The private lounge of the Lux Arcana was bathed in dim, amber light, the air thick with the scent of aged spirits and faint traces of magic. Sheltered from the outside world, this was where the weary came to unwind, where the burn of supernatural cocktails and quiet conversation briefly lifted the weight of duty.

  Selmira sat across from Cassian, her fingers lightly trailing the rim of her glass, watching him with amusement as he finished his drink. The crimson glow of the enchanted liquor reflected in his dark eyes, sharp as ever yet softened by the night’s indulgence.

  “Rough day?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

  Cassian exhaled, rolling his shoulders back, his usual composed demeanor giving way to something looser, more relaxed. “Long day,” he corrected, placing his empty glass down. “And I suspect tomorrow will be longer.”

  Selmira smirked, raising her drink to her lips. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing we’re here now. No battles to fight. No fires to put out. Just... this.”

  His gaze flicked to her, studying her like seeing her for the first time. He had always known Selmira was attractive—anyone with eyes could see that—but tonight, the realization struck differently. Maybe it was the way the candlelight traced over the curve of her jaw or her lips parted slightly when she sipped her drink. Perhaps it was how she looked at him now—like he wasn’t just the strategist, the warrior, the man forever buried in the next mission.

  Maybe it was because, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t thinking about the mission at all.

  Something clicked.

  Selmira set her glass down, tapping the rim with her fingertip. “I have to admit, I thought you were hot the minute I met you.”

  Cassian arched a brow, caught off guard. “Did you now?”

  “Mmm.” She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin in her hand, her expression playful yet laced with something deeper. “But you were too busy brooding over battle plans to notice me.”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “I wasn’t brooding.”

  “Oh, please.” She laughed, and the sound was warm and inviting. “You were brooding. You are brooding.”

  Cassian smirked, swirling the last remnants of his drink in his glass.

  “Maybe.” His voice dipped lower, gaze lingering on her lips before flicking back to her eyes. “But I’m noticing you now.”

  The shift between them was subtle yet undeniable. The air between them thickened, charged with a new energy. Cassian was a man who weighed every move and calculated every risk. And right now, the risk of kissing Selmira was dangerously tempting.

  She leaned closer, her breath teasing his lips. “And what do you plan to do about that?”

  Cassian hesitated—not out of uncertainty, but because he already knew how much trouble this could cause. But damn it, for once, he didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to strategize. He just wanted her.

  His hand reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering just a little too long against her skin. “That,” he murmured, “is the question, isn’t it?”

  Selmira’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. “I do love a good mystery.”

  Their drinks sat forgotten between them, the night stretching out with infinite possibilities.