She didn't sleep that night.
Not really.
The stone's pulse had faded, but its echo lingered in her blood like it had stirred something old and half-buried inside her. Something raw.
Waiting.
Flamebearer.
The word wasn't a title.
It was a warning.
By the time the first light slipped over the horizon, Elara was already dressed, already moving.
Not toward the council chamber or the grand library where her new tutors waited.
Not toward the royal tailor who now insisted she wear silk at all hours.
She moved like a ghost, pulled by something unseen.
The path led her to the east garden not the sculpted courtyards the nobles used for their dainty strolls, but the untamed side, where weeds grew wild and ivy ate at forgotten stone.
She pushed through the underbrush, breath catching as she reached an old willow, its branches sagging low like tired arms.
There, half-hidden beneath moss and dirt, was a cracked stone slab.
Elara knelt, brushing the earth away. Her fingers trembled.
Etched into the surface was the symbol from the shrine.
The mark that had burned itself into her vision.
It pulsed faintly beneath her touch, as if the garden remembered her.
"You shouldn't be here alone."
She jerked upright.
M stepped from the trees, his expression unreadable.
"You followed me," she said, her voice flat.
"I didn't need to," he replied.
"Isla noticed you were gone.
She asked Ana to find you."
Elara blinked. "Isla?"
"She's worried. You're not hard to notice anymore.
Especially when you disappear without your new guard tail."
He glanced at the stone beneath her hand.
"You felt it again, didn't you?"
Elara didn't answer.
M crouched beside her, his gaze sweeping the worn carving.
"They marked places like this.
Shrines.
Hidden channels of the old way.
The Flamebearers knew how to hide memory in stone."
"Then maybe this place can tell me who I am."
"You already know who you are," he said.
"You're just scared to believe it."
She looked at him, steady now.
"How did the Flamebearers vanish?"
M went quiet.
The birds had stopped singing.
"When the time comes," he said finally,
"you'll know."
"That's not enough."
"It's all I can give."
She studied him.
The way he stood between shadows and light, always at the edge of belonging.
"Where do you serve in this palace?" she asked.
A pause.
Then...
"I serve where fire stirs."
Cryptic.
As always.
Before she could say more, footsteps and laughter rang through the hedges.
"Elara?" Ana's voice floated through the ivy.
"Honestly, you're worse than a feather in wind."
Elara stood quickly as Ana appeared,
cheeks flushed, arms crossed.
"You always vanish lately," Ana said.
"You know how hard it is to lie to Isla? She has that stare."
Elara managed a smile.
"I needed air."
Ana glanced around"
Mmhm. You and your air."
She looked down at the cracked stone.
"What is this place, anyway?"
"Just... old."
Ana narrowed her eyes.
"Everything with you is just old or just quiet or just nothing.
You do realize you're not a maid anymore, right?
You can stop sneaking around like you're one spilled tray from exile."
Elara didn't answer.
Ana sighed and nudged her gently.
"Come on.
Isla's waiting.
She sent me before the guards got involved. Again."
As they walked back through the winding halls, Ana slowed her pace, voice dropping.
"Where do you go, really?"
Elara hesitated. "Somewhere I don't have to pretend."
Ana didn't push.
But her silence spoke volumes.
That afternoon, the Empress summoned her.Elara expected guards, ministers, formality. Instead, she was brought to a quiet chamber bathed in sunlight. A tea set waited. Music drifted from unseen strings.
The Empress sat alone.
No crown.
Just violet silk and calm eyes that missed nothing.
"You've been exploring," she said without preamble.
"You've found places even our maps forgot."
"I walk," Elara replied carefully.
"That's all."
The Empress's smile was thin.
"You've stepped into the fire now.
No more shadows. You understand that, don't you?"
Elara said nothing.
"People are watching," the Empress went on.
"Some with hope.
Some with fear.
You have power now.
That makes you a symbol.
And symbols… they can build kingdoms.
Or burn them."
Her eyes sharpened.
"Which will you be?"
Elara met her gaze.
"The one who remembers."
A flicker passed through the Empress's expression brief, but unmistakable.
Then she stood, elegant and effortless.
"We'll be moving you to the west wing.
You'll have tutors trained in the old magics.
"You'll be protected."
"Loved."
"Prepared."
It sounded like safety.
It felt like a prison.
That evening,
Isla stood in her private chambers overlooking the royal court.
Her reflection glimmered in the tall window ong braid, imperial blue robe, the faintest scar along her jaw from when she'd fallen from a horse as a child.
She watched the lanterns flicker across the balconies.
She had always known who she was.
Daughter of the Empress.
First in line.
She had always known what the palace expected of her.
And now, suddenly, there was Elara.
Isla turned as her mother entered.
No guards.
No warning.
"She's restless," Isla said quietly.
"She's dangerous," the Empress corrected.
Isla didn't flinch. "She's not trying to be."
"She doesn't need to try."
They stood in silence for a moment.
The Empress said nothing.
Then: "Keep watching her. Make her to listens to you."
Isla nodded once.
Then returned to the window, eyes scanning the garden far below.
Where Elara once again stood alone, staring at a place only she seemed to remember.