ights ago, her breath rising in pale wisps. The mark on her palm pulsed softly, a steady thrum that echoed in her bones. Kael stood behind her, arms crossed, silver eyes wary but watchful. "You sho

ooked down at her hand. The mark burned bright. "I have to know what's beneath." She stepped inside. --- The descent was steep and silent. The stairs were carved from obsidian, warm beneath their feet, glowing faintly with ember-like light. As they walked, the air thickened-not stale, but charged, like a storm building underground. Symbols adorned the walls-flickering between runes and imagery. Liora saw the Flameborn crest, a fire encircling a tree, and another symbol: a broken crown. "What do these mean?" she asked. Kael ran his hand along the carvings. "Flameborn used to protect the Veil. This-" he pointed to the crown, "-was the last time one of them tried to rule it." "They tried to become kings?" "They tried to become gods." At the bottom, the stairs opened into a chamber lit by hundreds of suspended crystals. In the center stood a pedestal, upon which sat a book-its cover glowing softly. Liora approached, the mark on her palm flaring with each step. "It's calling to you," Kael said, his voice reverent. She opened the book. Flames erupted around the chamber-walls lighting with images, moving like memories in fire. A battlefield. Shadows clashing with warriors cloaked in fire. A woman-her hair like molten gold-stood at the center, wielding a sword of flame. Liora stepped back, eyes wide. "That's my mother." Kael stared. "Then the stories were true." The fire twisted, reshaping. A shadowy figure cloaked