Ashes of the crown

POV: Ariya 🔥👣🕯️

The forest trail beyond the Whispering Vale had gone quiet — too quiet.

No birds. No wind. No rustle of Jax's usual jokes or Kael's quiet humming. Only the soft crunch of boots on moss and the steady pulse of the strange mark beneath Ariya's collarbone.

They'd been traveling for days now, through narrow ravines and frost-touched woods, following a lead that Lyra insisted would lead them to an ancient ruin — maybe even the next piece of the Flamebearer's legacy.

But today, something was... different.

It was in the air. Thick. Electric.

And then, he appeared.

A lone traveler stepped out from between two twisted trees — young, hooded, and cloaked in travel dust, a silver brooch glinting at his throat.

He held up his hands as Kael drew his blade instinctively.

"Easy, friends," the man said, voice smooth. "I come in peace."

"Peace usually doesn't walk out of cursed woods," Jax muttered.

Ariya studied the stranger carefully. He was about their age, tall, with dark curls, olive skin, and eyes the color of silver — not metal, but moonlight. Unnatural.

Too unnatural.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Name's Corven," he replied. "Heard there was a group of Flame-wielders traveling through here. Thought you could use a guide."

"Heard from who?" Kael snapped.

Corven smiled. "From the wind, of course."

Lyra raised a brow. "Is the wind in the habit of handing out maps?"

"Only to those who listen."

They didn't trust him.

Not at first.

But Corven was useful. He knew the terrain, pointed out hidden traps, even saved Lyra from a collapsing ravine with a flick of shadow magic that startled them all.

"You're gifted?" Ariya asked him that night, when the others had gone to sleep.

He gave her a soft look. "In more ways than one."

"Shadowmancer?"

"Close," he said, stirring the fire. "But not quite."

"Why are you helping us?"

He looked into the flames, something flickering behind his silver eyes.

"Because I believe in what you're doing. Because I've heard of you, Ariya."

Her spine stiffened.

"What exactly have you heard?"

He met her gaze evenly. "That you were born in fire. And destined to end something far worse."

He spoke like a seer.

Moved like a rogue.

Smiled like someone who knew too much — but not enough to be caught.

And yet… something about him made Ariya pause.

There was a gentleness in his voice. A strange familiarity in his presence. Like he knew things she hadn't even dared speak aloud.

"Do you dream?" he asked quietly.

"Excuse me?"

"Dreams mean more when fire touches your soul."

Her breath caught.

How did he know?

Far away — in the shadows of the frost citadel — Ruvan stood before a mirror.

Corven's form shimmered faintly in the glass.

The prince watched as the stranger leaned closer to Ariya, his tone gentle, comforting.

"So it begins," Ruvan murmured.

Corven wasn't a soldier. Wasn't a spy in the traditional sense.

He was crafted — shaped by years of training, molded by charm, laced with half-truths and temptation.

A perfect tool to draw Ariya's trust.

And then… twist it.

Back at the camp, Corven offered Ariya a strange scroll — old, faded, sealed with wax marked by a broken flame.

"A map," he said. "To the temple your kind was never supposed to find."

Ariya stared at it.

Her mark flared in response — not in pain, but in warning.

"Why are you giving this to me?" she whispered.

Corven smiled.

But he didn't answer.