Page 19

Ash in Her Bones

T he horror begins not with flame.

But with silence.

A silence so deep, so dense, it feels like the world is holding its breath. Like I’m drowning in smoke with no water. I walk barefoot through stone corridors veined with roots and sigils carved by forgotten hands. Every footstep echoes, sharp and alone.

There are no torches here. The light that guides me flickers along the walls—memories, not mine. Flickering visions trapped in glass, glowing softly like dying embers. Lives long burned.

A scream tears the quiet in two.

I round a corner—and find it.

A hollow chamber, vast and open, carved from black stone and shadow. In its center stands a shattered pedestal, ringed in chains. Not iron.

Flame-bound shackles. Glowing. Breathing. Alive .

And in them—people.

Or what’s left of them.

Not ghosts. Not quite. Spirits made of memory and magic. There are dozens. Flame-bearers, like me.

Some rock gently, muttering to no one. Others lift hollow eyes to mine, silent, still. One grins the moment I enter. Her charred lips split apart like cracked earth.

“Another ember,” she rasps, voice like burnt paper. “Come to burn.”

I stumble back.

A softer voice calls out from deeper within.

“Don’t look at them.”

I turn.

One of the chained steps into the light—or is pulled there by fate. She looks like me.

Not exactly. But enough. Golden flame in her eyes. Hair crowned with scorched roses. Blood trailing down her chin.

“Come closer,” she says. Her voice is quiet. Tired. The voice of someone who’s shattered so many times, one more break means nothing.

“I know you,” I breathe.

She nods. “You should. I was you. Once.”

My heart stutters. “Who are they?” I ask, inching closer. “Why are they bound?”

“They were chosen,” she says. “Like you. Touched by flame. Loved by it. Feared for it.”

She lifts her shackled hands. They glow like heated iron.

“Some burned too brightly. Others set fire to the wrong things.”

Her gaze sharpens.

“And some of us chose wrong.”

I swallow. “Wrong?”

“I loved the wrong one,” she whispers. “I thought I could save him. That love would be enough to keep the fire from swallowing us both.”

The words land like frost on bare skin.

“Don’t choose him,” she says, voice barely more than a breath. “Don’t love him. Or you’ll end up here. With us.”

I stagger back, lungs tightening.

She reaches for me—the chains groan and rattle but hold. They always hold.

“I burned a kingdom for him,” she says. “And when the world needed saving… I had nothing left to give.”

I jolt awake.

My throat is raw. My skin is slick with sweat. The warmth of Fae silk against my body feels like a lie.

Kainen is already there.

He wraps his arms around me without hesitation. No questions. No commands. Just his warmth. His presence.

“I’m here,” he whispers. “You’re safe.”

I bury my face in his chest, gasping. “I saw them… the Tomb. They were chained. So many.”

He stiffens, just slightly.

I pull back, locking eyes with him. “You know it exists. Don’t you?”

He doesn’t lie. “It’s sealed. Has been for centuries.”

“Why?” My voice cracks.

“Because they asked us to,” he murmurs. “They weren’t just dangerous. They were suffering. The flame doesn’t only give. It consumes.”

My voice drops to a whisper. “What about the one who looked like me? She…warned me not to love you.”

That stops him cold.

His gaze darkens. Not with anger—but with sorrow.

“I’ve heard the stories,” he says. “Of a flame-born queen who stood where you stand now. Who loved a prince. Who burned a kingdom.”

I exhale, ragged. “Am I her?”

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch impossibly soft. “I don’t know. But I do know this—you're not her, Selene. Not unless you choose to be.”

The silence between us crackles like embers.

“But what if the fire chooses for me?” I ask.

He holds my gaze. His voice is steady. Certain.

“Then I’ll stand with you in the flames,” he says. “Even if they burn us both.”

A vibration hums beneath my skin.

I turn, gripping the edge of the blanket—and then I see it.

A faint glow, like cooled embers beneath my flesh. Just below my collarbone, over my heart.

A mark.

No… a rune .

Curved. Ancient. Familiar in a way I can’t explain. It pulses once—soft and golden—then fades before I can cry out.

“Kainen,” I breathe, my heart skipping a beat.

But when I look up, he’s already watching me, a furrow carved deep between his brows.

“You saw something,” he says quietly.

I nod, but I don’t tell him what.

Not yet.

Because something inside me whispers: it’s not time. That this mark means more than either of us can comprehend. It’s not just a scar.

Not just a prophecy.

It’s a bond.

A thread spun in flame.