We take our time, basking in the color of morning light cast through the intimate corridor we’ve come to call our own. His hand steadies meas we descend the winding staircase, just as it did that first day in the glade. How far away that moment feels now. How long have I been here—in Caerhollan, in his life?
The library hums with a different energy when he is beside me. It bows to him as if the walls themselves remember his line.
We pass the table where Ace and I have spent so many hours and go straight to the barred doors.
He lifts the lock in his hands—no key in sight—yet it yields at his touch.
“Old magic,” he says with a wink.
“But I thought magic was gone.”
“It is,” he replies, “well, almost. Most believe it’s what grants us long life and our uncanny healing. But there are things—artifacts, places—so deeply imbued with it that traces remain. This lock, this sanctum… they’ve been tied to my family line for longer than anyone remembers. They yield to the crown and the crown alone.”
Unraveling the chains, he pries the door open. It groans an ancient, forgotten cry. He reaches for a lantern and leads me down to that place that whispers my name.
Eerie shadows move along the walls as we descend. The air is warm despite the absence of sun or hearth. Vale takes his time lighting the lanterns that line the walls until the chamber reveals itself—rows upon rows of ancient tomes and crumbling scrolls, artifacts and tablets scattered across shelves like offerings.
At the center of it all stands a pedestal.
Upon it rests a gilded tome, its pages open, a ribbon marking the place.
I step forward, heart thrumming in the stillness. My hand hovers, then seeks Vale’s gaze. He nods.
When my fingers brush the page, I feel power hum through the air. Strong script stands boldly atop faint, buried sigils—words written over words, light written over shadow.
Crown of shadow, crown of light,
Will free the lands from endless night.
Steel unchosen, flame unplanned,
Shall rise to heal a broken land.
Duty-bound by blood and pain,
A mighty king shall stand again.
Rewarded by fate with true love found?—
An equal heart, his soul unbound.
King of steel and Queen of flame,
Two hearts that neither time can tame.
Where vow and fire intertwine,
The world remade through their design.
“My father brought me here the night before he took the throne,” Vale says, voice barely above a whisper.
“This one… it’s older than most. After the Fade, when our lands were torn apart, many turned to the old words for hope. My father…”—his voice catches—“…he believed I might be the one to heal what was left.”
I reach for him. His hand finds the small of my back, steadying us both.
“Steel unchosen,” he murmurs. “He told me it means us—the ones never meant to inherit the crown. I swore then that I’ll do all I can for this kingdom… for his legacy. And still”—his hands find mine, his eyes soft with something near awe—“I keep that last line in my heart: to find my flame.”
His name for me. Little flame.
