During the graduation ceremony, Duke Cedric Fleming had stood at the back of the crowded auditorium, his posture as perfect and unyielding as the granite statues in the halls of his ancestral estate.
He was the very image of power, tall, broad-shouldered, and sharply dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that seemed to command respect without a single word. His steel-gray eyes surveyed the scene with cold calculation, but something in them had flickered when he watched the young woman, Arla-Rosa Hernandez, stride across the stage to accept her degree. The whispers around him had been unmistakable. The youngest graduate in history. Unmatched intelligence. An absolute genius. He had heard of her before, of course. Her academic feats were the talk of not only Country L but whispers even reached his home in Country D, where the most prestigious medical minds and the wealthiest of the wealthy resided. But hearing about someone was one thing; seeing it firsthand was another. Cedric’s gaze had never wavered as Arla-Rosa stepped up to accept her diploma, the applause for her accomplishments shaking the air like thunder. His sharp mind had made note of every detail: her composure, her politeness, the way she handled the spotlight with an air of confidence that some might mistake for arrogance. But Cedric had seen past that. He saw the cracks in her armor, the faintest flicker of nerves, the way she seemed almost... too eager to please. Her devotion to Seth Robinson, the man at her side, was equally evident. The way she had smiled at him, the unspoken bond between them, made Cedric's jaw tighten with a strange sense of frustration. He couldn’t place it, but there was something off about their dynamic. Something that didn’t sit right with him. A woman like Arla-Rosa, so young, so capable, so brilliant, should have been focused on her career, on making her mark in the world, not chained to a man’s shadow. She was the prize in a world full of expectations and ambitions, yet here she was, giving up everything for a company that seemed to be as much of a gilded cage as a golden opportunity. As the ceremony wound down and the crowd dispersed, had Cedric slipped into the hallway, his expression a mask of calm indifference. He was used to being in control, used to commanding attention wherever he went. But the way Arla-Rosa had handled the barrage of offers from hospitals, rejecting them all for Seth's company, had stirred something inside him, something he had no intention of addressing. Women were meant to be seen and admired, not to elicit the kind of fascination he felt for her. It was an inexplicable pull, something Cedric had never experienced before. In all his years as a tycoon, he had never once found himself captivated by a woman’s presence in this way. He'd never been interested in idle flirtations or soft, sweet smiles. Yet, here he was, watching her turn down offers from the most prestigious medical institutions in the world, all for a man whose company she barely seemed to care about, at least, not in the way he would expect from someone with her potential. “What is it about you?” he muttered to himself, his voice low, harsh with frustration. That night, after the gala celebrating Arla-Rosa’s achievement, Cedric found himself back in his hotel suite. He stood in front of a grand window overlooking the city lights, his fingers curling around a glass of whiskey, though the liquid barely touched his lips. He had to know more. He had to know what made Seth Robinson worthy of such undying devotion. What was it that made Arla-Rosa, this young, brilliant prodigy, so willing to give up her future for a man who seemed as self-serving as she was selfless? Cedric’s power extended beyond borders, and he knew exactly how to make things happen without ever lifting a finger. He picked up his phone, dialing the number of his most trusted informant in Country L. “Get me everything you can on Seth Robinson,” Cedric said, his voice cutting through the night air like a blade. “I want to know about his family, his business dealings, his... influence.” His informant, a seasoned private investigator, knew the Duke well enough to not ask questions. “Understood, Your Grace. It’ll take some time, but I’ll get it for you.” “Good.” Cedric hung up, the sound of the receiver clicking back into place ringing in his ears like the hammer of a gun. In the following days, Cedric began to feel the intensity of his growing obsession. He couldn’t let it go, this strange, magnetic pull he felt towards Arla-Rosa, the question of why she had chosen this life. Why she had chosen him over all the world’s opportunities. Every move she made, every word spoken by Seth, every glance shared between the couple, it all became a puzzle he couldn’t stop trying to solve. Seth’s company was significant, its growth was undeniable. But Cedric’s focus was no longer solely on its success. No, now it was about understanding why Arla-Rosa had chosen to remain tied to it. What was her connection to Seth that made her throw away the life she could have had for something so ordinary? And then, it struck him. He would be patient. He would watch her, wait for her to make a misstep, to reveal her true self. He had no interest in stealing her away, no, that was too easy. What interested him more was seeing how far she would go, how far she was willing to bend herself into the shape that Seth and the world around her demanded. Because he knew one thing for sure: Arla-Rosa Hernandez was not someone who could easily be controlled. And that made her all the more dangerous in his eyes.They called themselves the Ashborne. Not because they had been defeated, but because they had learned to live within the ashes, to breathe quietly beneath destruction, and wait for the moment when the flame might return.The two figures who had seen the light at the Flame Core returned swiftly through the tunnels, turning stone wheels, navigating hidden paths, avoiding patrols with muscle memory sharpened by decades of survival. The taller one, with the scarred throat, pushed open a disguised wall and stepped into their refuge.The air inside was warm, dry, and thick with incense, not of worship, but preservation. Herbs hung in bundles. Phoenix feathers, long petrified, decorated the corners. Lanterns burned low with sapphire-blue fire.Nearly forty faces turned to greet them. Some old. Some barely more than children. All wearing the ash-colored cloaks of the Ashborne. A woman stood at the center, arms crossed, chin high. Her name was Senna, once a high-ranking healer in Amarantha’s c
The dust from the orb still lingered in the air, faintly golden, as if refusing to settle. Arla-Rosa stood at the heart of the shrine, hands still trembling. Not from fear, but from a recognition so deep it vibrated in her marrow. This was her birthright. Her beginning. Her mother’s sacrifice, her father’s defiance, her own survival, it all started here.Cedric did not speak. He stood close, not as a duke or protector, but as a man witnessing his beloved walk back into the pages of a history that tried to erase her. Cassian ran his fingers along a faded relief on the wall, eyes sharp behind childlike wonder. “It’s a map. I think. A map of the old island layout...”He pointed at a glowing marker. “This shrine is the Flame Core. It was the heart of the Saphiren Clan. But... here...” he tapped another dimmed section to the far west, “...this was once called The Haven of the First Healer. It’s marked by the crescent bloom.” Arla-Rosa blinked. “The same bloom carved into Mother’s pendant..
The sun was just beginning to set over the sea, staining the waves in streaks of amber and orange. Cedric stood on the slope of the dune with Cassian perched on his shoulders, scanning the beach for anything unusual. Celeste dug idly at the sand with a stick, humming to herself as Arla-Rosa stood at the water’s edge, one hand pressed over her heart.The pull had grown stronger. It was as though the sand beneath her feet remembered her, and each step she took across the coastline whispered secrets in a language she was only beginning to remember. But the entrance... remained invisible.“It’s here,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone. “I feel it in my bones, but I just don’t know how to find it.” Cedric approached. “Could it be buried? Underground?” She shook her head. “No. It’s something else. I think… we’re standing in the middle of a magical formation, if that makes sense.”Celeste's ears perked up. “Like a hidden door?” Cassian, curious, jumped off his father's shoulders. “Ma
Far beyond the tourist coastlines and the soft laughter of children, past cliffs carved by time and oceans made of glass, there lay a veil no map dared to mark. Behind that veil, hidden by blood magic and deathly intent, was the heart of decay.The Guxani Sect, known only in whispers among the forbidden circles of martial arts and insect cultivation, thrived like a nest of locusts deep within the island’s shadowed interior. Their compound resembled an overgrown ruin, stone halls tangled with black vines, bamboo groves corrupted by parasites, air thick with the scent of wormwood and copper.In a subterranean chamber beneath the largest hall, a dim glow from bioluminescent fungi illuminated what little remained of Amarantha Lunaria.She sat slumped against a wall of ancient roots, her hair no longer silver-gold but matted and streaked with red earth. Thin iron cuffs wrapped around her wrists and ankles, etched with the sigils of entrapment. He
The sun hung lazily above the shoreline, scattering golden flecks across the waves. The salty breeze carried children’s laughter, the distant caw of gulls, and the faint music of a steel drum drifting from a nearby beach café. Everything about the day was ordinary, beautifully, deceptively ordinary.Cassian and Celeste squealed as the tide tickled their ankles, running up the shore with buckets in hand. They were halfway through building a lopsided sandcastle kingdom, Celeste’s fortress had seashell guards, while Cassian had engineered a working moat with filtered water channels. Arla-Rosa watched them from her spot beneath a pale linen parasol, legs folded, a book resting unread in her lap.She smiled as Cedric returned from the beachside vendor with two chilled drinks and sat beside her, handing her one. For a moment, they were not fugitives. Not the daughter of a forgotten royal line. Not a duke disguised as a commoner. Not the children of prophecy, no
The scent of spiced parchment and rare sandalwood filled Duke Cedric Fleming’s private study. A long velvet box lay open on his desk, revealing the final gift: a crystalline comb inlaid with frost lotus petals, rumored to only bloom once every seven years in the highest mountain ranges of Country D. Delicate. Priceless. Symbolic.“Will it pass inspection?” Cedric asked without looking up. The envoy bowed low. “Yes, Your Grace. All the gifts are personally inscribed, the letters are sealed with your crest. None will suspect this is anything but a sincere offering.”“Good,” Cedric said, folding the final scroll. “Let them believe it.” The envoy hesitated. “Do you truly wish to congratulate them for finding their... princess?” Cedric’s hand stilled. “It is not congratulations, Lord Vance. It’s bait.”He rose from his chair, his shoulders straightening beneath the weight of his title. The opulent robe he wore shimmered with the subtle threads of his house colors, storm grey and midnight b