The melody of her humming was the first thing Alira noticed, cutting through the suffocating weight of her pain like a fleeting ray of sunlight. Each step up the spiralling stone stairs was agony, her bare feet burning with pain and her legs trembling as she clung to the cold, rough wall for support. The past weeks had blurred into a relentless nightmare. Her mother’s death, the abduction, and the endless dread had transformed her. The girl who once filled with an energetic smile now walked with her head bowed, the chains of obedience and survival wrapped tightly around her spirit.

She paused at the top of the spiralling staircase. The hum was clearer now, coming from the single wooden door ahead. The sound was deceptively soft and calming, at odds with the raw fear that had become her constant companion.

Standing by the door was a man.

He was unlike any of the armored knights or robed sorcerers she had seen in the dungeons. His black cloak hung heavy around him, the leather armor beneath fitted and unadorned. A sword rested at his hip, its worn hilt within easy reach, and a hood shadowed the top half of his face, leaving the lower half obscured by a mask. Despite the stillness of his posture, his presence was suffocating, like a coiled serpent watching its prey.

Alira lowered her gaze instinctively, her heartbeat quickening.

The man turned slightly, he rapped twice on the door with knuckles that seemed armoured by sheer will. “The girl has arrived, my lady.”

The humming stopped.

A soft voice responded from within, calm yet edged with a command that brooked no refusal. “Send her in.”

The man opened the door without looking inside, his movements measured and deliberate. Alira stepped forward, her head bowed as she passed him, the weight of his silent scrutiny pressing against her back. The door closed behind her with a soft thud.

The room was modest compared to the vast halls of the castle, yet it held an unspoken elegance. A large bed, draped in dark linens, sat to the left, and to the right, a wooden writing desk stood near a wide, arched window. The moonlight filtered through, casting faint silver lines across the floor.

But it was the woman in the center of the room who stole all of Alira’s attention.

Her silver-white hair cascaded down her back like liquid moonlight, damp and glistening from the water that filled the wooden tub. The high collar and lace sleeves of her gown lay discarded nearby, and her pale skin glowed faintly in the dim light, smooth and unblemished except for the intricate jewellery adorning her ears.

“Come here, child,” the woman said without turning, her voice carrying a quiet power.

Alira obeyed, stepping carefully toward the tub until she stood at its edge. The woman’s presence was overwhelming, her beauty otherworldly, and yet it was the calmness in her tone that unsettled Alira the most.

“Help me bathe,” the woman instructed, her tone leaving no room for refusal.

Alira picked up a cloth from the side, dipping it into the water. She worked with careful strokes, smoothing it over the woman’s arm.

“Are you mute?” the woman asked, her eyes still closed. “In the dungeons, you were… not so silent.”

Alira swallowed, her voice faltering as she replied, “No, Mistress.”

“Mistress,” the woman echoed, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Serena will suffice. ‘Mistress’ makes me feel old.”

Alira hesitated, then nodded quickly. “Y-Yes… Lady Serena.”

A soft laugh escaped Serena’s lips. “Go on. Speak your thoughts. I prefer honesty over meek obedience.”

Alira’s grip on the cloth tightened. “I… I’ve heard tales in my village. Are you a vampire?”

“Vampire?” Serena’s eyes opened for the first time, glowing faintly crimson as she glanced at the girl. “Not a witch? That’s new.” She chuckled softly. “No, child, I am neither. Merely a woman. No more, no less.”

“How can some call you a witch?” Alira said, her voice growing steadier. “You saved me from that monster.”

“Monster,” Serena mused, her tone thoughtful. “If you think he was a monster, remember this: history has often called me far worse.”

Alira didn’t respond, her hands working the cloth over Serena’s shoulder. The rhythmic motion calmed her nerves, though the tension in the room remained palpable.

When the bath was finished, Serena rose gracefully from the water, unbothered by her nakedness as droplets trailed down her pale figure. “Fetch me a dress from the closet,” she instructed.

Alira moved quickly to obey, limping toward the wardrobe near the wall. She opened it to find a row of black gowns, identical in their elegance and simplicity. She selected one and turned back, her breath catching as Serena’s gaze locked onto her.

The woman’s crimson eyes glowed faintly, their intensity holding Alira in place. For a moment, she felt as though she were being judged, weighed, and measured. Fear clawed at her chest, but she forced herself to move, each step feeling like a battle.

When she reached Serena, she held out the dress with trembling hands. “Here, Lady Serena.”

Serena took it with a faint smile, her eyes softening as she began to dress. “When did you awaken?” she asked suddenly, her voice almost casual.

“Two weeks ago,” Alira replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “The day my mother… the day she died.”

Serena’s hands paused, her gaze sharpening. “Your mother. Lyra Leonhart?”

Alira nodded.

Serena’s expression darkened, though her voice remained calm. “I gave the order to bring the youngest Leonhart’s bloodline. That happened to be you. But your mother’s death... I had no hand in that.”

Alira stared, confusion and anger bubbling beneath her fear. “Then why—”

“I took responsibility for her death,” Serena interrupted. “If you seek vengeance, take it. But you’ll only have your chance when you are strong enough. Right now, you are nothing but a fragile rabbit in a world full of wolves. Change that first.”

The words stung, but Alira didn’t argue. She stood silently, her hands clenched at her sides.

After a long pause, she finally spoke. “Why did you bring me here? I deserve to know why my mother died.”

The woman ignored as she adjusted the high collar of her gown, its black fabric catching faint glints of light from the room’s flickering torches. She moved toward the balcony with an air of reality, her steps light yet measured. The sound of her soft footfalls against the stone floor seemed to echo louder in Alira’s ears, amplifying the weight of the moment.

Alira followed hesitantly, her limp more pronounced now after their earlier conversation. Pain lanced through her leg with every step, but she dared not complain. She reached the balcony, gripping its cold, worn edge for support as she looked out into the vast expanse of the world beyond.

The horizon was ominous, dominated by a swirling mass of blood-red clouds that churned in the far distance like an open wound in the sky. They seemed alive, pulsating with an unnatural rhythm that made Alira’s breath hitch.

“Look at those clouds,” Serena said, her voice low but intense. She gestured toward the scarlet storm with a pale, graceful hand. “Do you know what lies there?”

Alira shook her head, her emerald eyes wide.

“There lies a land, a forbidden land as humans describe,” Serena continued, her tone steady, though an edge of sorrow bled into her words. “Once, it was rich with pure energy. where my people thrived for millennia. We were not conquerors or destroyers, ever after advancement in magic. We were protectors, overseers of not just our people but all living beings.”

Her voice dropped, and her gaze hardened. “But that land is now cursed. Every being, everything is tainted by corrupted energy. My people have been twisted, and enslaved by their own leader. They have become something... unrecognizable. And I would do anything to lift that curse—even if it means purging your lands again.”

Alira stared at her, stunned into silence.

Serena’s expression softened slightly, but the weight of her words pressed heavily against the air between them. “I made a promise to protect my people. To him. And I intend to keep it. Your blood is the key to lifting the curse.”

“My blood?” Alira whispered, her voice trembling. “How could my blood lift such a powerful curse?”

“Not just yours,” Serena replied, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly as they reflected the distant storm. “There are four others like you. Each of you carries a piece of what was sacrificed to save this world once before. But it is your bloodline that concerns me most. You have traces of the Guardian Dragons within you—ancient protectors of my kind.”

Alira’s heart raced, her confusion mounting. “Guardian Dragons?”

Serena turned her piercing gaze back to her, and her voice was laced with an almost reverent sorrow. “Yes. They were once known as Divine Dragons that gave blessing to chosen bloodlines. Their names were Erythion of the Ice, Sylvara of the Life, Kaeltheras of the Dark, Rhogar of the Flame, and Myrridion of the Stone. They sacrificed their essence alongside our king to seal the Dark One into another realm. But the curse came from the seal was devastating for our kind.”

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Serena’s eyes dimmed for a moment, the glimmer of tears visible. “The Guardian Dragons are long gone, and their bloodlines have almost vanished after centuries of mixed blood. You are a rare fragment of their legacy. And yet, someone has gathered what remains of my people. He rules as a self-proclaimed king, wielding their corrupted forms as his soldiers, all while disguising as the Dark One.”

Her voice broke slightly, and she turned away, wiping a single tear from her cheek. “If Valeria were still here... If he had survived...”

Alira frowned. “Valeria?”

“My… sister,” Serena said, her voice almost a whisper. “With her magic and vast knowledge, we could stand a chance. I have searched for her in the past but have no luck. She is long gone, along with our husband. Lord Protector of the Land of Dragons, Mythoria.”

A sharp silence fell between them, broken only by the distant wind outside.

Serena suddenly turned, her eyes blazing with intensity. “These humans don’t even realize what is waiting for them. Consumed by their greed and indulging in all forbidden magic. Even if I am on your side now, it will not change the outcome. Their society is already breached by the dark forces of Valar. His ambitions alone will break the very foundations of their civilization. I am to blame for that.”

“What do you mean?” Alira asked, her voice edged with panic.

Serena stepped closer, her movements as fluid as flowing water. She raised a single finger, and from it, a glowing drop of blood emerged, pulsing with the same energy as the red storm on the horizon. Alira froze, her legs refusing to move as Serena’s gaze locked onto hers.

“You will understand in time,” Serena said, her voice low and resonant. “Forget who you were before you came here. Forget the bloodline you come from. From this moment forward, you will be something far greater.”

The drop of blood hovered between them, its glow illuminating Serena’s fierce expression. “I bestow upon you a fragment of my sacred blood. It will awaken the power buried deep within your blood; the true blood of Flame Dragon: Rhogar, the Guardian Flame of Emberheart. You wield magic that my kind perfected over centuries. You were born to burn villages to ash with a single spell. No one can stand against your flames.”

Alira trembled, her emerald eyes locked on the glowing blood.

“This is your chance,” Serena said, her tone softening slightly. “A chance to take revenge on people who killed your mother, on people who made you suffer. Even me, if you shall.”

The blood moved closer, and Alira’s heart thundered in her chest. She didn’t move, even as the drop hovered just above her skin, warm and thrumming with a power she couldn’t comprehend. Her lips parted, but no words came.

Serena’s smile was faint, her eyes gleaming with something unspoken. “Do you accept it?”

Alira closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she opened her gaze with determination. “Yes.”

Serena’s smile lingered, faint and enigmatic, as she stepped closer to Alira. The drop of blood hovering at her fingertip pulsed like a living heart, casting shifting crimson light over the young girl’s trembling face. It seemed to call to Alira, a silent rhythm that resonated in her chest, both terrifying and magnetic.

“Close your eyes,” Serena commanded, her voice low but firm.

Alira hesitated for a fraction of a moment, then obeyed, her eyelids fluttering shut. Her hands, slick with sweat, clenched at her sides as if holding her fragile resolve together.

“You will feel pain worse than you have ever felt,” Serena continued, her tone steady and unyielding. “Do not resist it. Let it take you. Only then will you be born like true dragon.”

Alira barely had time to brace herself. A single drop of the sacred blood touched her lips, warm and impossibly thick, slipping past them and onto her tongue.

The taste struck her immediately—a rich, metallic tang that seemed to hum with life. The moment it slid down her throat, heat bloomed in her chest, sharp and sudden, spreading outward like wildfire.

Her breath hitched, her body stiffening as the sensation exploded. A searing wave of heat raced through her veins, its intensity robbing her of breath. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold stone floor, her fingers clawing at its unyielding surface.

Her world became heat and pain.

It wasn’t just the fire; it was the weight of something ancient awakening within her, pressing against her mind and soul, testing their limits. Her pulse hammered against her skull, her heart beating in frantic rhythm with the surge of power consuming her.

Serena stepped back, her expression calm but watchful, her gaze locked onto the writhing girl. “Do not fight it, child,” she said, her voice cutting through the chaos. “This is your inheritance. Claim it. The moment your mind stumbles will be your last.”

Alira’s head snapped back, her mouth open in a soundless scream as a sharp, blinding pain erupted between her brows. It was as if a red-hot brand was being pressed into her flesh, carving its mark. Tears streamed down her face, only to evaporate in the rising heat.

Her body convulsed, her muscles locking and releasing uncontrollably. The air around her shimmered with heat waves, and a faint, acrid smell filled the room as wisps of smoke rose from her sweat-soaked dress.

The pain in her forehead sharpened, condensing into a single burning point. Then, with a flash of searing light, it spread outward, and the mark revealed itself.

Between her brows, an intricate flame pattern appeared, glowing a vivid, molten red. It pulsed faintly, like the embers of a freshly stoked fire, casting flickering light across her pale, contorted face.

The room responded.

The temperature surged, waves of heat rippling outward from Alira’s trembling form. The stone beneath her hands warmed, and the very air seemed to quiver, heavy with a newfound energy. The torches along the walls flickered violently, their flames shrinking and bowing as if cowering in the presence of live flames.

Alira’s chest heaved, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Her body trembled under the weight of the transformation, every muscle taut with strain. She felt as though she might burst apart, unable to contain the raw, unbridled force coursing through her.

And then—stillness.

The heat around her stilled, the suffocating pressure easing, though the air remained charged. Alira’s hands, once clawing at the ground, relaxed, her fingers splaying across the stone. Her shoulders sagged as her head lowered, sweat-soaked strands of ember-red hair clinging to her face.

“Open your eyes,” Serena commanded. Her voice was softer now, but it carried an unyielding authority that left no room for refusal.

Alira hesitated, her entire body trembling as though afraid of what she might find. Slowly, she lifted her head.

When her eyelids parted, the room seemed to darken, as though the light itself recoiled from the inferno blazing within her gaze.

Her eyes no longer held the familiar emerald hue. They burned, red and molten, like living flames, shifting and flickering as though alive. The heat around her swirled inward, pulled toward her fiery gaze, before vanishing into silence.

Serena tilted her head slightly, her expression inscrutable as her lips curved into the faintest smile. “Alyona,” she said softly, the name rolling from her tongue with quiet reverence.

“From this day forth,” she continued, her voice measured and deliberate, “I bestow upon you a name worthy of the flames that now burn within you. You shall be known as Alyona, the Princess of Flames.”

The name carried weight, as if it had been carved from stone and handed down through generations. Alira, or now Alyona, blinked slowly, the flickering light in her eyes intensifying for a moment. Her breathing steadied, though the residual heat in the room still pulsed faintly around her like a living presence.

Alyona struggled to find her voice, her throat dry and raw from the heat that had consumed her moments ago. “Why... Alyona?” she managed, her voice cracking but steadying as the words left her lips.

Serena’s faint smile deepened, though her expression remained enigmatic. She raised a hand, gesturing lightly toward the flame mark now etched onto Alyona’s forehead.

“That name,” Serena said, her tone thoughtful, “reflects the power you now carry. Alyona, the flame reborn. It was passed down from generation to generation in my clan. A symbol of destruction and creation. It will command fear in your enemies and respect among those wise enough to understand”

Alyona’s fingers instinctively brushed against the mark on her forehead. The skin beneath was warm, tingling faintly with the echo of the fire that had burned it into place. She looked down at her hands, at the faint shimmer that lingered on her skin, as if the flames still lived beneath the surface.

Serena turned, her movements deliberate as she strode toward the window. The moonlight framed her silhouette, her gown catching the faint glow of the outside world.

“You are the third,” Serena said, her voice calm, yet each word struck like a hammer on steel. Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the blood-red clouds still churned in the distance. “The third of this generation to carry the bloodline of the Guardian Dragons. Each of you carries their legacy, amplified by my own.”

“What do you mean? How can it be different than magic that others wield?” Alyona asked, her voice steadying as she spoke.

Serena turned slightly, just enough for the light to catch her crimson eyes. They seemed to glow with unspoken knowledge. “Magic,” she began, her tone one of both disdain and reverence, “is a discipline the world has twisted. Those who wield it with wands have bound themselves to mediocrity. Their power comes from the world around them, drawn and stored in their fragile bodies. It was meant to bring them closer to this magical world, to give everyone a chance to wield magic with little effort. But that was never the way for those like you or my kind.”

Her gaze flicked to the flame mark on Alyona’s forehead. “The blood of dragons holds its own energy, boundless and raw. You will not need chants, nor will you need wands. Your will is your weapon, and your blood is the fuel. But this power is untamed. Dangerous. You will learn to command it, or it will consume you.”

Alyona rose slowly to her feet, her legs unsteady but her resolve firm. The name lingered in her mind, its weight settling over her like a mantle. She watched Serena’s back, the otherworldly grace of her movements and the unshakable authority in her voice.

Alyona hesitated, her lips parting to speak, but she faltered. She drew a breath and took a step forward, her words spilling out in a rush. “Lady Serena, I... I have a brother. Older than me. He wields such magic. Thunder. If there’s a chance... I want to meet him. Let him know I’m... somewhat safe, I think.”

Serena froze, the barest flicker of surprise flashing across her features before she hid it behind her usual calm. “Thunder, you say?” Her voice was colder now, sharp like steel. “That can’t be possible. There are no living descendants of that bloodline. The House of Bloodrose, which carried that traitor’s blood, was destroyed long ago. Every last descendant was wiped out. Raknor, the Guardian of Storms. He refused the call of our king for his descendants. I see to it that his every last descendant paid for that price.”

Alyona stiffened. “But—”

Serena’s gaze silenced her. It wasn’t anger but more of a warning, quiet and absolute.

After a long pause, Serena sighed and waved a hand dismissively. “Forget it. I will send someone to find him. You may write him a letter. But remember this, Alyona.” She stepped closer, her voice lowering to a whisper. “You are no longer Alira Leonhart. Do not let him distract you. Promise me you will dedicate yourself wholly to learning magic. And I see to it that your brother lives his life with the head still untacked.”

The threat lingered in the air like smoke, heavy and suffocating.

Alyona swallowed hard and nodded. “Thank you, Lady Serena. I promise I will learn... with all my heart.” Her voice was stronger now, though a flicker of uncertainty still lingered in her tone. “What will happen to me now?” She asked.

Serena’s expression softened slightly, though her eyes remained sharp as ever. “Now,” she said, her voice soft yet filled with authority, “you will learn. You will master the flames you have been given. Alongside the other two individuals like you. You will become something the world has not seen in centuries, far stronger, far better, far more dangerous.”

She turned fully, the crimson clouds reflected in her eyes as if they burned within her soul. “I will teach you to command not just fire, but dragons themselves. The world seems to have forgotten them, buried them in tales and myths. But they are real, and their return will shake the very bones of this land.”

Serena’s smile returned, a flicker of something almost playful crossing her features. “In a few months, we will go on a little adventure. But first, you must prove you are worthy of the name you now carry.”