Page 37 of Claimed By Flame

Not Veil-thick. Not like the borderlands where night bled into itself and monsters stitched from fear wandered the roads. But close. Close enough that his Stormfire flickered wrong when he summoned a small spark to light the path.

He found the ruin two hours later, just where the Eidolich’s dying whisper had hinted: under the cliffline, past the altar made of ribs and forgotten stone.

It wasn’t marked on any of their maps.

Cassian approached slowly, blade unsheathed, every muscle coiled.

The air wasstill.Too still.

She then stepped from the shadows.

Tall. Pale. Wrapped in black veils that shimmered like oil. Her eyes weren’t just dark—theyatelight.

Cassian froze.

“Name yourself,” he growled.

She smiled, and the air grew colder.

“Mirael,” she said, voice like cracked silk. “Once daughter of the Veil. Now something else entirely.”

Cassian didn’t lower his blade. “You’re Hollow-born.”

“I’m a messenger,” she corrected. “One your blood called.”

His stomach tightened. “I didn’t call for shit.”

She laughed softly. “But youdid.When you bled for the Eidolich. When you gave it the lullaby. That memory wasn’t yours to give—it was your mother’s. And her line… was not what you believed.”

Cassian’s grip on his sword tightened.

“Say what you came to say.”

Mirael stepped closer.

“Your fire, mercenary, isn’t Drakar. Not truly. It’s Stormfire—a relic of a bloodline erased before Seraphine’s House ever wore a crown. Your ancestors ruled flame when her family stillwalked with mortal feet. And when the Drakar took power, theypurgedyours.”

He laughed, bitter. “Convenient. Got any documents to back that up, or just riddles?”

“Would you like tosee?”

She raised one hand.

A flare of magic bloomed. Not white or purple. Butgray.

Neutral. Unliving.

He didn’t stop her. And suddenlyhe saw it.A memory. Not his.

A man with his eyes, his fire, screaming as Whitefire consumed him. A Drakar lord standing above, saying:“The Storm line must end.”

The vision faded.

Cassian stumbled back.

“No—”

“You are the last of your blood,” Mirael whispered. “The spark that was meant to die with your mother. But the Hollow preserved you. It watched. Waited. Because it knows what you are. What youcouldbe.”

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