The Ember Crown

In the high mountains of Vareth where the snow shippers ancient secrets and the winds carry the cries of dead kings there is a woman named Seris. Her name was spoken in hushed voices with averted eyes. She was born under a blood moon. Her hair is as dark as scorched earth and her eyes were the color of molten gold. Her mother died the night she came into the world. Her father vanished two days later. She was raised by the mountain witches who lived in frozen crevices. Seris grew up knowing one thing that power is taken not given.

The witches taught her the magic older than many languages. She could summon fire with a flick of her hand. She could twist a man’s thoughts with one whisper. She could steal your precious memories as easily as picking wild flowers from a field. But it was not enough. Not for Seris.

She wanted more. She wanted the Ember Crown. It was an artifact of legend forged by King Fire in the heart of the dying star of the world. Whomever wore it would control flame as it were the breath she breathed and it would bend the will of other nations. But, the crown had been lost for many centuries.

It was buried in the ruins of Cael Thur, an ancient kingdom swallowed by time. Everyone said the crown was cursed. They said it would burn the soul of anyone who was the bearer. Seris did not care what people said or what they thought.

She went on a journey alone through the lands where the shadows walked without bodies and she passed rivers which were red with rusted magic and the blood of centuries past. She crossed into the Sunken Valley where there was no fire and the cold of the wind went through your bones like a second skin.

She met a spirit named Valeir who was once a knight. But now he was bound to Cael Thur for all of eternity. “You seek the crown?” He asked, his voice echoed through his helmet.

“I seek what is mine.” Seris replied.

Valeir raised his rusted blade. “Then you must earn it with your blood.”

She did not hesitate at all. Fire flared in the palm of her hands and she surged forward. The knight’s armor groaned loudly as the heat scorched his knightly form. He struck her once, hitting her shoulder. She screamed loudly but not in pain but in a fiery rage. With one very loud roar she summoned a spiral of flames so intense the snow on the ground around them hissed into a hot steam.

When Valeir’s ashes scattered in the wind she slowly walked forward leaving a trail of burned earth behind her.

The ruins of Cael Thur were hidden beneath the ice deep in the Hollow Spire. Hollow Spire was a tower that had collapsed forming a jagged crater of black stone and crystal. Fire still flickered from ancient braziers lit by the last orders of Fire King’s will.

At the center of the massive chamber stood the crown which was hovering above a pedestal carved from many dragon bones. Its golden surface pulsed with the heartbeat of red and blue flames.

But Seris was not alone.

From the shadows emerged three spirits. Each of them drawn by legend, ambition or desperation. The first was Kelrin, the blade singer from the Southern Sands. His twin scimitars were dripping with magic. “We can share the power.” He said smoothly. “We can rule together.”

The second was Lys who was a priestess of the Ember Church. Her long white robes faintly glowed. “The crown is not for one who is alone. It will destroy you.”

The third was Daneth, her childhood friend who turned enemy. His dark black eyes were filled with sorrow. “You don’t have to do this, Seris.”

She laughed. “Don’t I?”

They moved all at once. Kelrin’s blades sang through the air. Lys cast shields of red light and blue flames. Daneth tried to restrain her with chains of ice. But Seris was a storm. She summoned a wall of flame that scorched Kelrin where he stood. She shattered Ly’s shield with a loud scream that cracked the stone. Daneth reached her. He always did. But when she touched his hand she whispered. “I loved you once.” And then she burned him down to the ground.

She exhaled. She stood alone once again.

The crown hovered in front of her, waiting. Her hands trembled as she reached for it. The minute her fingers touched the metal a scream filled the air. Not her scream but from the crown itself. Fire poured through her veins, ancient and alive. It was testing her and trying to consume her.

Memories which were not her own flooded her mind. Empires rising and falling. Dragons slain, cities burning. She saw the Fire King’s final moments. She saw his madness and his desperation to keep the crown out of the hands of the unworthy.

But Seris did not fall. She welcomed the fire.

It burned away any doubt. It seared away her pain. And when it was done she stood taller and stronger. Her eyes glowed like the sun.

The Ember Crown rested on her brow.

Years passed. The world changed. Under Seris rule, kingdoms bowed or burned. She rebuilt Cael Thur into a monument to her power. Rivers of the flame flowed through the streets. Her name was etched into the bones of every mountain. Some called her Empress and others called her the Scorched Queen.

She was not unkind without reason nor was she kind without purpose. She ruled with fire and vision. The world bent because she would not.

Still there were those who whispered rebellion. Some feared the crown would one day consume her soul. They were wrong.

The crown did not consume her. It became her. Because Seris was not one to be destroyed by power. She was power. And she would stop at nothing to keep it.