Chapter 20: The Prophecy
The grand hall of the palace was eerily quiet, save for the steady crackling of the massive fireplace near the throne. The golden flames danced across the walls, casting long, flickering shadows that did little to soften the cold, oppressive air surrounding King Alex. He sat stiffly on his throne, fingers curled around the engraved armrests, his expression unreadable yet heavy with expectation.
Outside, the storm had settled, but inside the hall, the tension crackled like electricity in the air. Every servant who had been in attendance had long since fled, their footsteps quick and hushed, knowing better than to linger when the king was in one of his moods.
And tonight, his mood was dangerous.
The heavy oak doors swung open with force, and a group of soldiers rushed in, their armor clinking as they moved. Their faces were grim, their movements hurried, as if they carried news too terrible to delay.
King Alex did not turn immediately. He let them kneel, let the silence stretch, let them feel the weight of their failure before he spoke.
One soldier, breathing heavily, knelt before the king and lowered his head. “Your Majesty,” he said, his voice tense, “we have failed.”
King Alex’s gaze sharpened, his hands tightening around his throne. Failed. The word sank into his chest like a blade. His jaw tensed, but his expression remained unreadable.
“Failed?” His voice was low, but it carried a dangerous edge, slicing through the silence like steel.
The soldier swallowed hard. “The prisoner, Samantha… she escaped.”
The air in the chamber seemed to freeze. The flickering firelight did nothing to mask the icy rage building in the king’s expression. He leaned forward slightly, his steely blue eyes locking onto the kneeling soldier with unwavering intensity.
“Escaped?” he repeated, his voice dangerously calm.
The soldier hesitated, his throat tightening. “She was badly injured, weakened from the interrogation,” he explained hastily, as though the details might soften the king’s fury. “We assumed she wouldn’t last long. We underestimated her.”
Another soldier stepped forward, fists clenched. “We tracked her, but by the time we reached her last known location, she was already dead.”
King Alex narrowed his gaze. “Dead?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the soldier confirmed. “She was buried in the woods. Someone—possibly one of the girls—must have found her and laid her to rest.”
For a moment, no one breathed.
King Alex exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as he processed the information. His mind worked quickly, calculating the implications of this failure. Samantha had been a loose end for years—one he had tried to dispose of before she could cause real damage. The knowledge she carried, the secrets she had kept, were dangerous.
“She may be dead,” King Alex finally said, his voice slow and measured, “but the girls live.”
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances.
“Eira was spotted near the grave,” another soldier reported, stepping forward. “She fled before we could apprehend her, but we’re tracking her now. It’s possible she’ll lead us to the fireborn.”
King Alex leaned back, considering the information. His expression darkened, though the slightest trace of something almost amused flickered across his face.
“The twins are coming together,” he murmured, more to himself than to his men. “Destiny pulls them toward each other.”
The fire crackled behind him, its embers flaring as if the prophecy itself was responding to his words.
The soldiers remained silent, waiting for their orders.
After a long pause, the king stood. His presence was commanding, even more ominous than when he sat.
“Continue tracking Eira,” he ordered. “And increase your search for Ember. We cannot allow them to reunite.”
He stepped down from his throne, his movements slow but deliberate, his mind sharpening like a blade.
“If they do,” he continued, his voice laced with calculation, “then the prophecy begins to unfold. And I will not allow that.”
The soldiers saluted, their faces tense with urgency as they hurried from the chamber to fulfill his orders.
Once the door slammed shut behind them, King Alex let out a low breath, turning toward the fireplace. His gaze locked onto the burning embers, watching the flames dance, their golden glow reflecting in his eyes.
He would never admit it aloud, but the thought of the fireborn and frostborn together unsettled him. The prophecy had haunted him since the day it was spoken. He had spent years silencing whispers, hunting those who dared to spread tales of the twin forces that could bring his downfall.
And yet, destiny persisted.
He clenched his fists. “If the fireborn and frostborn meet, chaos will follow.”
His hand twitched as he stared into the fire, lost in thought. The flames crackled, shifting in hypnotic patterns, reflecting the turmoil storming inside him. The fire had always been a source of control, a symbol of destruction, of power—and yet, the mere existence of the fireborn and frostborn threatened everything he had built.
In his nightmares, he saw them—two forces of nature, woven into the fabric of destiny, balancing each other, amplifying each other, more powerful together than apart.
Their hands ignited—one in searing flame, the other in glacial frost. Their eyes burned with divine might, their presence undeniable. The prophecy whispered through the corridors of his mind, clawing its way into his very being.
"When the fire and frost unite, the throne shall fall."
It had started as a myth—a warning spoken in fearful murmurs behind closed doors. He had ignored it at first, convinced that no prophecy, no words from the mouths of dying mystics, could dictate his fate.
And yet, every action he had taken since had been in response to those words.
Every decree. Every execution. Every lie he had woven to keep them apart.
Every desperate attempt to rewrite fate had only pushed them closer together.
King Alex clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the engraved armrest of his throne until his knuckles turned white.
He had ensured they were separated. He had erased Ember from history, concealed Eira beneath layers of deception. Their mother didn’t know the truth. The kingdom had forgotten.
And yet—destiny persisted.
They were seeking each other, driven by an unseen force that defied his control. The fireborn burned brighter, the frostborn grew colder—each moving toward the other with unshakable purpose.
He could not allow them to reunite.
"No ruler—not even me—could stand against them."
The mere thought twisted in his gut, sour and unrelenting. For the first time since taking the throne, a sliver of fear crept beneath his skin.
He had conquered armies. Crushed rebellions. Broken spirits.
But this? This was different.
This was inevitable.
His breathing was slow, calculated, but his heart pounded like the war drums that once signaled his rise to power.
Prophecies were fragile things—dangerous when left unchecked, when believed in too deeply. He had killed for less.
And yet, this prophecy had lingered.
"If the fireborn and frostborn meet, chaos will follow."
He knew what had to be done. His soldiers would track Eira. Callen would deceive her. They would stop this before it was too late.
King Alex inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His gaze flickered back to the fire, watching the embers pulse—alive, restless. They reminded him of her, of Ember, of the power she wielded without knowing its full potential.
His fingers curled into fists. He would not allow the prophecy to come true. Not now. Not ever.