In the scorching chambers of the Fire Realm’s blackstone palace, the flames danced wildly as King Fyroth paced with fury in his steps. His volcanic temper scorched the air around him.

  The enemy had escaped him again.

  “Zulieta,” he snarled. “She will not leave this world breathing. Mark my words.”

  Beside him stood Queen Ravenna, her crimson eyes calm and unreadable. With flawless grace and a beauty that rivalled fire itself, she was admired by the realm—feared by her enemies, and misunderstood by her husband.

  She narrowed her gaze and said with sharp disdain, “Let her burn, like the rest who defy you.”

  She spoke with venom, but beneath her carefully crafted cruelty, her heart ached. She wasn’t always this way. Ravenna had learned to wear cruelty like armour—because she feared what would happen if Fyroth ever discovered her kindness. If he knew she was soft, he might cast her aside. Or worse.

  But her son… Draven had always seen through the act.

  “Then raise the stakes,” Draven said suddenly, stepping into the firelit chamber. His voice held weight beyond his years. “Announce a bounty. A fortune. Let every hunter in the realms chase her.”

  He said it to impress his father. To gain his trust. That was all. He never thought it would be real.

  But when he saw the hunger in Fyroth’s eyes—the way he roared in agreement, the way the entire palace seemed to shake with the echo—Draven’s gut twisted.

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  He had lit a fire he couldn’t put out.

  “One million Fire Zinus,” Fyroth declared that night. “For the girl called Zulieta. Dead or alive.”

  And the kingdom obeyed.

  Mercenaries, assassins, and bounty hunters filled the streets, speaking her name with greed in their eyes and death in their hands.

  But behind closed doors, Draven stared at the firelight and remembered his mother’s real voice—the voice she only used when they were alone.

  “Innocence must never be punished. Even in a kingdom built by monsters.”

  And Draven felt something burn in him—not like his father’s fire. This flame was quiet, deep, and filled with sorrow.

  He regretted his words.

  And he would make it right.

  Far north, in the silence of the Ice Realm, Queen Aurenelle stood in her crystal palace, her face a mask of cold elegance as snow whispered against the windows.

  Beside her, the court danced. Masked balls, velvet gowns, fake smiles. Ice hid many things—including pain.

  She watched her daughter, Princess Lyriana, drift through the crowd in silver robes, her steps graceful but distant.

  Once, Lyriana’s voice filled the halls with laughter. But now, she spoke to no one. Not a word, not a sound.

  Something had happened in the past. No one knew what. No one dared ask. But since that day, she had never spoken again.

  Her mother didn’t know about the whispers.

  Whispers that came to Lyriana at night.

  Whispers only she could hear.

  Ancient, echoing voices that slithered into her thoughts and dreams, filling her with a strange calm—and a strange fear.

  Her father, King Sozin, did not see mystery. He saw weakness.

  “She is broken,” he had told Aurenelle. “She was born to lead. And what is a queen who can’t command?”

  He blamed her for everything. For the losses, for the past, for her silence.

  But Aurenelle saw something else.

  She saw a mind unlike any other.

  “She is not broken,” she whispered once, brushing Lyriana’s hair back. “She’s listening to a world we cannot hear.”

  But she never guessed how true those words were.

  For Lyriana was already hearing the first callings of the Shadow Realm—and a girl she had never met, yet somehow already knew.

  Far from both realms, in a land where light dared not shine, Zulieta stirred in her sleep.

  The forest around her moaned like a dying creature. Branches twisted like bones. The wind carried no scent—only the sharp bite of something unseen.

  And then… she heard it.

  The whisper.

  Just like Lyriana.

  Words she couldn’t understand, but a presence she could feel.

  A connection was forming.

  Something ancient.

  Something forgotten.

  And in the shadows, far beyond the known world, something awoke with a single thought:

  “Let the fire and the frost meet again.”