THE EMBER CITADEL

It rained fire last night. I’m not being dramatic. I swear I’m not. I was on the roof of the Greyreach Lighthouse at exactly 11:47pm when the first ember fell. It sizzled on the shingles beside my bare feet and I jumped back with a yelp. For three nights now the Ember Citadel had been cracking. My dad used to tell me stories about it when I was little. "Stay away from it, Mira," he’d say, tapping my nose. "That place eats people." He should know. He died trying to map it 10 years ago. So when the old drawer in his room started humming and heating up, I didn’t think. I ran. Inside was his map. The one he hid under the floorboards. The one he told me to never touch. It was glowing. Not burning. _Glowing._ And three X’s had burned themselves into the parchment. Like the map was calling to me. "What the hell," I whispered. My hands were shaking. _Splash._ The sound made me freeze. I turned to the cliff edge. The sea was black. The sky was raining fire. And walking out of it was a man. He was soaked. His black coat was plastered to him. Water and ash dripped from his hair. There was a scar that cut through his left jaw and disappeared into his collar. He walked like he owned the storm. Like the fire wasn’t burning around him. He stopped three steps away. Close enough that I could see his eyes. Storm-gray. Tired. And furious. "Where’s your father’s map?" His voice was rough. Like he hadn’t used it in years. I clutched the map to my chest. "Who... who are you?" He tilted his head. The corner of his mouth lifted but it wasn’t a smile. "Corin Vey." My blood went cold. Corin Vey. The King’s Head Cartographer. The man in all the wanted posters. The man who was on my dad’s ship when it sank. The man who was supposed to be dead. "You’re dead," I said. It came out as a whisper. "I know." He lifted his hand. A brass compass was spinning wildly in his palm. "And the Citadel will be too. In 15 days. Unless you give me that map." "No." I took a step back. "It’s my dad’s." He took a step forward. Now we were only a foot apart. I could smell salt and smoke and something else. Something like old books and winter. "Then your dad died for nothing, kid." _Kid._ I’m 19. "Don’t call me that," I snapped. "And I’m not giving you anything until you tell me why YOU got to live and he didn’t." His jaw ticked. For a second he looked... guilty? Before he could answer— "Corin!" We both turned. At the end of the pier were torches. Soldiers. The King’s crest. And at the front, on a black horse, was Rook. My childhood best friend. Now a General. Now looking at me like I was in danger. "Mira! Get away from him! He’s dangerous!" I looked back at Corin. He was watching me. Not Rook. Me. And for a second, the cold mask cracked. He looked desperate. "We don’t have time," he said quietly. His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His skin was freezing but his grip was warm. "Run." "Where—" "To save everyone. Or die trying." And then he pulled me. We ran past the lighthouse. Past the screaming soldiers. Past my entire life. At the edge of the dock was a ship. Black. No lights. No crew. Just waiting. We jumped. The deck was cold under my feet. And as the ship pulled away from shore, I looked back one last time. At Rook. At my home. At everything I was leaving behind. Corin was already at the wheel. Even though no one was steering it. He glanced at me over his shoulder. "Welcome to hell, Mira Solen." And just like that, my life was over. And beginning.