Tame The Flame

The Quiet Before the Storm

The wind along the crystalline ridges of the new coastline whistled with the memory of war. Where once deep ocean had separated Keal’s island from Aldric’s kingdom, there now stretched bridges of glass and light, frozen waves and fused lands—permanent echoes of the Etherworld’s reshaping of their reality. Beneath twin suns, the world had been rewritten.

And so had they.

Victory had cost more than blood. It had shattered thrones and pride, rewritten geography, reforged dynasties through choice rather than birthright. The war had ended. But for those who had fought it—not just as soldiers or monarchs, but as revolutionaries, as lovers, as survivors—peace brought no rest. Only different burdens.

And new enemies.

The Broken Order—once the loyal arm of the old powers—had emerged from the ashes. Not as generals or kings, but as zealots and fanatics. Where the new world saw hope, they saw heresy. To them, the Etherworld’s influence was corruption. To them, the love and magic that had forged a new realm was an infection. And at the center of their wrath stood three children.

Not heirs.

Not symbols.

Miracles.

Each born within weeks of each other, wrapped in both prophecy and the echoing consequences of war, they were the proof that something new had taken root in the world.

Nyra, daughter of Ava, had eyes like still water and a gaze that pierced through lies. She rarely spoke, but when she did, her words were unerring. Birds landed near her. Wolves rolled over like pets. She disappeared into forests and returned with wounded animals that trusted her more than men. Once, she said simply, “They know me.” Ava hadn’t doubted her for a second.

Kaelen, son of Lima, was composed lightning. Quiet, endlessly curious, building and deconstructing from the time he could crawl. Before he could walk, he was sketching runes. Before he could talk, he was predicting Etherstorms. Lima watched him like a tactician watches the future—proud, anxious, reverent. Keal once caught him dreaming with glyphs floating midair, drawn unconsciously by his hands. None of them understood the full depth of his gifts.

Siora, Seraphina’s daughter, was born screaming into lightning and flame. A force of nature with golden eyes and a will to match, she burned with purpose. At three years old, she corrected ministers during council sessions. When denied access to one, she lit the doors on fire. “She is not a child,” Seraphina said once. “She is an inheritance.” And Keal had nodded, because he had felt it too—that pulse of something ancient, raw, and destined.

They were not just the future. They were the manifestation of a new reality. And nothing terrifies remnants of the old world more than something they cannot control.

The stronghold had changed too. Once built for war, it now housed laughter and lullabies, toys alongside swords, runes glowing beside chalk drawings. The war chamber, once lit by strategy and blood, now held cribs beneath war banners and puzzle boxes beside prophecy scrolls. Life had returned to the stone.

But tonight, the air was heavy with more than parenting.

A missive had arrived—its runes encrypted, its tone unmistakable.

“The Order is moving,” Lima said flatly. “Gathering near the ruins of Skyhold.”

Keal leaned over the war map, the familiar ache of tension creeping into his spine. “They’re building something.”

“Something tuned to Ether-born blood,” Ava said, hands resting on her blade even here, in their own home.

“They see our children as aberrations,” Seraphina murmured, holding a flickering orb of Siora’s last tantrum—flame spinning, never burning out. “They think to contain what they don’t understand.”

“They won’t contain them,” Keal said softly. “They’ll try to erase them.”

A silence fell. Not of fear. But of a promise forming.

“They’ve made one mistake,” Ava said, rising. “They came for our children.”

“They’ll regret that,” Seraphina added. “There are no lengths I won’t go to.”

“They’ve declared war,” Lima concluded. “Not on kingdoms. On family.”

“And they’ll learn,” Keal said, “that family is not a weakness. It’s the reason we survive.”

Just then, Nyra appeared in the doorway, barefoot, moonlight dancing across her hair.

“There’s a shadow near the western wall,” she whispered, eyes glowing faintly.

In an instant, Ava was gone—blade in hand.

Moments later, a scout in Broken Order robes was dragged in, his face bloodied but defiant.

Seraphina towered over him. “Who sent you?”

The man smiled. A broken smile. “It’s already begun.”

Keal crouched beside him. “Touch them, and there will be nowhere in this world—or the next—you’ll be safe.”

The scout grinned wider. “You made gods. And gods attract monsters.”

He bit down. Foam at his lips. He died before another word was spoken.

They burned his body before sunrise.

That night, Keal stood at the high balcony, looking out over a world they had bled to reshape. The kingdoms were joined. The Etherworld’s echo still hummed faintly in the wind. But beneath the calm, something stirred.

He turned to see Seraphina behind him, wrapped in a silk robe, holding Siora to her chest.

“They’ll never stop, will they?” she asked.

“No,” Keal said. “Not as long as the old world fears what the new can become.”

Seraphina kissed Siora’s forehead. “Then we won’t stop either.”

Below, Ava cradled Nyra, whispering stories from the battlefield like lullabies. Lima rested beside Kaelen, watching him sketch stars in the air with light from his fingertips. They looked like gods. But they were just parents. Just people.

And that was what made them unstoppable.