A Fractured Flame
1246 Words
The wind howled across the mountain ridge, sharp and cold, slicing through the dragon banners like claws. Yet Alaric felt none of it.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, the sky wide and ruthless before him, but his thoughts burned hotter than dragonfire. His mother’s secrets echoed through his head.
Seraphine… my child… are they safe?
He clenched his fists, knuckles white against the storm. The scent of smoke and steel still lingered from the last border clash, and yet, this quiet—this waiting—was worse than war.
A soldier approached, his silver armor dented and singed. “Your Highness. The scouts returned. The southern peaks are ours again. But villages once loyal to the Moon Court… they hesitate. They whisper of peace. Of a queen with mercy in her blood.”
Alaric turned slowly. “A queen?”
The soldier swallowed. “Seraphine.”
Before Alaric could reply, a voice pierced the wind.
“Alaric.”
Celeste, his mother—crowned in sapphire and frost—stepped closer. Her robes fluttered like torn feathers.
“Seraphine and the child are alive,” she said. “You must focus.”
He looked at her with empty eyes. “Why didn't you tell me the truth sooner?”
Celeste avoided his gaze. “Because the truth is dangerous.”
He brushed past her, but their moment was interrupted by a scream from above.
A dragon, cloaked in shadow, dove from the clouds. Its rider wore blackened obsidian armor, face hidden. A glowing spear flashed—then struck.
Alaric collapsed, crimson staining the snow.
“Protect the King!” his men shouted, launching into battle as flame and fury exploded in the air.
But the assassin vanished like smoke.
They rushed Alaric to a hidden cave beneath the ridge—an ancient war shelter. There, Celeste worked feverishly, her hands trembling as she summoned old magic.
“Stay with me,” she whispered, pressing glowing light to his wound.
Alaric caught her wrist, eyes dazed but sharp. “How long have you been sick?”
Celeste hesitated.
“Don’t lie to me,” he whispered.
“It’s only a shadow,” she said. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”
But her hands betrayed her. They wouldn’t stop shaking.
Later that night
She returned to his side, carrying food wrapped in soft fire-leaves.
“How long must I stay hidden like this?” Alaric asked.
“Until your enemies grow comfortable again. They believe you’re dead. Let them. It buys us time.”
She sat beside him, watching him eat in silence. Then said, “We found out who ordered the assassin.”
Alaric looked up slowly. “Who?”
“Vyreth.”
His face darkened. “Are you certain?”
“She used one of her shadow-born. The blade was laced with cursefire—her signature.”
He set the food aside. “Then we strike.”
“No,” Celeste said quickly. “Let’s marry her off to the Moon Emperor. She’ll be trapped in his court, surrounded by enemies disguised as allies. No power. No escape. Let her rot in luxury.”
Alaric scoffed. “You think Vyreth can be contained by marriage? She’ll corrupt the entire Moon Court if we let her near the throne.”
“I’m protecting you,” Celeste snapped. “Why can’t you see that?”
“Maybe because the last time you protected me, you lied about my child.”
He left without another word.
A moment later, a shadow stepped from the dark.
“Your Grace,” the spy said softly. “The assassin has been paid. The blade was real. But we swore he’d survive.”
Celeste didn’t look back. “Then make sure he never knows I was the one who ordered it.”
Back in the Dragon kingdom
Seraphine stood on the moonlit balcony, the wind brushing her hair like a ghost. She held a letter—his letter—crumpled in her trembling hand.
> “Someone tried to kill me. We suspect it was your mother.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.
With the two of you, death has always followed.
If you’re involved… don’t deny it. I’ll know the truth soon.”
Her vision blurred with rage and sorrow.
She turned. “Mother… did you try to kill him?”
Vyreth sat near the hearth, her long silver braid undone, wine in her glass. “If I had, he’d be dead.”
“Mom.”
Vyreth exhaled. “No. I didn’t order the attack. I was still healing. But to them, truth doesn’t matter. To them, we’re monsters by name alone.”
“Why?” Seraphine whispered. “Why do they always hate us?”
“Because I loved someone they feared,” Vyreth said. “And because I survived him.”
Return to the Dragon Kingdom
Alaric’s caravan rode into the capital under torchlight, expecting whispers and rebellion.
But the city streets were flooded with kneeling citizens, offerings of firefruit and prayer cloths. The people shouted not just his name—but hers.
“Long live the Flame!”
“Bless Queen Seraphine!”
“Peace Child! Lightborn!”
He stared, speechless, as women raised their children toward him. Elders wept and pressed blessings into his path.
Inside the palace, Celeste was seething.
“This is her work. She’s turned the people. She’s winning their hearts. You must exile her—cut her off before her roots grow too deep.”
But Alaric said nothing. Not yet.
He entered the throne room alone and summoned Seraphine.
She arrived wearing a modest moon-silk gown. No crown. No jewelry. Just truth in her eyes.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Seraphine stepped forward, voice like a knife:
“You killed my uncle. You kill Keador. You imprisoned Teavin. And worse… you made me question my own mother.”
Alaric flinched, the words sharper than any blade. But his voice remained steady:
“I didn’t fake anything.”
He stepped closer, fire glowing behind his eyes.
“Not my love. Not the future I tried to build with you. I didn’t fake holding you every night, praying you’d see me as more than a dragon with a throne.”
Seraphine’s throat tightened, but she held her ground.
“Then why do you treat me like an enemy?”
Alaric’s fists clenched. “Because you let me bleed alone. Because you stand between me and the truth.”
“I carried your child in silence,” she said. “I gave your people kindness when they spit on my name. I walked through fire to earn your love. And now you act like I used kindness as a weapon?”
“You turned my kingdom,” he hissed. “You made them love you more than their own king. I can’t tell what’s real with you anymore.”
Her voice cracked, but she forced strength into every word:
“I didn’t fake anything either. I tried to love you. Truly. Because I carry your child. Because I wanted peace. But I was born into war. War raised me. It taught me how to survive.”
A long silence.
Then Alaric whispered, almost broken, “You think love will fix what the past broke?”
She stepped even closer, her hand barely resting over her stomach.
“No. But I think it’s the only thing worth trying for.”
- Writer
