The Heiress Of Fire: Thawbringer (BOOK II)

(17 Years Before)

Silence.

A suffocating stillness.

Only the slow, hollow echo of a heartbeat, somewhere far away.

From within warm flesh and clotted blood, a small form shifted. Slowly… painfully… Konain forced her neck upward from the crimson weight surrounding her. Her face glistened, flushed and wet, a fragile pink against the dark.

A long-held breath escaped her in a trembling release.

Then another.

And another.

She gasped deeply, as though learning air for the very first time.

Darkness swallowed everything.

Thick. Endless.

Except, Ahead of her, a single glowing doorway pulsed faintly within the void.

And then…

A figure stepped forward. Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed entirely in black, an imposing presence that seemed to swallow the light around him.

Both his ears were lined with tiny silver earrings from top to bottom, each catching the faintest glimmer of light. His hair was sleek and black, black like a moonless sky, falling in layered waves from his forehead to his neck and shoulders. The strands moved in smooth, deliberate lines, like a dark river slipping through silent mountain valleys.

But it was his eyes that held the most unsettling beauty.

Their pupils were not round.

They were triangular and purely shining white.

Sharp. Precise. Almost predatory.

Anyone who looked too long into them would feel it—an odd, quiet danger. Like standing too close to the edge of something unknown.

His face carried an almost unreal symmetry. High cheekbones carved in shadow. A sharp jawline shaped with cold patience. Lips curved into the faintest suggestion of a smile, one that never quite reached his eyes.

He was wearing a locket shaped like a half-forgotten key, crafted from blackened silver that shimmered with a subtle, shifting glow. Its jagged teeth twisted delicately, as if alive, and at its center rested a tiny crystal that glimmered with an ethereal, otherworldly light.

There was beauty in him.

Undeniably.

But it was not the kind that comforted.

It was the kind that warned.

He looked like the sort of man legends were written about afterward.

A breathtaking, merciless killer who could steal a life as effortlessly as he stole a breath.

“Heeey… you’re awake,” he said lightly.

A small pause.

“Good. That means it’s time.”

Konain stared at him, bewildered. Her lips parted, but speech felt foreign, like something she had not yet learned.

“Y… y… you… who…?” she stammered.

The man smiled, amused, and casually pointed to himself.

“Me...? I’m Arshim.”

She tried to repeat it.

“A… R… sh…”

He chuckled softly.

“Oh, come on. We were just together all the time. You really don’t remember?”

He straightened, brushing invisible dust from himself.

“Not your fault, though. You won’t remember any of this. Not a single thing.”

A brief pause.

“Forgive me… once again, I had to erase all your memories.”

Arshim spoke calmly, gesturing outward as if presenting something beyond her sight. His tone carried neither regret nor warmth: only a quiet, unsettling certainty.

“This human body…” he continued, glancing back at her with measured intent,

“…is perfectly suited for you. You’ll adjust to it well… at least, for now.”

Suddenly!

Blood began to fall from above.

Warm.

Thick.

Drops landed on her cheeks.

Konain blinked, confused. She was buried up to her shoulders, unable to move, unable to wipe them away.

Arshim lifted his fingers, catching a few drops. He examined them, then glanced upward.

“Hmm. Looks like another one just died.”

He brought the liquid to his tongue.

His brows rose slightly in mild surprise.

“Ohhh… this one was your father.”

Konain’s eyes struggled to remain open.

Father.

The word meant nothing to her, no shape, no memory, no meaning.

And yet, Something inside her twisted.

A strange, instinctive ache bloomed in her chest.

Her lips trembled.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her face deepening in red, the urge to cry rising from somewhere primal and unstoppable.

Arshim looked down at her, unimpressed.

“You’re starting already?”

He lifted a hand toward the glowing doorway.

“There was still some time left before the real crying.”

The darkness above them began to crack.

Soft fractures spread across the void like fragile glass.

The entire space trembled, gently at first… then more insistently.

Konain looked at him again, panic flickering in her eyes.

He spoke casually, as though discussing the weather.

“Seems like it’s your turn to go out.”

He studied the blood still staining his fingers.

“In a few moments, he’ll take his last breath.”

He looked at her.

“And you’ll take your first.”

A faint smirk curved his lips.

“Same timing. His death. Your birth.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Bad luck, girl.”

Konain understood nothing.

The world around her was collapsing, shaking apart like fragile glass.

Arshim’s expression softened, just barely.

“You’ll be tied to him somehow,” he said thoughtfully. “In ways you won’t understand. He might cause you trouble.”

He turned his gaze toward the glowing doorway.

“But I’m certain,” he added calmly, “you’ll handle him.”

“Go now,” he said quietly, though his voice carried a chilling authority.

His gaze lingered and unreadable, almost prophetic.

“We will meet again.”

A breath of silence passed between them.

“At the hour of your death.”

A slight pause.

“But only if you don’t step between me and someone’s death that day…”

His voice turned colder. Sharper.

“Otherwise… we will meet again.”

He smiled faintly, half theatrical, half edged with something like pride.

“And then,” he said slowly,

“in place of the one who was meant to die… I would have to take you there instead.”

He let the words settle before adding, quieter.

“To the Eternal Vale.”

A brief silence.

“You understand… don’t you?”

A dangerous pause followed.

“So take care.”

Konain shook her head weakly, her lips pressed tight, on the verge of breaking into sobs she did not yet know how to release.

Arshim began to walk away.

“Ah, well,” he sighed lightly. “Now it’s truly your time to cry.”

He paused once more, glancing back.

“Strange world, isn’t it?”

“People cry when they enter it… and they cry when they leave.”

The cracks widened.

The light flared.

And somewhere beyond the breaking dark—

A final breath ended.

A first cry began.