The lantern flames flickered weakly in the abandoned temple, casting crooked shadows against the cracked stone pillars. Outside, the rain fell in a relentless curtain, drowning the whispers of the night. The worn wooden doors groaned as if the heavens themselves were warning the two figures standing beneath the faded statue of an ancient deity.Rylan Vale’s hands trembled—not from fear, but from the overwhelming reality of what he was about to do. A poor villager with barely a spark left of his ancestral power, he had never imagined his life would cross paths with someone like her. Yet here she stood, cloaked in red, her presence radiating a warmth that defied the cold storm outside.Seraphina Phoenix.Runaway heiress of the noble Phoenix Clan. Blessed by celestial fire. Born with wings of destiny on her back and chains of duty around her wrists.Her golden eyes lifted to meet his, soft and stubborn at the same time. “Rylan,” she whispered, brushing wet hair from her cheek, “if you wi

The night had barely settled when the flames returned to the sky—brighter, hotter, and far more controlled than before. This time, they did not streak like falling stars or distant omens. They descended with intention.Like a verdict from the heavens.Rylan stood in front of their small wooden home, chest heaving as he stared upward. Seraphina clutched the twins behind him, her body trembling not from fear—but from a pain she knew was coming.The Phoenix Clan had come for her.And they would not leave empty-handed.The flaming clouds parted, revealing a formation of immortal soldiers clad in molten-gold armor. Each bore wings of living flame, feathers flickering like miniature suns as they soared downward in disciplined rows.The villagers collapsed to their knees, shielding their faces.Rylan did not kneel.Seraphina did not kneel.The twins, too young to understand, only whimpered as the heat pressed down on them.A thunderous voice boomed across the village:“Seraphina Phoenix. You

The night should have been silent.But silence did not belong to the aftermath of a Phoenix army’s arrival.The forest still trembled from the clash that had left Rylan battered on the ground, blood trickling down his forehead. Seraphina knelt beside him, her fingers trembling as she tried to seal his wounds with her fading immortal energy. In her arms, the twins—wrapped in simple mortal cloth—let out soft whimpers, sensing their parents’ terror.“Enough,” Elder Vaelor’s cold voice echoed through the clearing. His crimson robes fluttered, phoenix flames rippling across his sleeves. “Seraphina, the clan awaits. The ceremony is already being prepared. You will return immediately.”Seraphina lifted her gaze, eyes blazing with defiance.“You promised,” she said through clenched teeth. “If I returned willingly, you would spare Rylan.”Elder Vaelor smiled. It was not a kind expression—it was the triumphant smirk of someone who had never once bothered to keep his promises.“The clan does not

“Blood should protect blood—but some blood only thirsts for gold.”The night the twins vanished from the Phoenix Realm, the mortal world slept beneath a quiet moon. No one in the small village of Emberfall knew that two divine infants—marked by ancient power—were about to return.Not even the people who should have protected them.A shimmering tear in space opened just above a shabby wooden crib inside Rylan and Seraphina’s tiny cottage. Light spilled across the walls in soft waves of white and gold. Then—gently, almost lovingly—two bundled infants drifted down onto the straw mattress.Lyra whimpered.Arin coughed once, then fell silent.The house was empty.The hearth was cold.The air smelled faintly of ash, as if Rylan’s life had burned away hours ago.The twins, barely born, were already orphans.But they were not alone for long.A shadow moved outside the window.Then another.Whispers carried through the cracks in the wood. Ugly, greedy, excited whispers.“Are you sure the Phoen

The slums of Ember Hollow were places where even the moonlight hesitated to fall. Cracked rooftops leaned like broken ribs, and foul-smelling mist rose from open drains. Scavengers prowled the alleys—rats, thieves, and worse. In this forgotten corner of the realm, the cries of abandoned children were no more significant than the whistling of the wind.Tonight, however, something stirred differently.A faint, whimpering sound came from a dirty bundle near a collapsed wall. Two infants huddled together—one boy and one girl—wrapped in torn cloth that still carried the faint scent of phoenix ash. Their cheeks were smeared with dust, but their eyes glowed with unusual brilliance. The girl, Lyra, slept fitfully, clutching her brother’s sleeve. The boy, Arin, remained awake, tiny brows scrunched as though he sensed danger crawling closer.They were only a year old—soft, fragile, defenseless.Or so it seemed.A group of bandits moved through the slum path, boots splashing through muddy puddle