2025-11-19 16:46:31The Phoenix Realm shimmered beneath an eternal dawn—a world of gold skies, floating islands, and crimson flames that danced like living ribbons through the air. Sacred firebirds soared overhead as Seraphina stepped through the portal, wrists bound, the twins clutched tightly to her chest.
Every step she took burned.
Not from the flaming marble floors beneath her, but from the hollow ache in her heart—Rylan’s last scream echoing over and over.
Rylan was gone.
Thrown into the Abyss.
Broken… certainly.
And she had done nothing.
Her breath shook, but she held her children closer as the Phoenix soldiers escorted her through the towering palace gates. Statues of phoenixes—gleaming with ruby and gold—lined the hall, watching her with cold, stone eyes.
Waiting.
Judging.
Condemning.
At the end of the grand hall sat the throne of the Phoenix Clan—high, blazing, and intimidating. And on it—
The Phoenix Matriarch, Aristeia Flameborn.
Her aura alone made the air tremble. Her wings were vast, shimmering with molten gold and crimson, each feather radiating enough heat to melt steel. Even the elders bowed before her.
Seraphina did not.
Matriarch Aristeia’s gaze swept over her daughter without warmth.
Seraphina stiffened. “He was my husband.”
“A mortal cannot be a husband to a Phoenix.”
Her gaze slid to the infants in Seraphina’s arms.
“—are abominations.”
The twins whimpered softly, sensing the hostile energy around them. Tiny wisps of divine aura flickered from their bodies—fragile, unstable, yet astonishingly potent.
Seraphina instinctively wrapped her wings around them.
The Matriarch rose slowly from her throne. Even the flames bent toward her, bowing in reverence.
“This clan,” Seraphina hissed, “is the one that should be ashamed.”
A murmur rippled through the hall.
The Matriarch descended the steps, each footstep echoing with power. She stopped only a few feet away from Seraphina, towering over her.
“Seraphina Flameborn,” Aristeia declared, “daughter of the Phoenix Lineage, you will surrender the twins.”
“No.”
A single word. Soft. Unshakable.
The Matriarch’s eyes hardened like molten metal cooling into stone.
She lifted her hand.
And the air thickened with killing intent.
Elder Vaelor stepped forward, bowing deeply.
Removed.
Erased.
Seraphina’s heart froze.
“They are a stain,” Elder Vaelor replied coldly. “A low-blood contamination. Neither mortal nor full immortal. Their existence threatens the foundation of our clan.”
Seraphina trembled with rage.
Gasps filled the hall.
The Matriarch’s aura surged, flames igniting across the marble.
Her voice sharpened into a blade.
“—they will forever be a reminder of your disobedience.”
Seraphina felt her pulse roar in her ears.
She knew this was coming the moment the clan portal opened.
Never accept the twins.
But to kill them?
No.
She tightened her grip on her children until her knuckles turned white.
“I carried them beneath my heart. I nurtured their souls. I heard their first cries. If you want them—”
Her wings unfurled fully, blazing white-gold.
“—you will have to kill me first.”
The hall fell deathly silent.
Elder Vaelor’s expression twisted with fury.
But the Matriarch silenced him with a raised hand.
She studied her daughter, disappointment flickering in her gaze.
“They are my children.”
Seraphina stepped back, wings shielding the twins completely.
Power surged around her.
Not enough to defeat the Matriarch.
But enough to make her point.
For a moment, the flames themselves hesitated.
Then the Matriarch exhaled slowly.
“Very well.”
Seraphina blinked.
“Since you will not surrender them alive,” the Matriarch said, her tone turning icier than frostfire, “I will take them from your corpse.”
Before Seraphina could react, the Matriarch struck.
A blast of phoenix fire erupted, slamming into Seraphina with the force of a falling star. Chains rattled violently as she was hurled backward, crashing into a wall. Her vision blurred, and pain shot through her chest.
The twins cried out, tucked safely under her wings.
“Do not harm them!” she gasped, trying to stand.
Another wave of flames smashed into her, pinning her to the ground.
Her wings burned.
Her breath shattered.
A soldier seized the chance and rushed forward—
Seraphina screamed, “NO!”
A brilliant white seal flashed from beneath the twins’ blankets.
A shield—one she had carved into their souls before leaving the mortal world—burst outward, flinging the soldier across the hall. He crashed into a pillar, coughing blood.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
“That seal…” an elder whispered, horrified. “A forbidden divine protection!”
Seraphina coughed blood, forcing herself upright despite the flames eating into her wings.
The Matriarch’s fury erupted.
“They are MY future,” Seraphina snarled.
The Matriarch raised her hand again, flames spiraling like a hellstorm.
“Break her wings,” she ordered. “Strip her cultivation. And lock her in the Celestial Furnace until she yields.”
Seraphina froze.
The Celestial Furnace.
“Mother… please…” her voice cracked. “Don’t do this. Don’t take them.”
The Matriarch turned away.
“The twins are to be killed at dawn.”
Seraphina’s heart shattered.
Soldiers seized her roughly, dragging her across the hall. Chains tightened around her limbs, scorching her skin with immortal heat.
“No! NO! LET ME GO!” she screamed, but her voice was drowned by crackling flames.
The twins cried desperately behind her, their tiny voices piercing the air.
And as she was dragged toward the Furnace, Seraphina did the only thing she could.
She whispered a spell—weak, cracked, but full of desperation.
A teleportation spark flickered under the infants’ blankets.
The Matriarch’s eyes widened. “STOP HER—”
But it was too late.
Light swallowed the twins.
And Seraphina smiled through her tears.
She had only one thought left—
Run, my children. Run far from this hell.
The Matriarch’s scream of rage shook the palace.
“FIND THEM!”
The world dissolved into flames—
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Chapter 45 - Mira and Elira Fight Beside Him
The forest answered Arin’s stand with motion.The Spirit Envoy stepped out of the trees as if he had never left, robes unruffled, expression unchanged. The cultists followed at a measured distance, their formation looser now, confident. They had felt the resistance flare and judged it insufficient.The Envoy’s gaze fixed on Arin first.“So,” he said calmly, “you choose defiance.”Arin did not move. The faint shadow-armour shimmered across his shoulders and chest, breathing with him. It was thin. Incomplete. But it held.“I choose time,” Arin replied.The Envoy’s eyes flicked to Lyra, then back. “Time runs out.”Mira did not wait for another word.She roared and charged, injured leg screaming, but carrying her forward anyway. Her club came down in a brutal arc meant to shatter bone and certainty alike. The strike hit the Envoy’s barrier with a thunderous crack that rattled the trees.The barrier bowed.Not much.But enough.Mira grinned through pain. “Good. You feel it.”Elira moved at
Chapter 44 - Arin’s Desperate Stand
The forest did not return to normal after the cult withdrew.The air remained strained, like a breath held too long. Leaves no longer rustled naturally. Even the light filtering through the canopy felt cautious, as though the world itself had learned fear.Arin stood where he had fallen, Lyra still in his arms.She was conscious now, but shaken, her fingers curled tightly into his shirt as if letting go would invite the cult back into existence. Her phoenix glow had receded to a dim, uneasy pulse, no longer flaring—but not at peace either.“They’ll come again,” Mira said quietly.She was on her feet now, leaning heavily on her club, leg trembling but stubbornly upright. Dirt streaked her face. Anger burned behind her eyes.Elira did not argue. She scanned the trees, listening to what lingered after danger had passed. “Yes. And next time, they won’t probe.”Arin knew that already.The Spirit Envoy’s calm certainty had been worse than any threat. That had not been an attack. It had been
Chapter 43 - The Spirit-Seeking Cult Returns
Hope never lasted long.Arin felt it fracture the moment the River of First Light slipped behind them, its glow fading into memory. The land hardened again, colour draining back into the muted tones of the wildlands. Even Lyra’s steps, stronger now, carried a faint echo of unease.Something was following.He did not say it aloud at first. He watched. Listened. Counted heartbeats between sounds.Elira sensed it soon after. Her pace slowed, posture shifting subtly as her attention spread outward. Mira noticed last, when the air thickened enough to press against her lungs.“Don’t tell me,” Mira muttered. “I can feel it crawling.”Lyra’s fingers tightened around Arin’s sleeve. “They’re close.”The wind shifted.Chanting rolled through the trees.It was not the desperate cadence of the cultists they had faced before. This was measured, disciplined, resonant. Each syllable carried weight, layered with intent and control.The Spirit-Seeking Cult had returned.Figures emerged from the forest
Chapter 42 - The River of First Light
The land changed before the river appeared.Arin felt it long before he saw anything with his eyes. The wildlands that had pressed in on them for days—dry, starving, stripped of colour—began to soften. The ground no longer cracked beneath their steps. The air grew lighter, cooler, carrying a faint scent that reminded Arin of rain that had never fallen.“This way,” he said quietly, stopping at a fork where no path should exist.Mira frowned. “There’s nothing here.”“I know,” Arin replied. “But it’s here.”Elira studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I feel it too. The pressure is different.”Lyra leaned against Arin, weak but alert. Her skin still carried a subtle warmth, but the wild flare had dulled into a painful, restless ember. She closed her eyes briefly, then whispered, “It’s calling.”They followed the pull through a narrow stretch of stone where shadows bent strangely, not stretching with the light but folding inward. The farther they walked, the quieter the world became. Ins
Chapter 41 - Arin’s First Plea to the Voices
Night fell unevenly after Lyra’s collapse.The air still smelled of scorched bark and sap, the ground blackened in a wide circle around where she lay wrapped in Mira’s cloak. Her breathing was shallow but steady now, each rise and fall a fragile promise that she had not burned away from the inside.Arin sat beside her, unmoving.His injured arm throbbed with a deep, insistent pain, skin tight and blistered beneath crude bandages. He barely felt it. Every sense he had was fixed on the small rhythm of Lyra’s breath, on the faint glow beneath her skin that pulsed like a restrained star.Elira stood watch a short distance away, silent and alert. Mira paced, restless, anger simmering beneath worry. Neither spoke.Arin did not trust himself to speak.The fear came in waves now that the crisis had passed, hitting harder because there was no action left to take. He had held her together by instinct and desperation, but instinct was not a plan. Next time, he might not be enough.There would be
Chapter 40 - Lyra’s First Fevered Transformation
Lyra collapsed without warning.One moment, she was walking beside Arin, steps small but steady, fingers curled around his sleeve. Next, her knees buckled as if the ground had vanished beneath her. Arin caught her just before her head struck the dirt, the sudden weight knocking the breath from his lungs.“Lyra,” he said sharply. “Lyra, look at me.”Her body burned.Not like a fever. Not like illness.Like a furnace sealed beneath skin.Arin hissed and nearly let go, shock jolting through his palms. Heat radiated from her chest and back in waves, growing stronger by the second. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps, eyes unfocused and glassy.“Arin,” she whispered. “It hurts.”Mira swore and rushed over, injured leg forgotten. “She’s cooking.”Elira was already kneeling, hands hovering but not touching. “This is not a sickness.”Lyra arched suddenly, a strangled cry tearing from her throat. Golden light flared beneath her skin, tracing branching patterns along her spine and shoulder
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