She was still a girl the first time the flames spoke to her.
It had been in the sacred cave beneath mount Yurei, where dragon blood burned in the stone wnd the air shimmered with old, holy power. She had been led there by the elders of her clan - silence, cloaked in black and gold, their eyes glowing with the truth she hadn't yet been ready to hear.
But the fire had been waiting for her. And the ancient blood had been calling her.
She stood barefoot before the pyre at the heart of the mountain. It did not burn with heat. It burned with memory. Memory that felt familiar to her yet she knew she had never experienced it before.
And then, it spoke.
"Child of the flame - born blood, daughter of the vanished scale, you are the last ember of the old pact. You are she who will end the fire line."
Zendriya's small hand trembled.
" You shall walk among mortals. You shall wear a mask of silence and shadow. But when the time comes, and fire rises once more to claim the throne of Alderyn, you will be the reckoning."
Images surged between the flames - visions of kings with burning hands, of cities turned to ash. And then him - the current king, not yet crowned. His power not yet awakened . But his eyes were already glowing with curse of the fire line. Red eyes.
"The first king stole dragon flames to forge his reign. His sons carry that theft in their blood. You will end the last of them. This is your inheritance."
Zendriya fell to her knees, the weight of destiny coiling around her like chains of gold and iron.
"And if I don't?"
The flame flickered, then it roared.
"Then the world burns."
Now in the palace, she serves quietly as Anaya, watching the king, feeling the pulse of flame within him grow stronger.
And each day, she grew closer to Xandria - she felt guilty.
The first time she saw the king use his powers for the first time, was the day her plan set in motion.
It was late. The palace had fallen into silence, the halls wrapped in velvet shadows. Anaya (Zendriya) had finished her nightly duties , but something pulled her towards the eastern garden - a whisper, a flicker, a heat in her bone that wouldn't let her rest.
She stepped softly beneath the moonlight, her servant's shoes brushing dew from the grass. The garden was still, save for the rustle of trees and the quiet bubbling of the fountain.
Then - a spark
Her breath caught.
At the far end of the garden, near the obsidian wall, stood the king.
Alone.
His hand were raised, palm towards the sky. The air around him shimmered unnaturally, like the heatwaves above desert sand.
Zendriya froze, half hidden behind a vine draped pillar.
His breathing was steady. Focused. And then -
Fire bloomed.
It didn't burst or explode. It unfolded - a living thing, dancing up his arm, swirling in patterns that matched the old sigils of her clan. The garden was lit in gold and crimson, shadows leaping across marbles.
His fire was beautiful.
And wrong.
Her heart thundered. The flames responded to his will, bending as though they knew him.
But fire like that didn't belong in mortal's hands. It had been stolen - taken from her ancestors centuries ago.
This wasn't magic.
This was theft.
She could feel her dragon blood writhe beneath her skin, ancient fury stirring in her soul. Her fingers twitched. If she said a single word in the old tongue - the fire will answer her instead - That was what she thought. But that would not be the case.
But she didn't speak.
She just watched.
The king lowered his hands. The flames vanished, as if swallowed by the night.
He stood there for a moment, alone, unaware he had been seen.
Unaware that the girl in the shadows - the quiet maid who brought his wife tea - was the fire. Forged blade destined to destroy him.
Zendriya turned away, her jaw tight, her heart a storm.
He wasn't ready.
But soon, he would be.
And when he was...
So would she.
She was watching everything through a necklace given to Xandria.
She had seen the necklace on Xandria's neck. She knew the origin of the necklace. It wasn't just a parting gift from a sister to another sister - no. It was a hidden message. A message that the plan is being set in motion.
When the time is right, all the witches will rise again and follow the sign of the necklace,leading them to their victory.
The necklace held a symbolic sign. A power that can only be harnessed by the true daughter that and been forged from birth. Anaya is forged by fire. But it wasn't ancient enough. They needed something ancient. Someone that had been forged by the gods himself. And the prophesy had said it will be the chosen wife of the king.
The necklace was there to monitor her. To know when her powers began to manifest so that they can know and quickly take her away.
She was a key part in the whole revenge.
The prophesy states that for history never to repeat itself they have to sacrifice the blood of an ancient being.
Elara had knew all along that Xandria was going to be sacrificed in the altar of the witches to seal their faith forever.
Anaya watched behind the shadows. Lurking. Looming. Gradually waiting for destiny to take it's course. She had already sent a message to the witches in the mountain region of Alderyn. The Vermont region and they are already preparing.
Xandria made the job a lot easier by suggesting to the king to invite Elara into the palace. Now all the plans are falling together just as it is meant to be.
Anaya watched Xandria as she sipped the jasmine tea she had given her. The reason she approached her and made her her friend was to keep a close eye on her. To ensure her powers do not manifest earlier than planned.
But no one knew that Xandria's powers had already manifested. And no amount of enchantment or ancient magic could curb it anymore. She was created by the ancient being himself. The one who held the ultimate power.