Serena trudged through the dense underbrush of the wilderness, her breaths ragged and shallow. She was still recovering from her burns, her body aching with every step. The remains of her once-vivid red hair clung to her face, cropped unevenly from the flames that had nearly taken her life.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she was truly alone. The quiet was deafening, yet it gave her space to think—a luxury she hadn't had in years.
As the wind rustled the trees above, Serena's mind drifted back to where it all began. Emberhold.
The kingdom was as beautiful as it was cruel, a nation of fiery ambition and unyielding traditions. Built on the volcanic plains that never cooled, Emberhold was a city of molten rivers, obsidian towers, and perpetual light. Its people were as fiery as the land itself, thriving in a culture of strength and sacrifice.
At the center of it all was her father, Emperor Ignatius, a man of immense power and even greater ego. His resonance was legendary, his mastery of fire so profound that it was said he could summon an inferno with a single thought. He ruled Emberhold with an iron fist, a figure revered by his people yet feared by all who truly knew him.
Serena's birth was never meant to happen. Her mother, Althea, was an Ignis Courtesan—the highest-ranked pleasure worker in Emberhold's intricate hierarchy. Ignis Courtesans weren't just women or men of pleasure; they were symbols of perfection, wielding influence as sharp as any blade. They were artists, diplomats, and warriors, trained to serve and protect the nation's interests at the highest levels.
Althea had been the emperor's favorite for years, her beauty unmatched, her skills unparalleled. But when she bore him a daughter, it wasn't love that followed—it was resentment.
"My mother didn't want me," Serena murmured to herself, her voice bitter in the silence. "Neither did he."
From the moment she could walk, Serena had been an afterthought. Her mother returned to her duties as if nothing had changed, and her father barely acknowledged her existence. Yet the people of Emberhold whispered. They saw the emperor's fire in her, the strength in her crimson skin, and assumed she was destined for greatness.
But not the kind Serena wanted.
"Everyone thought I'd follow her path," she muttered, kicking a rock off the path. "They thought I'd become another Oiran or worse—an Ignis Courtesan like her."
The pleasure worker hierarchy was deeply ingrained in Emberhold's culture. At the top stood the Ignis Courtesans, followed by the Oiran—high-class courtesans who charmed nobles and bridged political alliances. Below them were the Fire Bawds, passionate and fiery performers who catered to the middle class. The Geisha came next, focusing on arts and entertainment rather than intimacy. Finally, the Street Hookers, though at the bottom, were still respected for their resilience and grit.
"It wasn't just about pleasure," Serena said, recalling the whispers of servants in her father's court. "It was about power. Influence. Control."
Everyone expected her to follow in her mother's footsteps, to train in the arts of seduction, diplomacy, and combat. But one person saw something else in her.
The queen.
Queen Elara, the Mountain Queen of Emberhold, was nothing like her title suggested. Yes, she was enormous—a woman of towering height and immense girth, with a presence that could silence a room. But she wasn't just physically imposing; she was wise, compassionate, and strong in ways that had nothing to do with resonance.
Elara had seen something in Serena that no one else had: potential.
"You're not your mother," the queen had told her one day, her voice warm and steady. Serena had been just a child, barely old enough to hold a sword, but Elara had brought her to the training grounds herself. "You're fire, Serena. But fire doesn't just burn. It can forge, protect, and guide. Remember that."
Elara became the closest thing Serena ever had to a parent. While her mother and father ignored her, the queen taught her the basics of resonance, how to channel her emotions into strength. She trained alongside the guards, sparring under the queen's watchful eye, learning that she could be more than what others expected of her.
"She used to call me her little ember," Serena whispered, a faint smile breaking through her grim expression. "Said I'd grow into something greater one day."
But even Elara's kindness couldn't protect her forever.
Serena's fists clenched as she recalled the day her life was ripped away. Her mother, Althea, had arranged it all—selling her own daughter into slavery to secure an alliance with another nation. Emberhold's traditions demanded sacrifice, and Althea had seen Serena as nothing more than a tool to strengthen the empire.
She remembered the chains, the cold metal biting into her skin as she was dragged away. She remembered the smug faces of the nobles, the way her father didn't even look at her as she screamed his name. But most of all, she remembered the betrayal.
"I was nothing to them," she said, her voice shaking with anger. "Just a pawn."
The memory brought tears to her eyes, but she wiped them away furiously. She couldn't afford to cry—not now, not ever.
"I'll never be like them," she vowed, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "I'll be strong. I'll forge my own path."
The queen's words echoed in her mind, a distant but comforting memory. "Fire doesn't just burn. It forges."
Serena paused at the edge of a clearing, the setting sun casting long shadows across her path. She had no idea what lay ahead, but she knew one thing for certain: she would become stronger. Not for her parents, not for Emberhold, but for herself.
She took a deep breath, the faint glow of her resonance flickering around her hands. The fire within her was still small, still fragile—but it was hers. And she would let it grow until it consumed everything that stood in her way.