HAREM: WARLOCK OF THE SOUTH

The air was shimmering with heat as Elara's group passed through a narrow cliff path, overlooking the basin known as the Ember Veil. Below them stretched a scorched valley veined with rivers of molten glass and cracked obsidian. Strange trees, leafless and blazing, twisted skyward in painful shapes, which illuminated the land in a haunting, flickering glow.

Ryon walked near the front, his cloak was rustling in the cinder-laden wind. Every step he took closer to the next tribe made the System hum a bit louder within him, vibrating along his spine. His palm was tingling with latent magic, and itching to be released.

> System Notice: Approaching the Daughters of Ash Territory Warning: Hostility Level – Extreme.

Behind him, Elara strode silently, her crown now dimmed to a faint ember, conserving energy. Shaera and Kaela flanked the sides, eyes sharp. Neive floated several inches above ground, her robes were untouched by dust, her mind was focusing on maintaining the heat wards that protected their bodies.

They did not speak. Not because of fear, but because of reverence. This a was land held by one of the oldest flame cults—the Daughters of Ash, known not only for their martial prowess, but also for their obsession with purification through pain. They believed that fire was not just a weapon or symbol—it was also their salvation.

And they had never bowed to a queen.

As they reached the outer boundary—a circle of scorched bones and smoldering feathers—the ground pulsed. A ring of fire ignited around them, tall and hungry.

Figures were emerging from the blackened tree line.

Women cloaked in ash-gray veils, bearing staffs tipped with blazing obsidian. Their eyes were glowing orange, unblinking. Not one person spoke. No one welcomed them.

Then one stepped forward, taller than the rest, bearing a crown of thorned flame almost identical to Elara's.

"You carry a Queen's mark," the woman said, her voice echoed unnaturally. "But you are no Daughter. What name does your flame answer to?"

Elara raised her chin. "My name is Elara Flamebound. Queen of the Forgotten Crowns. Bearer of the Monarch's Judgment. My flame answers to the voices of those your order tried to silence."

A collective exhale rippled through the Daughters of Ash.

The leader narrowed her eyes. "Then your flame must be put to a test."

Before anyone could react, fire erupted beneath Elara's feet, engulfing her completely. Ryon screamed and lunged forward—but Kaela held him back with steel-hard arms.

"WAIT."

Inside the inferno, Elara did not burn.

She hovered, suspended in mid-air, her body glowing brighter by the second. The flames bent around her like reverent servants. The thorned crown reignited. Her hair whipped wildly, becoming strands of fire.

Then she descended slowly, touching ground as the fire dispersed with a soft sigh.

The Daughter leader bowed.

"Then we shall listen. Speak your claim."

Ryon exhaled, his heartbeat thunderous.

But even as Elara began her speech, he felt it—something cold.

Something was watching.

Above them, high on the cliffs beyond view, there were twin figures in frost-cloaks standing.

Northern scouts.

And they were no longer just watching.

Cold Shadows, Bright Flame

The Daughters of Ash brought the group into their encampment, a cathedral of obsidian which was built into the side of a volcanic rift. Lattices of cooled lava formed the walkways, and suspended bridges of bone and scorched hemp connected towers wrapped in flame sigils.

Their leader introduced herself formally. "I am Vireya, Ash-High and Flame-Warden."

Elara inclined her head. "I am not here to be your ruler, but to unite what has been broken."

Ryon watched the exchange carefully. His eyes were flickering toward the edge of the cliff, where the shadows had moved.

"We're being watched," he murmured to Shaera.

Shaera's hand moved to her blade. "How many?"

"Two that I can sense. But I'd bet more are hidden."

Inside the encampment, Elara stood before a ring of fire-priests, each bearing flame-etched tattoos across their throats and hearts. Vireya raised a staff of blackened ashwood.

"If your claim is true, then show us. Let the Monarch speak."

Elara raised her hand—and the Hollow Flame Monarch materialized behind her with a deafening roar. Flame coiled in patterns not seen in centuries. The Daughters dropped to one knee, stunned.

"It speaks," one whispered.

And then the shadows struck.

From the cliffs above, ice-laced javelins rained down.

The Monarch reacted first, shielding Elara and the priests. Ryon threw up a ward, catching three frost-laced bolts with a barrier of spiraling flame. Shaera leapt upward, catching the nearest scout mid-air with a blade to the throat.

Kaela roared, charging forward as more northern assassins broke from cover—cloaked in snow-pelt armor, wielding curved ice-knives.

"They've sent the Frostborn Vultures!" Neive shouted. "Northern death-scouts!"

Elara's voice boomed like thunder. "DEFEND THE SANCTUM!"

Battle erupted.

Ryon engaged two scouts at once, his left palm hurling searing fireblades while his right manipulated terrain, turning the volcanic stone into jagged traps. The System whispered inside him.

> Combat Style Unlocked: Ashbreaker Pulse Adaptive Flame Cast: Increases damage by 27% in volcanic zones.

With renewed fury, Ryon surged forward. One of the scouts was found trying to feint, but Ryon twisted mid-air, slamming a fist of superheated stone into the attacker's chest. Ice shattered. Blood steamed.

Across the courtyard, Shaera and Kaela fought back to back. Kaela's tower shield absorbed freezing blasts, while Shaera's twin blades danced through frost-magic like silk.

Neive summoned a ring of binding fire, capturing three enemies and incinerating their weapons. The Monarch unleashed a final pulse, sending the remaining scouts tumbling off the cliff.

Silence returned, broken only by the hissing steam.

Vireya looked at the carnage. "They broke sacred ground. That means the North is moving."

Elara nodded grimly. "And next time, they'll have to send more than scouts."

Flame and Oath

After the battle, Ryon sat alone on a ridge overlooking the Ember Veil. His hands were trembling—not from fear, but from the energy that was still thrumming in his veins.

He heard footsteps. Elara came to join him.

"You fought like one born of ash," she said.

"I'm not sure what I'm born of anymore," Ryon admitted. "The more I use the System, the more it... shifts something inside me."

She nodded. "It's not just a tool. It's a path. And every path has a price."

They were silent for a while.

Elara reached into her cloak and drew forth a shard of glowing emberglass. "Vireya gave this to me. It's part of the original Flame Accord. If we gather the rest, we can activate the Beacon of Unity."

Ryon turned to her. "What does that do?"

"It lets every tribe, every kingdom with flame ancestry, feel our presence. Not just see it—feel it. It is the only way to call them together before the North strikes in full."

"And the price?"

Elara's eyes darkened. "It binds us. Every leader who activates the Beacon is marked by it for life. No retreat. No rest. Only fire."

Ryon looked into the distance. "Then we will burn together."

Elara smiled faintly. "Good. Because we leave at dawn."

As night fell, the stars above the Ember Veil twinkled through a veil of ash. Somewhere deep in the Divide, other stars dimmed—swallowed by shadows with cold eyes.

But here, for a moment, the flame held.

Wounds Unhealed

As the camp prepared for departure, Kaela stood before a shattered shrine deep within the Daughter's sanctum. The walls bore engravings of women impaled by spears of ice, and her eyes lingered on one fresco longer than she meant to.

A woman knelt, blade broken across her lap, her eyes lifted toward an eclipsed sun. Kaela's fingers traced the outline.

"She was your sister."

Kaela didn't turn, but she recognized Neive's voice.

"Yes. Teyra. Slain during the first Northern Raid. No body was returned. Only her sword."

Neive stood beside her. "The shrine will crumble in time. Fire eats even memory."

Kaela exhaled. "But memory fights back."

She reached into her pouch and placed a single stone—carved with Teyra's name—on the shrine's altar. It glowed faintly, then vanished into the flame.

Ryon approached from behind, watching quietly.

Kaela turned. "We will be leaving in the morning. But the past follows."

Ryon nodded. "Then we will make sure it has no need to chase us again."

She smiled. Brief, sad, and resolved.

Eyes from the North

Miles away, in a frozen spire overlooking the Silver Rift, a man wrapped in blue and silver furs studied the same battlefield through a mirror of frost.

He was tall, scarred, and was bearing on him the Mark of the Frostborne Crown.

Behind him, a woman approached, her cloak shimmering with snow.

"She lives," the man said.

"Yes," the woman replied. "And she wears the flame."

He clenched his fist. "Prepare the Cold Maw. If Elara Flamebound wants to unite the South, we will remind her what broke it in the first place."

He turned.

"And tell Ryon… his brother still remembers."