ELARA'S POV
The smell hits me first.
Even before the carriage stops, even before I see the ruins, the smell of burned wood and something worse—something that used to be alive—crawls into my nose and makes me gag.
"We're here," Vincent says quietly.
I don't move. I can't. My hands grip the edge of the carriage seat so hard my knuckles turn white.
Through the window, I see what used to be Cindergrace. Except it's not Cindergrace anymore. It's just... black. Everything is black and gray and broken. The houses are gone. The trees are gone. Even the ground looks wrong, covered in thick ash that moves like fog when the wind blows.
"Miss Crane." Vincent's hand touches my shoulder gently. "You don't have to do this. We can turn back."
"No." The word comes out stronger than I feel. "I have to see."
I climb out of the carriage before I can change my mind. My boots sink into the ash. It's still warm. How is it still warm?
My legs move on their own, carrying me toward where my house should be. Vincent follows a few steps behind, silent as a shadow.
The main street is gone. The bakery where I bought bread every morning—gone. The well where everyone gathered to gossip—buried under rubble. Mrs. Chen's flower shop—nothing but a black skeleton of beams.
I walk faster, my heart pounding harder with each step.
There. That's where my house was. I recognize the old oak tree in front, or what's left of it. The tree survived somehow, standing alone like a burned guardian.
But the house is destroyed.
The walls have collapsed. The roof caved in. Everything my parents owned, everything we were—all ash now.
"Mom?" My voice cracks. "Dad?"
I run forward, stumbling over debris, my eyes searching frantically through the wreckage. Maybe they got out. Maybe they escaped. Maybe Vincent was wrong and they're alive somewhere and—
I see my mother's hand first.
It's sticking out from under a fallen beam, her fingers still wearing the copper ring my father gave her on their wedding day.
The scream that comes out of me doesn't sound human.
I fall to my knees and start digging through the ash and rubble with my bare hands, trying to move the beam, trying to reach her, trying to make this not real.
"Miss Crane, don't—" Vincent tries to pull me back, but I fight him.
"Get off me! I have to help her! Mom! MOM!"
"She's gone," Vincent says, and his voice is so sad it almost breaks through my panic. "I'm sorry. She's gone."
I dig anyway until my hands are bleeding and my throat is raw from screaming. Finally, I collapse in the ash, sobbing so hard I can't breathe.
Vincent kneels beside me but doesn't touch me. He just stays there, a solid presence in a world that's fallen apart.
When I can finally see through my tears, I notice something strange.
Boot prints.
Not normal boots. These are big and heavy, pressed deep into the ash. Military boots. Lots of them. They lead right up to where my parents died, then away again in organized rows like soldiers marching.
"Vincent," I whisper, wiping my eyes. "Look."
He sees them too. His jaw tightens.
I stand up on shaky legs and look closer at the burned walls. The scorch marks are weird. They're too straight, too even. Fire doesn't burn in straight lines. Fire is wild and random.
This fire was controlled.
"Someone did this on purpose," I say out loud. The words make it real. "Someone killed them."
Before Vincent can answer, voices echo through the ruins.
A group of people appears, picking their way through the ash. They're from Millbrook, the village next to Cindergrace. I recognize some of their faces.
"There she is!" a woman shouts. "That's the Crane girl!"
They march toward me, and their expressions are not kind.
A big man with a scar on his face points at me. "You! Your family did this!"
I step back, confused. "What? No, I didn't—"
"Dangerous magic!" another woman yells. "We always knew your family was cursed! Now look what happened!"
More people gather. Twenty, then thirty, then more. All angry. All blaming me.
"My son died fighting this fire!" a man shouts. "He died trying to save your cursed village!"
"My daughter breathed in the smoke and can't stop coughing!" another woman cries.
They press closer. Vincent moves in front of me, his hand on the sword at his belt.
"Back away," he orders. His voice is cold now, nothing like the gentle tone he uses with me. "All of you."
But they don't listen.
The scarred man spits on the ground near my feet. "Cursed girl. You should have burned with the rest of them."
An old woman pushes forward. Her eyes are full of hate. "Your family's evil magic destroyed everything. Now we have refugees with nowhere to go. Children orphaned. All because of YOU!"
She spits too, but this time it hits my face.
I'm too shocked to move. The warm spit slides down my cheek while everyone stares at me with disgust.
Vincent's sword is out in a flash. "Touch her again and you'll regret it."
"Defending the cursed?" the scarred man laughs bitterly. "Must be cursed yourself, rich boy."
I want to defend myself. I want to scream that I didn't do this, that I lost my parents too, that I'm a victim just like them.
But the words stick in my throat.
Because what if they're right? What if my magic did this? Yesterday, fire came from my hands. What if the same thing happened and I don't remember?
What if I killed everyone?
"Elara, don't listen to them," Vincent says quietly, reading my face.
But it's too late. The doubt is already planted.
I turn away from the angry crowd and walk deeper into the ruins, searching for anything that survived. Anything that proves my family wasn't evil.
That's when I see it.
A metal chest, half-buried under debris near where my mother's garden used to be. It's locked with a heavy iron lock, but the chest itself looks untouched by the fire.
"Help me," I tell Vincent.
Together, we dig it out and carry it away from the crowd. Vincent breaks the lock with his sword, and I open the lid with trembling hands.
Inside is a leather journal with my mother's handwriting on the cover: "For Elara, when she's ready."
My breath catches. There's also another phoenix pendant, identical to the one around my neck, wrapped in cloth. And underneath, a stack of letters tied with red string.
I reach for the journal, but Vincent's hand shoots out and closes the chest.
"Not here," he says urgently. "The authorities are coming."
Sure enough, a group of soldiers on horses approaches through the ruins, led by a tall officer with cold eyes.
"Everyone disperse!" the officer shouts. "This is now official investigation territory! Leave immediately!"
Vincent quickly wraps the chest in his coat and carries it under his arm. The crowd of angry villagers backs away, still glaring at me.
The officer rides up to us. His eyes scan me up and down, then look at Vincent.
"Lord Ashwood," he says with fake respect. "What are you doing in this disaster zone?"
"Helping a survivor recover her family's belongings," Vincent answers smoothly. "We were just leaving."
The officer's gaze sharpens on me. "You're the Crane girl? The only survivor?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"Lucky you," he says, but it doesn't sound like he thinks I'm lucky at all. "This has been ruled an unfortunate accident. Unstable wild magic. Nothing to investigate. You're free to go."
"An accident?" I repeat. "But the boot prints—"
"ACCIDENT," the officer repeats louder, his hand moving to his weapon. "Do you understand, girl?"
Vincent grips my arm in warning. "She understands. Thank you, officer. We'll be going now."
He practically drags me back to the carriage. My mind is spinning. Why would the authorities lie? Why call it an accident when there's clear evidence of soldiers?
Unless the soldiers were supposed to be here.
Unless someone in power ordered this.
We climb into the carriage and Vincent signals the driver to go. Fast.
As we pull away from the ruins of my life, I look back one more time. The officer watches us leave, his expression unreadable.
We ride in silence for several minutes. I clutch the hidden chest on my lap, feeling its weight.
Finally, I can't hold it in anymore.
"This wasn't an accident," I whisper.
Vincent stares straight ahead. His jaw is tight. His hands are clenched into fists.
"No," he agrees quietly. "It wasn't."
"Then what was it? Who did this? Why?" My voice rises with each question.
Vincent turns to look at me, and I see something in his eyes that makes my blood run cold.
Fear.
"Miss Crane—Elara—what I'm about to tell you will sound impossible," he says. "But you need to know the truth. Your family... they weren't simple village folk."
"What do you mean?"
He takes a deep breath. "Open the journal."
With shaking hands, I unwrap the chest from his coat and open it. I pull out my mother's journal and flip to the first page.
The words written there stop my heart:
"To my dearest Elara, if you're reading this, then they've found us. I'm sorry we lied to you your whole life. I'm sorry we hid the truth. But you need to know: You are not Elara Crane. You are Princess Elara Phoenix, last heir to the Fire Throne, and there are people who will kill you to keep that secret buried."
The journal falls from my numb fingers.
"What?" I breathe.
Vincent's eyes hold mine. "Your family has been hiding you in Cindergrace for twelve years. But someone discovered who you really are. And they sent soldiers to make sure no one would ever find out."
"That's insane," I say. But even as I deny it, pieces click together. The phoenix pendant. My fire magic. The way the authorities so quickly called it an accident. The military boot prints.
"There's more," Vincent says grimly. "The Queen who rules now? She only has power because she killed the Phoenix royal family nineteen years ago and took their throne. If anyone discovered a Phoenix heir survived..."
"She'd kill them," I finish.
"She'd kill them," Vincent confirms.
I sit back, my whole world spinning. I'm not who I thought I was. My parents weren't my real parents. My entire life has been a lie to keep me safe.
And it didn't work.
"How do you know all this?" I ask suddenly, suspicion flaring. "How did you know to find me? How did you know what that pendant means?"
Vincent's face goes very still.
"Tell me the truth," I demand. "Who are you really, Vincent Ashwood?"
He's quiet for so long I don't think he'll answer. Then:
"My full name is Prince Vincent Ashwood Ironhart. I'm the Queen's son."
The air leaves my lungs.
"And seven years ago," he continues, his voice breaking, "she ordered me to kill your family. I was the one who led the attack on the Phoenix palace. I murdered your parents."
The carriage seems to shrink. I can't breathe.
Vincent, the man who saved me, who was so gentle and kind—he's the monster who destroyed my family?
"Why?" The word barely makes it past my lips. "Why save me now?"
His gray eyes shine with tears. "Because I couldn't kill you then. You were just a child. I carried you out of the burning palace and gave you to people I thought would hide you forever. I've been searching for you ever since, trying to protect you from my mother."
"Protect me?" I laugh, and it sounds crazy. "You killed my family and you think—"
"I know I can never make it right," Vincent interrupts. "But I swear on my life, I won't let anyone hurt you again. Not even my mother."
I stare at him—this beautiful, terrible man who holds all my secrets.
And then I see it.
On his wrist, barely visible under his sleeve.
A burn scar.
The exact same shape as the ones on my arms.
"You were there," I whisper. "The night Cindergrace burned. You weren't just nearby. You were THERE."
Vincent's face goes white.
"What did you do?" I ask. My voice is deadly quiet. "What really happened that night?"
He opens his mouth to answer.
And then the carriage explodes.