Dawn in Silvervein Hollow came as a slow brightening of the cavern's living lights, never true sunlight, but close enough to feel like mercy.
A young ranger with a missing ear brought them breakfast: flatbread still warm from the stones, soft cheese, and bitter black tea that tasted of pine smoke. Lira ate standing up;kazeal barely touched his. Seraphin appeared as they finished, hair damp, smelling of hot springs and mischief.
"Maerwyn's ready," she announced. "Try not to faint, little ember. The pool likes dramatic reactions."
They followed her down a spiral of wet stone stairs that ended in a round chamber no larger than a village well-house. In its center lay the scrying pool: perfectly circular, perfectly black, its surface reflecting nothing until you looked straight down. Then it showed everything.
Maerwyn waited on the far side, seated on a stool of pale bone. Two silent rangers stood guard with naked blades.
"Only the girl," the seer croaked. "The rest of you, out."
Seraphin pened her mouth to protest. Maerwyn lifted one finger. Seraphin shut it again and retreated with a theatrical sigh. Kazeal lingered longest, eyes on Lira.
"I'll be right outside," he said.
The vine curtain fell closed behind him.
Maerwyn beckoned. "Come, child. Look."
Lira stepped to the edge,The water was warm against her shins when she knelt. For a moment there was only her own reflection, soot-smudged, tired, ordinary.
Then the surface rippled, and the reflection changed.
She saw a woman made of living fire standing on a mountain of bones, arms outstretched while the sky bled light. The woman's face was her own, older, terrible, beautiful. Around her neck burned a sun the size of a heart,The image shattered into sparks.
New vision: a cradle of black glass floating in starless dark. Inside slept a baby wrapped in flames that did not burn. A man's hand (scarred, shaking) reached in and lifted the child. The man's face was hidden, but tears fell from beneath his hood and hissed into steam when they touched the infant's skin.
Another ripple.
Now the pool showed Emberhollow the night it burned. But this time lira stood in the square untouched by flame, arms raised, while shadow-wolves circled and bowed. Their eyes reflected her like twin suns.
The final image was gentlest and worst of all: kazeal on his knees in snow, silver hair dark with blood, pressing a small golden pendant into her palm. Behind him, a city of crystal burned. His mouth shaped words she could not hear, but she felt them anyway:
I'm sorry.
I failed.
Run.
The water went black again.
Lira's lungs forgot how to work, She swayed; Maerwyn's claw-like hand caught her elbow and held her upright.
"Breathe, daughter of the First Fire," the seer whispered. "The pool only shows what might be. Nothing is written until you write it."
Lira found her voice. "The man with the baby… who was he?"
Maerwyn's blind eyes glinted "Some questions cost more than others. That one will cost blood and years. Are you ready to pay?"
Lira thought of kazeal waiting outside, of the pendant she now knew he carried, of the way his hand had trembled last night when it hovered an inch from hers.
"Yes," she said.
Maerwyn smiled like winter. "Good. Then listen carefully."
She leaned close enough that lira smelled smoke and old prophecy on her breath.
"The first Shard wakes in the Cradle of First Light, as your elf suspected. But the path is barred by three trials: the Trial of Ash, the Trial of Silence, and the Trial of the Mirror That Does Not Lie. You will not reach it alone."
"And kazeal ?"
"The broken prince walks with you only until the Mirror. After that, one of you must stay behind forever. The pool has spoken."
Lira's heart stuttered. "No."
"Prophecy is a blade," Maerwyn said gently. "It cuts both ways. Refuse it and the world burns. Accept it and only half the world burns. Choose."
Before lira could answer, the chamber shook. Dust sifted from the ceiling. Somewhere above, metal rang on metal and voices rose in alarm.
Maerwyn's head snapped toward the sound. "Too late. They found us."
The vine curtain ripped aside. Kazeal stood there, bow drawn, face grim.
"Shadow raid," he said. "They're inside the upper terraces. We have minutes."
Seraphin appeared behind him, violet fire dancing around her fingers. "Time to earn our keep, little ember."
Lira rose on legs that felt borrowed. The pool's black surface rippled once more, showing her one last image: herself, kazeal, and Seraphin standing back-to-back in a ring of corpses while silver fire rained from the ceiling.
Then the vision vanished, and there was only the sound of boots on stone and the smell of smoke finding its way even here.
Lira looked at Kazeal. He looked at her.
"Together," she said, He nodded once, fierce and certain.
"Together," he echoed,They ran toward the screaming.