"The city doesn't embrace you. It watches. And waits to see what you'll become."

  Tharellia rose like a wave of stone at the end of the road. From the last hill, Emily gazed at the ancient walls, the towers crowned with ash-blue banners, and the constant tremor of life inside. The city didn’t welcome. It swallowed. Every traveler was devoured by it, with no promise of return.

  The caravan halted before one of the eastern gates. The guards asked no questions, but they didn’t greet either. A simple nod was enough, and if your eyes stayed low, things went smoother.

  Emily crossed the threshold with clenched fists. Zimon walked beside her, silent. They both felt something shift as they stepped into Tharellia—though neither could name it.

  The city smelled of everything at once: fresh bread, sweat, leather grease, cheap incense, wilted flowers, and smoke. Endless smoke. The streets unfolded like a living maze, opening or closing depending on who passed through.

  They passed a covered market where vendors offered rare fruits and the teeth of tamed beasts. Emily paused before a cage holding a hairy creature with human eyes.

  "What is that?" she asked.

  "They say it’s the memory of a corrupted anima. Fake, of course. But spooky, right?" the vendor laughed.

  They kept walking.

  In the upper district: marble, golden lanterns, children in spotless clothes. In the lower district: damp alleys, shuttered windows, and laughter hiding knives. They stayed at a low-roofed inn with warm food. Not much, but more than Karakal ever had.

  "Tharellia has no heart. Only hunger," the innkeeper said, placing a bowl of soup.

  For three days, Emily and Zimon wandered without a plan, letting the city pull them along. One afternoon, they arrived at a small circular temple, devoted to the "Old Flames." Inside, a woman lit candles, whispering prayers to forgotten names.

  "Do you think anyone hears us here?" Emily asked.

  "Maybe. Maybe not them," the woman replied. "But sometimes, saying things aloud is how we hear ourselves."

  Emily left a candle burning. Before leaving, she turned back to the woman.

  "Do you know how to reach the Temple of the First Sun?"

  The woman studied her for a long moment.

  "Are you inherited?"

  Emily hesitated, then nodded.

  "I think so."

  The woman pointed eastward, above the rooftops.

  "Follow Lily Avenue to the Hill of the Womb. The temple’s up there. It's not easy to enter without permission. But if you’ve felt the fire… maybe they’ll let you in."

  The Temple of the First Sun was older than the city itself. Its black stone walls gleamed like polished coal under the afternoon sun. Emily climbed the steps with her heart in her throat. Zimon waited outside.

  A monk led her into a silent chamber where a dozen youths sat in stillness. Some already had their anima and came to strengthen the bond. Others, like her, sought confirmation.

  When her turn came, she sat at the center of a stone circle. They asked her to close her eyes. To breathe deeply. To feel the fire. To name what burned within her. The weight of doubt sank like a stone. What if it was all a mistake? she thought.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Emily obeyed. She felt the warmth beneath her skin, just like that night in Karakal. Her pulse raced. Her chest tightened. A trembling light—

  But nothing emerged.

  Only emptiness.

  She knew something was there. Behind closed lids. In her clenched hands. A blue shape, far away. It was there. But it wouldn’t come.

  The monks watched in silence. Finally, one spoke calmly:

  "The fire is present, but has not taken form. Sometimes it takes time. Sometimes… it never comes."

  Emily lowered her gaze. She didn’t cry. But breathing became a task.

  It came out the night of the attack, she told herself. Why not now?

  Then, a raspy voice cut through the haze:

  "The bond isn’t formed yet. Your anima carries parts of another body, little one. Be still… be still."

  Emily turned sharply. A small man in tattered clothes and wild hair crossed the doorway, vanishing into the corridor. No one else seemed to notice him.

  She stood frozen. I didn’t say a word… How did he know?

  That night, as they walked back through an alley, Emily stopped cold. On the wall, scrawled in charcoal or tar, was a massive inverted “T.” The mark of the Oscillators.

  She felt eyes on her. Zimon turned too. But there was no one. Only a gust of wind, sharp and cold.

  "They’re following us," Emily whispered.

  Zimon nodded. Neither said more—but both knew they weren’t alone anymore.

  On the fourth day, a festival took over the central plaza. Artists, musicians, preachers, and frauds competed for the crowd’s attention. Actors staged a play where a young man was forced to fight his anima for a cause he didn’t understand. Children ran through the streets, perched on shoulders. The scent of spices from across the realm of Tharellia filled the air.

  The final scene showed the youth staring at his anima, unsure whether to kill it to survive.

  "What kind of story is that?" Zimon muttered.

  "A true one," Emily replied, lips tight.

  From behind a column, a hooded figure watched her. When she noticed, he was gone.

  One morning, they found a public board near the arena. It listed active bearers, champions, and the fallen.

  One name stood out in red ink: Va?ra of the Black Rose.

  "Who’s she?" Emily asked.

  "A fighter from the east," said a local boy. "They say her anima is invisible but deadly. Never lost a match. Comes from beyond the Dark River—no one returns from there."

  The name stuck in Emily’s mind like a spark on dry grass. Familiar. Inevitable.

  The arena looked unimposing from the outside, but within, it opened into a stone amphitheater. They descended into the half-moon stands. The air reeked of old fear. The ground trembled.

  A battle was beginning.

  A hawk of fire clashed against a flaming orange bear. Domes of light rose, glowing. Bearers stood inside. Animas outside. A dance. A war. Wild beauty—for some.

  Emily covered her mouth. Her bond pulsed, uneasy. As if her dormant anima stirred at the sight of its kin.

  Zimon touched her shoulder.

  "We can leave if you—"

  "No. I have to watch."

  After the fight, they wandered in silence. Eventually, they found an old bookstore wedged between two cracked buildings. Inside, an elder dozed over a paper-strewn desk.

  Ancient Texts and Relics, read a sign older than Tharellia itself.

  Emily uncovered a nameless notebook, bound in darkened leather. Inside: sketches, strange symbols. One depicted a sun split in two—white rootlike veins stretched on one side, a flickering flame on the other. Below it:

  “From the First Sun came flame and shadow. Both necessary. Both inevitable.”

  Near the back, she found a list:

  Fallen by Flame

  Name: Kael

  Rank: Inherited, no legion

  Fate: Missing in combat, Tharellia

  Anima: Wolf

  The world stopped. It can't be... There it was. His name. No legacy. No glory. Forgotten by the crowd.

  But her hero. Her brother.

  She closed the book with trembling hands.

  "What did you see?" Zimon asked.

  "Proof. Kael was here. He didn’t die on the field. He died here. Or they made him disappear."

  That evening, as Emily sat by the inn’s window, her gaze lost in the stone rooftops, Zimon returned. Dust on his boots. A new spark in his eyes.

  "I went to the scribes’ guild," he said, unprompted. "Spoke to a monk who looked half asleep. But I got what I wanted."

  Emily tilted her head.

  "And what was that?"

  "How to enter the Temple of the First Sun as a scribe apprentice."

  Emily straightened.

  "And?"

  "You have to pass two Triads. First one’s Foundational Tales—history of the early dynasties, temples, the flames. Second is Memory of the First Name—symbols and ancient tongues."

  "That’s it?" she asked.

  Zimon smirked.

  "Not quite. You also need a Rooted Cord—something proving a bearer ran in your bloodline. It’s how they honor the inheritance of fire."

  Emily frowned.

  "And you? Do you have that?"

  He shrugged, smirking sideways.

  "I’ll figure it out. After all… you’re my family now, right?"

  Emily looked down, smiling despite herself.

  "Idiot."

  "An idiot who wants to write your story—before someone else does."

  That night, Emily didn’t sleep.

  By the window, the wind sang.

  Where are you, Kael? Why did you leave me your flame?

  Tharellia slept.

  Emily did not.

  Something stirred in her chest.

  She no longer feared the answers.

  She feared what she might do with them.

  If you’ve made it this far, I truly appreciate your time and presence in this little world I’m building.

  Every bit of feedback helps me grow, and knowing someone’s out there walking this path with Emily means more than you know.

  —Garfito