Chapter 37 Lumenflare
Serafina
I didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment I was staring at the ceiling, trying to quiet the frantic mix of hope and dread inside me—Dust District tomorrow night, the magic that came with my rage, the bond with a dragon I barely understood—and the next, the world around me simply folded. Silence swallowed everything.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself standing in a vast field of black glass. The sky above churned with gold and gray, and every breath I took left a faint trail of light. I knew instantly that this wasn’t real, and yet it felt real in every way.
It was strange.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice echoing far too loudly across the endless field of black. Nothing responded. I turned slowly in a circle, noting that the ground beneath me was smooth and reflective. My bare feet didn't even leave prints.
Wherever I was, the air felt heavy, dense with energy that pressed against my skin with every breath. The place thrummed with power, insistent and unyielding. It wasn’t suffocating, but it made me tense.
Then a spark appeared before me, small at first, golden-white. It stretched, brightened, and expanded until a silhouette stepped out of the light. A woman appeared, tall and elegant, with liquid red hair flowing down her back. Her face was initially obscured by the radiance, but her voice struck me like a memory I had forgotten.
“Serafina,” she said.
My breath caught. “Who—who are you?”
She smiled, and the light dimmed enough for me to see her clearly. Her high cheekbones and shifting green-and-gold eyes were unsettlingly familiar. “Do not fear,” she said. “I am here because the contract has awakened more than just the dragon.”
“The contract… with Azerath?” I whispered.
“Yes,” she said. “When you bound yourself to the World-End Dragon, you awakened your inheritance. Your bloodline has endured more than you realize.”
I laughed weakly. “I don’t have an inheritance. I’m Dust-class. No magic. No lineage.”
Her expression softened, edged with pity. “Child, your blood runs older than caste, older than the Empire, older than dragons, older than the Great Collapse itself. Long ago, the Empire attempted to seize control of all magic and bind dragons to their will. That was the Great Collapse. Emberborn were hunted until a deal was struck. Azerath went into hibernation to protect the bloodline. Your parents preserved your fire as best they could. They were executed before you could inherit it freely.”
“Then why didn’t it manifest before tonight?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Why was I powerless my entire life?”
Her eyes darkened with grief. “Because you were sleeping. Your fire was sealed to protect you, preserved by your parents until the moment you could awaken it yourself—without fear, without coercion. Yet your life has brought you pain, misery, and rage. If you do not learn to wield it without giving in to that rage, it will burn you from the inside, or worse, it will consume everything you love.”
“Burn me or everyone else?” I asked, my chest tightening. I didn’t want to harm anyone. “Azerath said my magic could hurt people if I don’t control it.”
“And he is right,” she replied. “But it is not who you are. You are learning, and that is why I am here.
Magic is not a passive gift. It is a living force. You must shape it, or it will shape you.”
“And you’re… here to teach me?”
She nodded and smiled. “I am the echo of the first fire, the memory of what your bloodline once was. Through your dreams, I can guide you until you are strong enough to stand alone.”
My mouth went dry. “I don’t even know how to use it. I mean, I did earlier, but that was because I was so mad.”
“That,” she said, stepping closer, “is exactly why you are here. For you to learn control without the anger."
Her hand lifted, and a small pulse of golden light appeared between us, expanding into a perfect sphere that floated above her palm. “This,” she said, “is your fire awakening.”
The light hummed with warmth, and I could not look away.
“What is it called?” I whispered.
“Lumenflare,” she explained. “The spark of awakening. Your Emberborn fire responding to your will. Every Emberborn’s first flare is different. Yours will reflect your truth. And your truth is the fury buried deep in your heart. The burden you carried after your parents’ death forced you to hide your emotions. I will teach you to set that fury aside and focus on love and what is good.”
“I don’t know if I can,” I said quietly. “Surviving… it didn’t feel like a gift. It didn't feel good."
She smiled and lowered her hand. “Your life and your brother’s life, Serafina. Both are good.” She stepped behind me and placed her hands gently on my shoulders. “Close your eyes.”
I obeyed.
“Breathe,” she instructed. I drew in a long, steady breath and let it settle in my lungs.
“Now listen,” she murmured.
“To what?” I asked, confused.
“To yourself. To your heart.”
I tried. At first, all I heard was my own heartbeat and the faint rhythm of my breathing. Slowly, memories began to surface. I thought of my brother, of Mira and her quiet kindness, of the old woman who shared her food with me and gave me the bag, and of Blink, who had never left my side. And then my thoughts turned to Azerath.
I remembered his smile, how protective he was, and the way he always made me blush. I remembered the rush of flying on his back, soaring high above everything that had once frightened me. Up there, we were untouchable.
Then I felt something else—a second pulse, faint but steady, deep within my chest. It was not separate from me, but it was not entirely mine either.
“Azerath,” I breathed.
“That is the fire you share,” she whispered. “Feel it. You and he are connected. Feel how important you are to him. Feel the bond."
I reached deeper into myself and felt my pulse align with that distant rhythm. The ember within me responded at once. Heat spread through my body, bright and intense. I gasped and nearly pulled away, but her hands remained firm on my shoulders.
“Do not fear,” she said steadily. “Magic answers emotion. Fear will make it unstable, but trust will steady it. Trust yourself, Serafina, and trust him.”
I forced my breathing to steady and focused again. The ember pulsed more evenly as I reached toward it with intention instead of panic. Warmth gathered at the center of my chest before flowing outward. Light began to spill from me, soft at first, then stronger. A ribbon of golden fire streamed from my palms, twisting in the air, moving in response to my will.
I stared at it in disbelief. “I'm doing that?”
She nodded, approval shining in her eyes. “Yes. And more easily than most.”
I studied my hands, watching the flame respond to the smallest shift in my focus. “It feels alive.”
“Magic is alive,” she said. “It is shaped by the heart that wields it, and yours burns with strength—just as Azerath’s does.”
The ribbon wavered suddenly, flickering as my concentration slipped.
“Focus, Serafina. Hold it steady.”
I tried to bring it into rhythm with my breathing and heartbeat, but the flame resisted, pulsing unevenly, before disappearing entirely.
“I can’t,” I said, frustration rising.
“You can,” she answered firmly. “Serafina, despite everything you have been told, you were never Dust-class. You know that. Think of your mother and father and the positions they held on the Emperor’s Small Council. Think of your childhood, when you could create butterflies from nothing. None of that was imagined. You are not powerless, and you are not small. This fire has always been yours. It has been waiting for you to claim it. Hold it steady. Shape it. You are capable of this.”
“Show me the dragon-rider in you.”
Determination replaced doubt. I straightened my posture, drew a slow breath, and centered myself on the ember within. Instead of forcing it, I guided it. Instead of resisting it, I aligned with it.
The flame in my hands stabilized. It gathered inward, condensing into a concentrated sphere of golden light. The movement slowed until it hovered above my palms, small but steady, warm and responsive.
It no longer flickered wildly. It listened.
I stared at it, awe settling into my chest.
My first Lumenflare.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered proudly.
“It is,” she agreed. “Because it is yours.”
The orb hovered above my palms, pulsing gently. She stepped back and gestured toward a huge stone that had appeared at a distance. “Now, release it. Throw it at that boulder.”
I hesitated. “Will it explode?”
“Only if you panic,” she said, laughing lightly.
I focused on the warmth in my hands, let it connect to my heartbeat, and aimed carefully. Slowly, I moved my hands as if throwing a ball. The orb shot toward the boulder and burst into a shower of golden sparks upon impact, cracking the stone.
I exhaled shakily. “Did I… succeed?”
“There is no success,” she said. “Only becoming. Tonight, you took your first step.”
She pressed two fingers to my forehead, and her energy surged through me, warm and bright, like a blessing.
“When you wake,” she said softly, “the spark will remain. You will feel it. Hold it close.”
Her form began to blur.
“Wait,” I called as her light began to thin. “Are you real?”
A faint, sorrowful smile touched her lips. “Real enough, child. Do not be afraid. I am always with you.”
“With me?” I asked quietly.
“Yes, Serafina. My blood is your blood.”
Her words weighed on me, heavy and difficult to grasp. I searched her face, afraid she would disappear before I understood. “Will I see you again?” I whispered.
“When you need me,” she replied.
Her form began to fade, the light that shaped her breaking apart into drifting strands that lifted into the darkened sky.
“Remember this,” her voice echoed, softer now but clear. “Your fire is not a weapon. It is a promise.”
The dream dissolved around me, slipping like sand through my fingers. The black glass, the golden sky, the woman’s glowing form—all of it faded, leaving only the soft, steady light of morning filtering through my window.
I rubbed my eyes and groaned. It was already morning.
“Good morning, my wife,” a familiar voice said. I turned to see Azerath sitting in the rocking chair with a tea cup in hand. “I can see you have already awakened your spark. The magic within you will not be contained any longer.”
“Azerath,” I moaned, sitting up. “Did you watch me sleep all night again when I explicitly told you not to?”
“Not all night, no,” he replied, setting his teacup on the nightstand. “But when I heard you speaking, I rushed in. I thought you were having a nightmare after I—”
He stopped. A flicker of guilt passed through his eyes before he masked it with a small smile.
“I suspect your bloodline is teaching you through your dreams.” He rose from the chair and offered me his hand. “Come. Have breakfast. We still have much to plan."