Chapter 5 A Forbidden Marriage, Ancient Hidden Shadowfire

The moon was blood-red the night it happened.

Arielle couldn't sleep. Her muscles ached from a week of General Kaelen's brutal training-grueling dawn-to-dusk sessions filled with snarling sparring partners, bone-deep bruises, and harsh, clipped commands that offered no room for weakness. But it wasn't pain that kept her awake tonight.

It was the voice.

A whisper in the wind, soft and strange, like silk brushing against her mind.

"Find me beneath the roots."*

She sat up in bed, her breath catching. The stone walls of her chamber glowed faintly silver in the moonlight. No guards. No footsteps. Just silence-and that impossible whisper.

Her hand instinctively went to her chest. The crescent-shaped mark, barely visible under her collarbone, was burning faintly. She hadn't noticed it before-not until the day she stepped into the palace. Since then, it had begun to pulse at odd times. Like now.

She slipped into her boots, pulled on her cloak, and moved toward the courtyard. The palace was silent at this hour-except for the occasional patrol of the Nightfang guards. She kept to the shadows, her senses heightened, her heart beating a strange rhythm in her chest.

Beneath the roots.

The whisper came again, louder this time. Compelling. Guiding.

She followed it.

Through the stone corridors. Past the silent statues of wolf kings long dead. Down a narrow staircase rarely used, hidden behind a tapestry bearing the Nightfall crest-a black wolf with silver eyes.

She descended into darkness. Torches lit automatically as she passed. The air grew colder. Earthier.

She found herself in the old catacombs.

A place no one dared enter.

The crypts of fallen royalty stretched for miles beneath the mountain palace. But the whisper didn't lead her to a tomb. It led her to an ancient tree-growing impossibly within the stone chamber. Its roots split the floor, tangled and thick, with glowing veins of silver sap pulsing beneath the bark.

The mark on her chest seared hot.

Her knees buckled.

She dropped to the ground, panting, as her vision blurred. Images flashed in her mind-violent, bright, impossible to make sense of.

A woman screaming.

A crown shattering.

Blood on the forest floor.

Then... a name.

"Eirena."

Arielle gasped.

Her mother's name.

She staggered upright, eyes wide. She stepped closer to the tree, her fingers brushing against the bark. As soon as her skin touched it, the roots shifted-drawing back, revealing a narrow tunnel below.

She hesitated for only a breath.

Then she jumped.

The air was thick with old magic. It clung to her skin like mist. The tunnel twisted, sloped downward, and ended in a small chamber lit by a glowing blue flame suspended in the air.

At the center of the room was a pedestal.

And on it-a book.

Bound in silver and black leather. The symbol on the cover matched the one on her skin.

She reached for it with trembling hands.

The moment her fingers touched the cover, a jolt shot through her. Her body seized, vision clouded-then cleared.

A woman stood before her.

Not real-an echo. A memory.

Tall, fierce, with moon-white hair and the same eyes Arielle saw in the mirror every day.

Her mother.

"Arielle," the vision whispered. "If you're seeing this... then you've awakened."

Her throat tightened. She couldn't breathe.

"The Nightfall bloodline holds a secret," the vision continued. "Magic that was sealed generations ago... when the Council forbade it. But I disobeyed. Because I knew *you* would need it. One day."

Arielle stepped closer, her heart in her throat.

"What magic?" she whispered.

"Shadowfire," the vision said. "The last of the Forbidden Flames. Born only to the true heirs of the moonblood."

The fire in the chamber roared to life. Dark and blue, dancing with a hunger that wasn't natural.

"You carry it in your veins," her mother said. "But be warned... power awakens power. And when yours rises, they will come for you."

"Who?" Arielle demanded. "Who are they?"

But the vision was already fading.

"Trust no one but the flame. And remember, my daughter... the truth is written in the roots."

Darkness returned.

The book pulsed beneath her hand.

Shadowfire. A name that stirred something deep in her bones.

She didn't fully understand what she had found-but something in her soul had shifted. Like a door cracking open for the first time.

She took the book and tucked it into her cloak, climbing back up through the tunnel. The tree closed behind her, as if nothing had happened.

But everything had changed.

Back in her room, she read the first few pages. Spells. Old ones. In a language that flowed through her mind like she'd known it forever.

She could *feel* the power in the words.

Raw. Ancient. Dangerous.

Her mother had left this for her.

Not just to survive.

To fight.

To win.

The next morning, General Kaelen noticed the change immediately.

"You look... different," he said, circling her during combat drills. "Less like a pup. More like a wolf."

Arielle didn't respond. She focused on her footwork, her senses sharper than before.

When he struck-fast, brutal-she dodged with unnatural speed.

"Again," he growled.

This time, she met his blow mid-air, steel on steel.

Their weapons clashed with a screech.

Kaelen's eyes narrowed.

"I see."

She didn't ask what he saw.

She already knew.

The fire had awakened.

Later that day, she returned to the crypt. Not to open the book again-but to trace the roots.

The last words of the vision echoed in her ears.

"The truth is written in the roots.

She followed them, her fingertips brushing the stone floor, watching how they glowed faintly as she walked.

They led her to a hidden wall.

A door, sealed with runes.

One symbol stood out: a crescent moon crossed with fire.

The same as the mark on her chest.

She placed her palm to the symbol.

The door shuddered.

Opened.

Beyond it-a chamber filled with relics. Crowns. Scepters. Armor forged with obsidian and silver.

And a mural.

Massive. Beautiful. Horrifying.

It depicted a war-a massive clash between wolves and shadows. At the center, a woman with Arielle's face stood wielding fire against darkness.

The inscription below read:

"The Last Flame Shall Rise."

She staggered back, her breath stolen.

Not just a queen.

Not just a royal.

She was a weapon.

A prophecy.

And her war was only beginning.

The flames responded like a lover summoned in silence. Not orange, not red, not any natural fire - but dark, rippling shadows laced with deep purple. They shimmered across Arielle's fingertips, curling around her knuckles, crackling with power that made her bones thrum and her veins sing.

Shadowfire.

It wasn't just a name whispered in fear by elders and scholars. It was alive - sentient, even. And it wanted her.

She stood alone in the hidden chamber beneath the library, the old sigils still glowing faintly on the stone floor. The scent of dust and forgotten incense clung to the air. She had memorized the ancient passage in the book, her heart thudding with each recited word.

Now, she breathed in, eyes narrowed. "Again."

With focus, she extended her hand toward the blackened candle stub before her. The Shadowfire flared. The candle sparked instantly, no flint needed, its tiny flame dancing black and violet.

Arielle gasped.

It hadn't been a fluke the first time.

She could *control* it.

But control came with cost.

As the shadows spread, she felt her heart hammering harder, the rush of power exhilarating and terrifying. Her knees nearly gave out. The fire tried to crawl up her arm, greedy and curious.

"No," she whispered, breathing in sharply, pushing it back with her will. "Not yet."

The flames shrank, as though reluctantly obeying. Her palms trembled.

*You belong to me,* a voice seemed to whisper from the stone walls, or maybe from within her own mind. She spun, heart hammering, but no one was there. Just the echo of her pulse, thudding like war drums.

She barely made it out of the chamber before collapsing in the hall. The energy drained her like a leech. Every time she summoned the Shadowfire, it left her hollowed and gasping.

But it also left her *stronger.*

Every time.

And that scared her most of all.

For three days, she practiced in secret.

Morning combat with General Kaelen - ruthless as ever.

Midday etiquette training - her posture corrected, her words rehearsed, her royal lineage drilled into her tongue.

And by night, in the shadowed depths of the library, she fed the fire.

She called it. Controlled it. Molded it into shapes. A sword. A whip. Once, into wings that burst from her back like smoke.

But the more she trained, the more she noticed strange things.

Servants would pause as she walked past - eyes flicking to her with veiled suspicion.

A silver goblet in her room cracked when she grew frustrated.

A mirror fogged over when she grew angry - though there was no steam or reason for it.

And always... she felt a presence.

Watching.

Breathing with her.

Waiting.

It happened the night of the moonless sky.

The palace was eerily silent. No wolf howls. No music. Just the hum of silence as if the entire place held its breath.

Arielle returned to the hidden chamber. The candle was already lit.

She frowned.

"I didn't light that..."

She stepped forward slowly, fingers twitching at her side, the air thick with tension.

Then-

A voice, smooth as silk and venom, slipped from the shadows behind her.

"You're braver than I expected, little flame."

She spun, Shadowfire already flaring to life in her palm. "Who's there?"

From the darkness emerged a man - no, something wearing the skin of a man. Tall. Sharp. His eyes glowed violet like hers did in the mirror after the fire consumed her. His smile was crooked, unsettling.

"Don't worry. I'm not here to hurt you." He stepped closer, the shadows seeming to *welcome* him.

"Then stay where you are," she warned, voice low. "I'll burn you."

He laughed softly. "Oh, darling... burn me and you burn *yourself.*"

She faltered.

He tapped his chest. "You think you're the first to play with Shadowfire? You think you summoned it by accident?" His smile twisted. "No, Arielle. You *inherited* it. Your mother was the last wielder before you. And she paid dearly."

Arielle's mouth went dry.

"You knew her?" she breathed.

He didn't answer directly. "She was magnificent. Reckless. But she never learned to control the fire. She let it control her - and it destroyed her."

"No." Arielle shook her head, stepping back.

"Yes," he said softly, stepping forward. "And it will destroy you too... unless you learn *how* to survive it."

His gaze flickered to the walls. "This chamber was hers, you know. She created it. Hidden beneath her lover's palace. The King didn't even know it existed."

"Lucien?" she whispered.

A shadow flicked across the stranger's face. "Yes. He thought he could protect her from everything. But not from herself. Or me."

Arielle raised her palm, the Shadowfire swirling hot and angry now. "Who are you?"

His smile didn't reach his eyes. "A guardian. A prisoner. A shadow of your family's past." He leaned in. "But most importantly, I'm the only one who can teach you how to survive what's coming."

She hesitated. The fire crackled louder. "What is coming?"

His gaze darkened. "The truth. The war. And the crown."

Before she could react, he vanished into the shadows, like mist on wind.

She was alone again.

But not really.

The flame curled lovingly around her wrist like a pet, and she stared down at it.

Her mother's magic.

Her family's curse.

And now... her only weapon.

The next day, she was summoned to the throne room. King Lucien stood alone, reading an ancient scroll. The guards stepped back when she approached.

He didn't look up. "You've been practicing."

Her breath caught. "You knew?"

"I warned you not to open that book."

A pause.

"But I also knew you would."

His eyes met hers - sharp and unreadable. "The Shadowfire is not a toy, Arielle. It feeds on emotion. Especially pain. And yours runs deep."

She swallowed. "Then teach me to control it."

Lucien folded the scroll slowly, laying it aside.

"I can't," he said. "Because I never learned. Your mother didn't let me. She thought she could bear the burden alone."

"Then who will teach me?" she asked, fists clenched.

His expression darkened. "If he's found you... then it's too late. You'll have to survive him first."

"Who is he?" she whispered.

Lucien didn't answer.

But his silence screamed.

That night, she dreamt of fire and blood.

Of a crown burning black with smoke.

Of a voice whispering her name from within the ashes.

"Arielle..."

When she woke, her fingers were glowing.

And her bedroom mirror had shattered.