—“Weather and Nature Deities,” from Obscure Gods and Goddesses of the Golden Empire, by Nala, Priestess of Mori, published 84 AE
There once was a girl born from a legacy of ash and fire.
Except she had none of it. How cruel to have such ancestors,
to have such a name, and yet possess no claim to any of it.
- CHAPTER 2 - AVALKYRA
AVALKYRA STARED AT THE remains of her fire.
She should have used it to cook her dinner or warm her hands. Something useful. Instead she’d used it to incubate another phoenix egg… and that phoenix egg had failed to hatch. Yet again. Now it was nothing but a cold, dead stone amid the ashes, like so many others before it.
It was the same egg she’d taken from the Eyrie, right out of that soldier’s satchel. Avalkyra had saved it for this place, for the ruins of Aura. Hoping, maybe, that it would make a difference. That something, or maybe even someone, would help her. But no. Avalkyra had to do everything herself. It had always been this way.
Avalkyra stood inside a vast, echoing chamber of some crumbling temple. There were pillars of carved marble standing like trees in an Arborian forest, their tall, wide trunks disappearing high above her, the ceiling canopy untouched by the light of her small fire. It might have been a holy place once, but now, like everything in Aura, it felt more like a tomb. There was no escaping that feeling, no matter if she stood in a bakery or a bathhouse—every building held that haunted, hollowed-out feeling.
If possible, outside was worse.
Though Avalkyra didn’t hold with superstition, the wind did howl through the buildings, lifting the hair on the back of her neck and causing strange echoes and moans. Dried leaves scattered, whispering across the ground, while the air still held the scent of ash and smoke and ruin.
Avalkyra took a deep, lung-filling breath. Then she kicked out, connecting with the egg and sending it flying into the shadows, where it ricocheted off the nearest pillar before tumbling down a short flight of stairs.
It sent up a delicious racket, piercing the endless, eerie silence, but Avalkyra didn’t feel satisfied. All she felt was the ache in her foot.
She pursed her lips, staring down at the remains of the fire again. Then she kicked the ashes and bones and smoking embers, too, covering herself in soot and fully dispersing the last evidence of her hours of hard work—and her failure.
Avalkyra straightened. Now she felt better.
Leaving that hallowed place, Avalkyra stepped out into the dark, ghostly ruins. An archway rose above her, one of hundreds sparkling with veins of silver and gold and standing at least twice her height and ten times as wide. They marked the footpaths in and out of the city’s main square, which featured columned entryways and ornately carved facades excavated from the rock of the mountain, appearing like gemstones from the raw, jagged surroundings.
Contrary to popular belief, Aura could be reached on foot. Not everyone in ancient Pyra had a phoenix, and the early settlers had lived here long before they had flaming firebirds. The landscape was steep and dangerous, and that was why the ancient Pyraeans had built roads inside the mountain. There were endless tunnels all over Pyrmont, from the highest peaks down to the Foothills. They didn’t all connect—at least not anymore, after centuries of neglect and cave-ins—but Avalkyra had found them during the Blood War. Some could be accessed by caves or mines, others through fallen arches and crumbling doors like those that dotted the Sekveia. The empire had searched for her secret lairs for years, necks craned to the sky, and never thought to look below their feet. Her bases were never found; her defenses never breached.
Well, not by soldiers. There was one person who had managed to find her there… but she was no warrior.
The paths inside the mountain had been dark and treacherous, but Avalkyra had had old maps to guide her and rope to climb with. It had taken weeks, but then she was here, standing among these fabled ruins.
Everywhere she looked there were monuments to phoenixes and feathers and fire, and everything was shot through with gold. The grandeur put even Marble Row and the gods’ plaza in Aura Nova to shame, and yet… there was sadness among the grandeur. Despair.
Everything was still, and empty, and quiet. Nothing soft and permeable remained. No rippling banners with the Ashfire sigil or tallow candles