Panic echoed through the grand stone hallways of Alfea, wild and uncontained. Screams of fleeing fairies bounced off the walls, a chaotic din of terror and confusion. Bloom ignored them all, her boots pounding against the marble floor as she sprinted in the opposite direction. Everyone else was running toward the safety of the courtyard, away from the smoke. She was running straight into the heart of the fire, driven by a desperate, reckless need. Her chest burned with every inhalation, the air growing thicker and hotter with every step she took toward the west wing. Headmistress Faragonda's stern warning rang in her ears, a useless echo of caution. "Do not face him alone, Bloom," the old fairy had pleaded, her eyes filled with a maternal dread. But Faragonda didn't understand the fire that consumed Bloom from the inside out. This wasn't just a battle for the Magic Dimension; this was personal. Every nightmare she had ever had, every phantom pain of a lost family, led back to one man. Valtor. Approaching the heavy oak doors of the archive room, she found them sealed with a dark, pulsing barrier. Purple energy crackled across the wood, hissing like a nest of angry vipers. She didn't hesitate. Gathering her power, she slammed her hands against the barrier, unleashing a burst of raw orange flame. Dark magic resisted for a fraction of a second, screaming as it fought her light, before shattering like cheap glass. Bloom kicked the heavy doors open, stepping into a literal inferno. --- Smoke stung her eyes immediately, thick and tasting of burnt ink. Ash fell like grey snow over the shattered glass of Alfea's archive room. Every breath felt like swallowing crushed glass, but she refused to cough. Flame licked at the ancient mahogany bookshelves, devouring centuries of history in hungry, orange gulps. Through the haze, a towering figure stood motionless near the center of the destruction. He didn't look like a man fleeing a crime scene; he looked like a king surveying his court. Valtor turned slowly, his long plum-colored coat brushing against the debris on the floor. His dark eyes caught the firelight, reflecting a cold, calculating amusement that made her blood boil. Rage, hot and demanding, surged through her veins, obliterating the fear that should have kept her back. Ancient ledgers from the royal dynasty of Domino lay open on the floor, their edges curling into black ash. She lunged forward, trying to snatch a half-burned scroll, but the paper disintegrated into dust at her touch. Frustration clawed at her throat, a physical ache that joined the smoke-induced burning in her lungs. "Why here?" she whispered to the empty room, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and grief. "Why burn the only records of my family?" A soft, mocking chuckle echoed from the deeper recesses of the archive, sending a shiver down her spine despite the stifling heat. "Because some histories are better left dead, little princess," a voice murmured from the shadows. Valtor emerged from behind a burning pillar, his presence commanding and terrifyingly calm. His dark-plum coat billowed slightly in the updraft of the flames, untouched by the stray sparks landing on his shoulders. He held an ancient, leather-bound book in one hand, his fingers tracing the golden crest of Domino embossed on the cover. Its binding was made of dragon-scale leather, a relic of a time when her kingdom was the crown jewel of the Magic Dimension. She remembered growing up in Gardenia, a quiet suburb where nothing ever happened. Mike and Vanessa had loved her unconditionally, yet she had always felt like an imposter in her own life. Every time she closed her eyes, she had seen fire—not a destructive, terrifying force, but a warm, protective embrace. Now, facing the man who supposedly stole that warm reality from her, her soul was screaming for retribution. "Give that back," Bloom demanded, her voice trembling but fierce. "That belongs to my family. To my kingdom." Her palms began to glow, a bright, dangerous orange light pulsing in sync with her racing heart. "Your kingdom is a graveyard," Valtor said, his tone devoid of mock, replaced by a cold, hard gravity. "And this book is full of lies written by the victors of a war you know nothing about." He closed the tome with a soft thud, the sound surprisingly loud over the crackle of the fire. "You lie!" she screamed, her temper flaring like the wild magic in her veins. "You were the one who attacked us! You served the Ancestral Witches!" Her survivor's guilt flared, a painful reminder of her parents' faces she could barely remember, of the cold, dead world she had inherited. "Did I?" Valtor asked, taking a slow step toward her, his dark eyes locked onto hers. "Or did I simply stand where I was destined to stand?" He stopped just a few feet away, the firelight catching the sharp angles of his face, making him look less like a monster and more like a tragic figure from a forgotten myth. "I don't care about your excuses," Bloom said, her chest heaving as she raised her hands. "I'm going to destroy you, Valtor. For Domino. For my parents." She drew in a deep, shaking breath, reaching down into the core of her magic, seeking the absolute power of the Dragon Flame. A tight knot formed in her jaw, the muscles jumping as she ground her teeth together. Her knuckles turned stark white, her fingernails digging so deeply into her palms that she tasted the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. Inside her chest, the Dragon Flame didn't just ignite; it roared, a wild, hungry beast demanding to be let loose. It was the power of creation itself, the spark that had breathed life into the stars, now weaponized by a girl who wanted nothing but blood. Yet, as she forced the magic to the surface, a bizarre sensation rippled through her. It felt like trying to push two magnets of the same pole together—a heavy, vibrating resistance that made her bones ache. Every cell in her body screamed at her to stop, warning her that attacking this man was like attacking herself. She ignored the warning, her obsession with justice blinding her to the strange disharmony in her own spirit. With a fierce, desperate cry, she thrust her hands forward. A massive torrent of golden-crimson fire exploded from her palms, shaping itself into a roaring dragon that filled the entire corridor. Heat was so intense it shattered the remaining stained-glass windows, sending a rain of colored glass falling down into the courtyard below. Valtor stood perfectly still, his hands remaining at his sides as the wall of fire rushed toward him. He didn't flinch, nor did he attempt to cast a defensive barrier. His dark eyes simply watched her, filled with a profound, aching sadness that made her stomach twist in sudden, inexplicable panic. When the fire reached him, there was no explosion. There was no sound of burning flesh, no scream of agony, no destruction. Instead, the roaring dragon of fire suddenly softened, its violent red hues shifting into a warm, gentle gold. It flowed over his shoulders, wrapping around his wrists like a pair of soft, welcoming bands. Bloom gasped, her chest tightening as a sudden, intense warmth blossomed deep within her soul. It wasn't the scorching, destructive heat of her magic, but a comforting, ancient warmth, like a child being held by a parent. Her heart beat in a wild, erratic rhythm, and to her absolute horror, she felt an identical pulse vibrating from Valtor. They were connected, their heartbeats synchronized by the very magic she had sent to destroy him. Golden bands of fire sparkled against his dark coat, binding them together in a silent, unbreakable link. She tried to pull the fire back, to force it to burn, to make it do its duty. Her magic refused. It hummed happily, a purring cat returning to its owner, completely ignoring her desperate commands. "No," she whispered, her voice cracking as she took a trembling step back. "What did you do? What kind of spell is this?" Her hands shook, the skin still glowing with a soft, golden light that refused to fade. She looked at Valtor, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and betrayal. A man who had destroyed her world, the monster she was destined to kill, was now bound to her by her own soul. Her absolute world of good and evil, of light and dark, shattered into a million confusing fragments. Valtor looks down at the golden sparks binding their wrists, smiles with a mixture of pity and sorrow, and whispers, 'You still do not recognize your own reflection, little spark,' before vanishing into the smoke.

Ashes of My Father's Crown