Aleira Brightleaf's Arc

Chapter 1 of 18

Aleira Brightleaf's throne lay somewhere in this burning waste, and she meant to drag it back to the world above. Her ancestors ruled the elven forest until the ground split and swallowed their seat of power. Now she stood on cracked black rock, sweat drying before it could fall. Ash coated her tongue. Her thin elven garb clung to her skin, useless against the heat. Every breath scraped her throat. She would not reach any throne if the wastes cooked her first. A tower of living lava rose ahead. Heat rolled off it in waves that bent the air. Aleira stepped back and felt her arms redden. She had crossed forests and rivers, but no forest taught her how to survive fire. Her clothes were meant for cool shade, not this. She needed a shield, and the land offered only stone and flame. Then she saw the flowers. A cluster of red spider lilies grew from a crack near the tower's base. Their long petals curled without wilting. They drank the heat and lived. Aleira knelt and touched a stem. It held firm, cool at the root. If these plants endured the fire, their fibers might too. A voice chimed above her. "You'll burn your fingers picking those." A fairy hovered near the lilies, wings catching the tower's glow. She was small, blue-haired, and unbothered by the heat that punished Aleira. She crossed her arms and studied the elf like a curious child. "No one comes here on purpose. What are you?" "Someone who needs to stop cooking," Aleira said. "These plants live in the fire. Can I weave them?" The fairy laughed and darted to a stand of charred trees nearby. "Not the flowers alone. Strip the bark. It's cinderbark. It drinks flame and stays cold underneath." She tugged a curl of black bark loose to prove it. "The lilies bind it. I've watched things down here do it for ages." Aleira worked fast. She peeled long strips of cinderbark, their surface charred but their inner side cool. She split the lily stems into fibers and threaded them through the bark, binding piece to piece. The fairy hovered close, calling out where to knot and where to fold. Aleira's fingers bled, but the garment grew. Ember-toned threads ran through the dark bark like veins of banked fire. By the time it was done, a robe hung across her arms. She pulled it over her ruined garb. The heat pressed against it and stopped. Her skin cooled. She breathed without pain for the first time since falling into this place. "It fits you," the fairy said, landing on her shoulder. "Now you can walk the wastes. But the throne you want sits inside that tower." She pointed at the churning lava spire. "And something already lives in there. Something big." Aleira looked up at the molten tower. Protected now, she could reach it. But she was no longer alone in wanting it.