Veil of Ashes :Claimed by them

The fire had always lived inside him, but today, it clawed to the surface like a beast starved.

Vaelor's steps echoed harshly against the cold marble as he stalked through the silent corridors of the palace, the memory of the morning feast still gnawing at him. His fists were clenched, the knuckles pale, heat radiating from his skin. The King's jab, subtle but sharp—"Some forces are born to ruin, not rule"—still rang in his mind. No name was said, but everyone knew who it was aimed at.

It was always him.

The third prince. The mistake.

Born with fire in his blood—something the royal line of Velmoria had never seen. To the King, it was a crack in the otherwise pristine legacy. And to Vaelor, it was a curse he never asked for.

His body temperature had been steadily climbing all day. The silk of his tunic clung to his skin, damp with sweat. His breathing had grown ragged, his control slipping. He could feel it in the way the walls seemed to shimmer when he passed. The air thickened around him, heat distorting everything—his surroundings, his thoughts, his sanity.

He couldn't afford to lose control here. Not again.

The last time his emotions had burst free within the palace walls, a library wing had been reduced to ash. No one said it to his face, but he remembered the look on the King's face—disgust, not fear. And the whispers afterward, "he's unfit", "dangerous", "a wildfire wearing a crown."

He needed space. Air. Emptiness.

Somewhere to burn without consequences.

He slipped out of the eastern gate, the guards too used to his comings and goings to stop him, and made his way toward the wastelands on the outer edge of the palace borders. But to get there, he had to cut through the forest near the lake.

Branches creaked overhead. Leaves rustled underfoot. The woods were painted in the deep hues of night—indigo shadows and moonlit paths. Still, even in this solitude, the fire snarled within him. He could feel it crawling under his skin, wanting to burst from his palms, his eyes, his throat.

But then—

A voice.

Soft.

Fragile.

So beautiful it didn't sound real.

Vaelor froze.

The air shifted.

The pressure that had been crushing him lifted, like his skin could finally breathe. The fire inside him hissed as though doused with something divine. The crackling behind his ribs softened to silence. His heart—thundering moments ago—slowed. His pulse cooled.

It was like someone had taken ice and gently laid it upon the inferno inside him.

His fingers uncurled.

His back straightened.

He closed his eyes.

The song drifted through the trees like a whisper carried on moonlight. He couldn't make out the words at first, only the feeling—sorrow, longing, resilience. It was a lullaby for the broken, a hymn for the scarred.

He stood there for what felt like forever, unmoving, letting the melody wrap around him like a mother's embrace he'd never had. He hummed along before he realized he was doing it, too swept into the tune to stop himself. There were no lyrics from his lips, only a raw thread of emotion echoing hers. The singer's voice trembled with old pain but soared with unwavering hope.

"…rise like a phoenix from ashes…"

"…golden wings, once broken, reaching for the moon…"

His eyes stung.

For once, the fire inside didn't feel like a curse.

It felt…still.

Whole.

Human.

But then it ended.

The silence that followed crashed down on him like a tidal wave.

His breath caught in his throat. The absence of the voice left behind an aching hollowness, like he had been shown something beautiful—something sacred—and now it was snatched away. He needed to find her. The owner of that voice. The soul who unknowingly saved him from himself.

He pushed forward, ducking beneath low-hanging branches, feet crunching over dry leaves. The forest around the lake opened before him, moonlight shimmering off the water in broken silver ripples.

His heartbeat thundered with anticipation.

She has to be here.

He parted the last curtain of leaves and stepped into the clearing.

But the lakeside was empty.

The wind rustled the trees gently, the water lapped at the shore, and the stars blinked overhead.

But no voice.

No girl.

No trace of anyone at all.

Vaelor's chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths. He turned in a slow circle, golden eyes scanning every bush, every shadow. But there was nothing. Not even footprints in the dirt.

Only stillness.

The fire within him stirred again—but not in anger. This time, it simmered with confusion… and longing.

Who was she?

And why did her voice feel like the only thing that had ever truly tamed the storm in him?

He took a hesitant step toward the water's edge, half hoping the melody might begin again, that he'd catch even the faintest echo.

But the night held no answers.

Only the lingering memory of a song that calmed the fire.

And a prince who had never wanted anything more than to hear it again.