Hézo

Hezo jolted upright, breathless. A shock had coursed through him, still alive in his memory, like a faint echo of the battle against his sister. That searing pain had pulled out an old memory, long buried.

He was nine years old. His mother had vanished.

No word. No farewell. Nothing.

Just absence—brutal, unbearable.

They told him she had left, disappeared without explanation. But he… he had never believed it. She could never have abandoned him. She loved him too much. She was his whole world. So he searched. Again and again. In every corner, every glance, every whisper. Any clue that might reveal what had truly happened.

The sun was slipping slowly behind the hills, casting its last crimson rays through the tall windows of the palace. The walls, bathed in that fiery glow, seemed alive, breathing out a soothing warmth. The suffocating midday heat had given way to the gentleness of dusk.

At this hour, everyone was busy with their routines: servants finishing their tasks, guards taking up night posts, nobles retreating to their chambers. Hezo, meanwhile, was wandering through a wing of the palace he had not yet explored.

The Flaming Palace lived up to its name: vast, twisting, confusing. It seemed to shift shape the more one discovered it. Even after weeks of exploration, it still held surprises. Invisible corridors. Forgotten rooms.

He had just stepped into one such passage, new to him, when a figure appeared at the turn of a crossing. Dyandra.

His stepmother.

He quickly pulled back, staying out of her line of sight. He had neither the energy nor the will for a confrontation. But something about her behavior caught his attention. She walked alone. Without her usual guards. And above all, she kept glancing around with an almost excessive caution, as if making sure no one saw her.

Dyandra was known for her aura of mystery, her secrets. And her treachery.

At the end of a narrow hallway, she stopped before a door Hezo had never noticed. Without hesitation, she opened it and slipped inside. His curiosity instantly ignited, Hezo followed, careful to remain unseen.

Behind the door, a spiral staircase plunged into darkness. A few torches on the wall cast a flickering glow—just enough to see without drawing attention. He descended slowly, matching his steps to hers.

Then—clang.

A metallic noise shattered the silence. He had brushed against a suit of armor. Its upper half had toppled to the ground. Hezo’s heart skipped a beat.

Dyandra spun around instantly, a flame already dancing at her fingertips.

— Who’s there?! she barked, her voice echoing off the stone walls.

She advanced, eyes combing the shadows. Hezo, pressed into a recess in the wall, held his breath. He dared not move. Not even blink.

The magical light swept slowly past him. He thought he was caught. But Dyandra’s focus lingered only on the fallen armor. She frowned, then lifted her gaze toward the stairs. Finally, she resumed her pace, quicker this time.

Hezo let out the faintest sigh. His heart was pounding wildly. Too close. Far too close.

He continued the pursuit.

Further on, she stopped before a wall that, at first glance, seemed perfectly ordinary. She pressed her right palm against the cold stone and whispered words in a language Hezo didn’t know… but recognized as that of the initiated. Golden symbols lit up beneath her hand, revealing a hidden door set into the wall. Without a glance back, she stepped inside. The stone sealed shut immediately.

Hezo froze.

A secret room.

A chamber hidden deep within the palace.

Nothing could have stirred his suspicions more. And above all… it brought back a memory.

“A great flaming palace… and in its depths, there was a woman.”

That was what a little girl had told him five years ago, under strange circumstances he had never managed to explain. Back then, he hadn’t understood. But now, those words echoed like a prophecy.

His heartbeat quickened.

He had to get inside.