Lysander

Lysander knew the exact moment when his mother entered his den.

The loud gasp made him wince, and at the tentative touch at his back he glanced forlornly at the spelled amulet still lying in his bed. Forgetting it was a careless act that would cost him dearly.
“What happened to you, child?” the queen’s voice was a hoarse whisper as she stared at the burned and mangled skin in front of her. Her hand lay frozen in the air, forgotten as she tried to make sense of when could her son have sustained such serious injuries without her knowledge.
The prince sighed and picked up the amulet in front of him, the illusion rippling into place as he put it on. When he turned to face his mother his skin was once again unblemished, and he was as perfect as ever.

“Back when I left the clan, I joined a troupe. I was a performer, a dancer, a magician. As time went by, I was also replaced.
I knew I would be welcome back here, so I tried to make my way home on my own. As it was, the Ice realm was a bit too far away for my economies, and before long I was stranded, picking up jobs along the way to keep me fed and clothed.
Those months were… educational. I danced. I entertained. As I grew more desperate, I danced less and ‘entertained’ more. Wealthy clients pay no mind if you happen to keep some shiny baubles that you can pawn off later, specially if they are too drunk to see it when you do.
I was close to having the treasure I needed for the last leg of my journey. All I needed were a few more clients, a few more gems, and I’d be home free. My last job in town was supposed to be a grand finale - a party for a wealthy client. One whose cutlery alone could have paid to feed me for months.
When I got there it was-” the prince stole a glance at his mother “the usual. The male liked to brag, and he insisted in taking his ‘guests’ on a tour around the place. That’s when I saw her.
He kept her in a glass case, displayed in the middle of the room like another shiny nothing. The- “Lysander bit back a curse, his hackles rising at the memory” gentleman that hired me bragged about having a live Ember to warm his room. She was barely a flicker of light, she was so weak.
When he was asleep, I went into his study. I meant to swipe some small thing that I could pawn, but I just kept coming back to her. Before I knew it, I had opened the case “he closed his eyes for a moment” she barely warmed my hands when I touched her.
Something went wrong, Mother. I don’t know how it started. I must have bumped into something while I carried her, I- the curtains caught on fire. By the time I made it out of there with her the entire place was ablaze.”

The queen looked from her son’s back to the small retreating form that peeked from near the door. She too had been born of the Flamecaller’s blood; she was well aware of what an Ember could do.
She didn’t need the jewel in her forehead to see the events as they unfolded. The fire sparked by anger, and fueled by the desperate desire for vengeance for her captor. The Ember that now lived within her clan had almost killed herself in that one last burst of heat to consume everything.

“When we got back to my quarters she was so weak. I burned all my belongings trying to get her to just hang on. Somehow we both made it, and as soon as I was able to walk I set off to come here. That was my last stop” The prince lifted the amulet and stretched his wings, displaying the array of burns and holes in the jewel-like feathers “I can’t fly - not anymore. But it was worth it - Cybelle is.” He stared defiantly at his mother and queen, his glinting feathers proof of what he had laid down for the female that had since stood by him.

Cassandra sighed. She finally understood the devotion with which the young Ember followed her son - it was born of a crushing sense of guilt for her savior, and for what she had cost him.