Etched In Flame

Prologue

The moment Meike Herr stepped into the clearing, her entire body went taut. The air was thick with smoke, the scent of burnt ozone and scorched flesh lingering like a cruel omen. But it wasn't the smell of battle that made the fire rise in her throat—it was the sight before her.

A child.

Bruised. Shaking. Cornered like prey.

Meike's chest rose and fell once—twice—before a guttural, primal snarl ripped free from her throat. It wasn't the sound of a noblewoman or a trained soldier. It was the sound of a creature born of flame and fury, something ancient and sacred.

Her fists flexed at her sides, black and blonde braids falling like curtains around her face as the muscles in her jaw clenched. Her porcelain skin, marked by a constellation of battle scars, twitched with barely restrained rage.

Across the makeshift clearing, the Eriynan mercenaries paused. One of them muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

"Uh-oh," another whispered, fear prickling at his spine.

They saw her eyes then—blood-red, glowing faintly like coals banked for battle. Meike's gaze swept across the mercenaries like a scythe through wheat. Even the most hardened among them—a man with cybernetic implants threaded along his jaw and hands—took an involuntary step back.

"Raluca," Meike said, voice like flint striking steel, "get the lapsi out of here."

Major Raluca Oprescu nodded once, without question. She snapped her fingers, her squad moving into position to shield the child. Her dark skin shimmered with heat as she activated her armor's kinetic shielding. One of her guards swept the girl into their arms, carefully but quickly, and vanished into the trees.

Meike reached behind her and unslung her sword—the Herr family blade. Forged in the volcanic furnaces beneath Lassan Peak, it shimmered in the half-light, its obsidian surface veined with Pyrokyn runes that glowed like the hearts of dying stars.

Her knuckles turned white.

"No one," she said lowly, "harms a child in my territory."

And then she moved.

She was a blur. A flash of flame and steel.

The first mercenary barely had time to scream before her blade cut clean through his neck, his head landing in the dust with a sickening thump. Meike pivoted on one heel, slicing a second across the abdomen and gutting him in a single, efficient sweep.

Three more came at her, shouting in Eriynan.

Four heads.

Five.

Six.

The bodies piled like discarded puppets. Blood sprayed her leathers, sticky and hot, but she never faltered. This was what she was made for—defending her people. Defending their future.

When the last of them dropped, only one remained. He stumbled backward, falling onto his rear in the dirt. His breaths came in ragged gasps. Fear clouded his eyes.

Raluca returned at that moment, her boots silent on the scorched ground. She nodded at Meike and strode forward, crouching beside the fallen man. Her black-gloved hand shot out, yanking him up by his blood-slick shirt.

"Who contracted you?" she asked coldly.

The Eriynan trembled. "I—I don't know his name," he stammered, eyes darting between Meike and Raluca. "He just said he wanted a Pyrokyn. Dead or alive. Said... said there was a bounty."

Meike stepped forward, blade still in hand. The smell of ash and copper clung to her like perfume.

"Raluca."