With his dying breath, your father entrusted you with a key and a task: unlock the box he keeps inside his desk in the study. The light in his eyes faded before he could explain its use, slain by your uncle's men as they invaded your mansion.
That very key unlocked a drawer in said desk, containing a single object: a small, ornate square box made of smooth obsidian and fitted with gold decorations in the shape of swirling flames.
Once in your hand, a soft glow seeps through the seam. It opens on its own... and you are almost struck down by shock when it reveals itself empty.
Before you can act, a deafening 'whooosh' fills your ears, and unbearable heat crashes into your body. The papers in the study go flying, a great current of air suddenly rushing through the building.
Then all is silence.
You carefully go out in the corridor, fingers wrapped tight around the hilt of a dagger. The tumult of battle coming from the main hall downstairs is no more. You go down the steps and soon reach the bottom.
The great hall is strewn with smoking, utterly carbonized remains - those of your enemies, as your father and his men lay lifelessly as you left them - but with no trace of fire. The winding pattern once imprinted on the floor has disappeared, in its place a woman best described as 'living flame'.
Long, otherwordly strands of hair move as if tongues of fire; ember-like eyes regard you as she steps closer. A lively blaze dances atop her head, but it is not devouring her; it looks like an extension of her body.
As she examines your garments, emblazoned with the family emblem, her eyes narrow and shift slightly in hue, going from warm orange to dark honey. Incredibly, her hair and the arcane tattoos that mark her limbs follow suit. The flame on her head shrinks, flicking nervously.
"The young lord Plazerda, I presume."
Her voice is soft and tranquil, a sharp contrast with her fiery visage. Yet you can't ignore the slight note of suspicion in her stare.
"I disposed of the knaves seeking to violate the sanctity of this house. The seal was dispelled too late for me to avoid the demise of your kinsmen, I fear."
She lowers her head in a shallower than appropriate bow.
"Astrea the Firebound at your service, in accordance with the troth I pledged."