A name written in fire-

The dim candlelight flickered as Keiran sat across from Vael and Selara in his cramped apartment. The air was thick with tension, and the weight of what he had just learned pressed down on him like a heavy chain.

Keiran ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "There's something we need to talk about."

Vael leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. "Something serious, huh?"

Selara crossed her arms, her gaze sharp. "Go on."

Keiran took a breath before speaking. "There's a prophecy in this town—one that the people believe in. They think someone will come, someone with an Oath strong enough to end this nightmare and free them all."

Silence.

Vael's eyes narrowed. "And you think that's me?"

Keiran met his gaze. "It has to be."

Vael exhaled, leaning back against the wall. "So, let's say it's true. Let's say I have the power to take down Armon. What then?"

Selara tapped her fingers against her arm. "If the people believe in this prophecy, that means they're waiting. Hoping. That's dangerous."

Keiran nodded. "Exactly. If the town is relying on some mythical savior, they won't act on their own. And worse, if Armon gets wind of this, he'll do everything in his power to crush that hope before it spreads."

Vael's jaw clenched. "Then what do we do?"

Keiran took a moment before answering. "We can't just escape. If we leave, they'll still be trapped here. This place—it's more than just a factory. It's a prison." His voice was firm. "We need to destroy the system from the inside."

Selara's expression darkened. "And how the hell do we do that?"

Keiran's eyes flickered toward the window. His voice was calm, but beneath it was an undeniable fire.

"We start by getting my coat."

Vael frowned. "Your coat?"

Keiran smirked. "Yeah. And while I'm at it, I'll take another look at those keys in the office."

Selara shook her head. "Security is too tight now. You won't make it far without being spotted."

Keiran's smirk didn't fade. "Then I won't go alone."

Vael raised an eyebrow. "You want us to go in with you?"

"No," Keiran said. "I want you two to create a distraction. If the guards are busy elsewhere, I'll have a better chance of slipping inside."

Selara exhaled. "This is reckless."

Keiran met her gaze. "It's necessary."

A heavy silence settled between them before Vael finally nodded. "Fine. Let's do it."

Keiran felt the tension in the room shift. This wasn't just about escaping anymore.

It was about taking the first step toward breaking the chains.

And none of them could turn back now. Outside, the town was quiet. The ever-present guards patrolled the streets, their footsteps methodical, uncaring.

The weight of their decision settled between them.

No longer just an escape.

A revolution.

Selara leaned back against the window. "Then there's no question," she murmured. "We can't just run away. Not while everyone else is still trapped here."

Keiran nodded. "That's why we need to be careful. If we move too fast, we'll end up dead like all the others who tried before us."

A long pause followed.

Then, Vael exhaled and shook his head with a smirk. "You're saying all this, but you still plan to sneak into the factory over a coat."

Keiran grinned. "Exactly."

The weight in the room lifted slightly.

For now, they had a plan.

Tomorrow, they would begin.

The next day passed like a slow-moving storm.

The factory groaned under the weight of machinery and exhaustion. The air was thick with the scent of rust and sweat, but the ever-present sound of gears grinding against metal was background noise by now.

Keiran, Vael, and Selara worked in silence, their hands moving automatically while their minds remained elsewhere.

The plan was simple.

When the shift ended, when the children were marched out—Keiran would break away.

He would sneak back in.

And retrieve not just his coat—but the key to their escape.

The clock ticked.

The day dragged on.

And then, finally—6 PM arrived.

The final bell rang—a shrill, metallic sound that signaled the end of the workday.

Keiran wiped his forehead, sweat mixing with grime. Around him, children were already being ushered out in sluggish clusters, their bodies worn from hours of labor. The guards stood at their posts, sharp eyes scanning for any sign of disobedience.

The plan was set, but there was one major problem.

The guards counted every child entering and leaving.

Keiran, Vael, and Selara had spent weeks watching, testing, waiting for a chance. There were no chances. The numbers were always perfect.

That meant Keiran couldn't simply stay behind.

Not unless someone covered for him.

Vael and Selara walked ahead, close enough to whisper.

Selara kept her voice low. "It won't work. If you don't leave with us, they'll notice."

Vael exhaled sharply, then muttered, "I'll handle it."

Keiran raised a brow. How?

But Vael was already stepping into action.

As the group neared the exit, the guards' eyes darted over every face, their lips moving as they silently counted. One, two, three… forty-five.

Then—a sharp cry pierced the air.

A worker—one of the smaller boys—collapsed.

His frail body crumpled to the ground, his breath ragged.

The guards immediately snapped to attention.

"What the hell—?" one of them barked, stepping forward.

Keiran stole a glance at Vael. He did this.

He didn't know how—maybe he subtly burned away the oxygen near the boy's lungs, or maybe he just gave the kid a sharp push—but Vael had made the distraction happen.

The guards rushed over.

Their perfect count—broken.

The numbers didn't matter anymore.

Amidst the chaos, Keiran slipped away.

The iron doors groaned shut.

A dull, metallic echo rippled through the vast chamber, swallowing the last traces of movement. The factory floor, which had been teeming with life mere moments ago, now stood eerily still—a graveyard of dormant machines, cold steel, and lingering shadows.

Keiran exhaled slowly, his breath barely a whisper against the heavy silence.

Now.

Now, the real plan began.

He pressed forward, each step calculated, his movements as fluid as a shadow slipping between the towering machinery. The dim industrial lights flickered intermittently, casting jagged streaks of illumination that painted the walls in shifting patterns.

He wasn't just after his coat. That was an excuse, a trivial reason in the grand scheme of things. The real objective lay deeper within—the storage room. The keys.

If there was a way to escape, it was buried somewhere in that office.

He had to be fast.

He had to be silent.

And above all—he had to be unseen.

But then—

A voice shattered the silence.

Low. Smooth. Unhurried. Like the whisper of a blade before it struck.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Keiran."

"You're in a story already written, Keiran. Don't get ahead of your role."

Keiran's blood ran cold.

His body tensed, muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap.

From the darkness of a side corridor, Asheron emerged.

His presence was almost surreal, as if the shadows themselves had molded into his form and brought him to life. His half-cloak draped over his shoulder, swaying lightly with his every step. One hand lazily adjusted the brim of his hat, while the other rested—almost too casually—near the hilt of his sword.

Keiran forced himself to remain still, his breath shallow.

Asheron's golden eyes gleamed under the flickering light, studying him with an expression that was neither hostile nor entirely amused—something far more unreadable.

Then, just as effortlessly as he had appeared, Asheron shifted. He turned to the side—leaving the path open.

He wasn't stopping Keiran.

He was letting him pass.

The unspoken permission sent a chill down Keiran's spine.

Why?