Chapter 17 – Firebound

They left the hollow tree before dawn.

The forest was colder than usual, and the wind felt sharper, like the world itself was changing shape in anticipation. The kind of wind that came before something big—something irreversible.

Cael walked slower than usual. He wasn't fully healed, but he wouldn't let Seren carry him. Not anymore.

He said it was about pride.

But she could feel it was more than that.

He was afraid of slowing her down.

"You're not dead," she murmured as they moved through the brush, "so don't act like it."

Cael glanced at her. "Feels like I should be."

"You survived the Silent Hand and a collapsing tower. You're tougher than you think."

"I think I'm just lucky."

She stopped walking.

"Then stop wasting it."

By midday, they reached the edge of a river with black stones slicked with moss. The Hollow whispered beneath her skin, warning of watchers in the trees.

Not hunters.

Not enemies.

Observers.

"Something's following us," she said.

Cael paused, one hand on his blade.

"How many?"

"Not sure. But they're not attacking. Just… waiting."

"Scouts?"

"No."

She turned toward the trees.

"I think they're listening."

They made camp in a stone crevice tucked into the riverbank. It was cramped, but dry. The walls were laced with glowing fungi, giving off a pale green light. Seren set down her pack and immediately pressed a hand to her belly.

The baby was moving again.

Stronger than before.

Not frantic.

Focused.

"Something's different," she said quietly.

Cael knelt beside her. "With the child?"

"Yeah. He's—he's changing."

She drew in a breath.

"It's not just growth. It's awareness. He's learning too fast. Feeling things that aren't supposed to happen until later."

Cael placed a hand over hers, warm and steady.

"Magic accelerates growth," he said. "Especially when it's drawn from old power."

"This isn't just fast, Cael. It's… conscious."

She didn't sleep that night.

Not because she was afraid.

Because she couldn't shut the Hollow out.

It kept whispering.

Images. Sounds. Warnings.

She saw visions of herself standing in a field of ash, holding a child wrapped in fire. Saw Cael at her side, blood on his hands, surrounded by enemies too twisted to name.

And always—always—one line echoed in her head.

"From fire, not love."

By morning, she made a choice.

They had to stop running.

They had to fight.

She stood at the edge of the river, watching the sun rise slowly over the trees.

Cael stepped beside her.

"I know that look," he said.

"I'm done hiding."

He nodded.

"You think we're ready?" he asked.

"No. But we'll never be. That's not how this works."

He rubbed his jaw, then looked down at her belly.

"Is he ready?"

Seren didn't answer at first.

Then: "He doesn't get a choice."

They headed for the northern cliffs.

It was dangerous terrain—jagged, sharp, riddled with blind corners and old bloodlines. But Seren had a feeling they'd find allies there. Or at least people angry enough at the Council to listen.

The Hollow didn't fight her on the direction.

Which meant it approved.

They climbed steadily all day. By dusk, the cliffs came into view—towers of broken rock piercing the sky, crowned with dark trees and mist.

They stopped just outside the range to rest.

Seren lowered herself slowly to the ground, her back stiff.

Cael offered her water.

"Have you thought about names?" he asked suddenly.

She blinked.

"What?"

"For the baby."

She stared at him.

"You want to name him now?"

Cael shrugged. "Feels right."

She thought about it.

About the dreams.

The prophecy.

The weight of it all.

Then said, "Ashen."

Cael raised a brow. "Ashen?"

"He was born of fire," she said. "Let him carry it like a crown."

He nodded slowly. "Ashen Vale."

"No. Ashen Cael."

He looked at her, eyes soft.

And didn't argue.

That night, the Hollow whispered again.

But this time, it didn't bring fear.

It brought instructions.

Symbols. Rituals. Marks she could barely comprehend.

She drew them in the dirt.

They glowed on contact.

Cael watched her from the edge of the firelight.

"You're changing," he said.

She looked up. "So are you."

"Not like that."

"No," she agreed. "But enough."

At dawn, they reached the cliff pass.

The first guardian stepped from the shadows without a sound.

She was tall, with skin the color of bark and eyes like molten gold. Her arms were lined with blade-scars and tattoos of extinct runes.

She looked at Seren.

Then at Cael.

Then at the child.

"You've brought it here," she said.

Seren stood taller. "He brought himself."

The guardian tilted her head.

"You carry prophecy."

"I carry a child."

"You carry war."

Seren didn't blink. "We're not here to ask for help. We're here to offer truth."

The guardian stepped aside.

"Then enter. If you lie, the cliffs will swallow you."

Inside the pass, a small fortress built into the rock revealed itself.

Dozens of figures emerged from the shadows—rogues, hybrids, old bloodlines thought extinct. Rebels. Survivors.

And among them—

Seren saw her old friend.

Riven.

The only other seer who'd ever survived the Council's tests.

He stepped forward, shock written all over his face.

"Seren?"

She nodded.

"You're supposed to be dead."

"Close enough."

His eyes flicked to Cael.

Then the child.

He whispered, "What did you do?"

She smiled faintly.

"Something the world will never forget."