CHAPTER SEVEN
THE DAYS OF FLAME AND OATH
The city burned with light.
For seven days and seven nights, the skies above Valeria sang with fire banners, dragon-shaped smoke, and thunderous horns that proclaimed a new era. From tower to market square, from slum alleys to golden courtyards, all chanted the name of the newborn prince—the heir to the Ember Throne.
The king had held the boy aloft at dawn, blood still fresh on the child's brow, and shouted before the thousands gathered: "A son! My flame reborn!" And Valeria roared in answer. At last, a child of the flame, a true heir, had arrived.
But in the shadows of celebration, politics stirred.
The six great houses gathered, cloaked in colors that carried histories soaked in triumph, betrayal, and ambition. One by one, they came not only to offer blessings—but to stake their silent claims on the future.
Day One – House Vaelor
Lady Lysia Vaelor arrived in silence, her blue cloak flowing like a midnight tide. Her eyes were silver and deep-set, veiled in mystery, her smile carved of diplomacy. She stepped forward holding a black rose coiled by a silver tamed serpent.
"May his future bloom in shadows," she said, offering the rose to the queen. "Let silence be his shield, and charm his sword."
She kissed the prince's hand lightly, her gaze drifting to Seraya,a year old girl, who watched at the side, silent and radiant. Her presence was not coincidence.
Before she left she glanced at the queen,a smile they both understood.
"You did well, daughter of house vaelor".
"Thank you mother"she replied also, her eyes claiming a promise that had finally been fulfilled.
Day Two – House Drayke
Red cloaks swept the floor like liquid flame as Lord Caelum Drayke entered the chamber. His presence burned—scarred skin, a broad stance, and a voice that still carried the rage of old wars.
He knelt before the child and placed a carved dragonbone talisman into the king's hand.
"Let the fire in him never forget its name," Caelum said. "Let the blood remember."
He bent low, whispering words into the boy's ear. The king watched with keen interest before asking
"Why whisper to a child who doesn't understand your language yet?"
"A name interpret itself my King and only a name the winds once carried." Caelum rose. "Ashen. It suits him."
" Very well….I'll approve of it".
"Thank you,your Grace" Lord Caelum declared before he sets off to dine with his house figures.
Day Three – House Nymera
The chamber filled with light as Princess Nysha Nymera entered with her retinue. Her white cloak shimmered like sun-kissed dunes, and she moved as if the world owed her its gaze.
She offered rare spices and gold-threaded silk, draping them over the prince's cradle.
"May this flame warm the cold north, and draw all to kneel at his feet."
" Your presence gifts us the warmth of the dessert".The king emphasized.
"Of course,my king….and more will come when we eventually settle our greatest difference."
Her eyes layed on the heir and her touch lingered carefully on the prince's brow longer than necessary
Her brother whispered with palace stewards while her eyes, calculating and warm, never left the king. She bowed, but her thoughts were already farther ahead—at a wedding altar, perhaps.
Day Four – House Blackhall
With thunderous steps, Lord-General Varek Blackhall entered, his black-and-white cloak sweeping behind him like smoke from a battlefield. He knelt with military grace, offering a child-sized helm forged in iron.
"Let him learn that strength is the fire that binds order to peace."
"Gratitude to you General Blackhall"
His gift was received without fanfare.
"Let us hope to wine once more….we have yet more reasons to celebrate,your grace."
"Noted, Great General."
Day Five – House Eldryn
The chamber dimmed as Matriarch Thalira Eldryn approached, her purple cloak drawn close, arcane symbols woven in silk. Two raven-masked scholars followed her, floating scrolls dancing beside them.
She laid a sealed codex at the prince's feet.
"Only when he understands fire may he open this," she said, then traced a sigil upon the boy's brow. "Let wisdom temper the blaze."
She turned to the king, her voice low. "He has his father's flame. Be wary it does not consume him the same way."
" A king's flame never cease,his will burn brighter for the people of this very Kingdom" King Deamar declared with a prideful expression.
" Very well….let us see his wisdom guide such power."Her eyes then darted sideways,she smiled to the queen and kissed her hand.
"Glory to the one who births wisdom."
Then she turned to descend to her parties, leaving cold air in her wake.
Day Six – House Grivorne
Lord Alric Grivorne entered alone. Grey cloak, stone-set eyes, jaw tight with restrained fury. He offered no sweet words, no song or prayer. Only a black spear with a golden point, which he stabbed into the marble before the prince's cradle.
"Let him know no crown is earned without blood," Alric said. "Let him learn to defend what is his—or fall beneath those who will."
The king accepted the gift in silence. Their eyes locked in pride.
"Your words strike a strong will lord Alric."The King spoke.
"Good my king….Iron will never break so must this child."
"One I shall put to notice."
With a long stare at each other, he uttered one word before he left with a grin.
"Peace to all survivors".
Day Seven – The King's Naming
The Temple of Flame blazed with golden fire. Alone, the king entered, child in his arms, wrapped in linen and hope. The flames hissed around him, revealing the ancient carvings of kings before.
He stepped before the altar, cut his palm, and pressed the blood to the child's forehead.
"In fire he was born, and in fire he shall rise," he whispered. "By my breath, I name him Ashen Reuben, flame-born son of kings."
The bells tolled. The city roared.
Diego watched the king raise the newborn child into the sky and then departs the ceremony ground back to the castle.A sudden urge had swept through his thoughts through the hails and screams.
Because far below, behind a chamber thick stone of wall, a different child stirred in a darkened lonely room.
Born of silence. Born of exile.
A child that was never given the opportunity to feel welcomed.