CHAPTER NINE

The days following the great celebration returned the kingdom to a strange stillness. Seven days of wine, music, rituals, and parading the newborn prince across the citadel had left the people tired but proud. The sun now rose on a kingdom basking in the glow of legacy—Ashen Reuben, son of flame, heir of the Ember Throne, had been named.

But within the cold, dim chambers of the eastern wing—where light barely touched stone—another child cried. Not to crowds, nor trumpets, nor the roaring praise of nobles and warriors, but into the silence of captivity. His name was Kha'al. A name not uttered in public halls, not raised in toasts. Not yet.

Diego stood by the narrow doorway of the chamber, arms crossed, his back resting against the stone. The soft cries of the child within reached him even from here. He had kept his word to the king. He had kept his blade away from the Jaka'ar child. For reasons he himself did not yet understand.

Inside, the Jaka'ar woman held the child with gentle arms. Her strength was slowly returning, though her body bore the bruises of travel, capture, and childbirth. The maid, Mira, was humming to the babe in a lullaby foreign to Diego's ears, a soft, warm sound that seemed to settle both mother and child.

Diego finally pushed himself off the wall and entered.

"He cries like a storm," Diego muttered, kneeling near the cot. "Your people cried like storms too. On the battlefield."

The woman looked up, her eyes cautious. She understood a bit more now, thanks to Mira's help. She spoke softly, her accent thick, but her meaning clear. "He cry to the flame he was born. Not silent. Not lost."

Diego studied her. He didn't respond immediately. The woman had said something in her language the other day—words he still carried in his mind. He turned to Amiria. "Tell her... those words she said. Vireth a'khaal dravon, or something. What do they mean?"

Mira bit her lip. She had tried to forget the moment. "It's an old tongue. From their temples. Not used often. She said, 'A child born in fire, shall shape the ember. Watch him, shield him, for he carries the ancient flame.'"

Diego blinked. "Ancient flame?.....More like the dragon flame?"

The maiden nodded in approval.

This time, the Jaka'ar woman spoke again,looking him dead in the eye. "Two flames. One from king. One from us."

Diego raised a brow. "Are you saying your child... is also born of flame?"

The woman did not flinch. "Flame no choose one. Flame chooses fate."

He was quiet. That unsettling silence of a man wrestling with ideas too large for the moment.

"What do you call him again? Kha'al?"

She nodded. "Kha'al. Like burning . Strong light in a dark place."

Diego rose to his feet. "And what would Kha'al be, if raised here? In the kingdom that made his people kneel?"

She replied after a pause. "He will stand. With honor. If given honor. If not... he will burn it all."

The room chilled. Mira cleared her throat, trying to lighten the air. "He feeds well. Strong cry. He grips my finger like a knight already."

Diego let out a rare smile before the stepped out. A very faint, rare curl of his lips.

"Let him grip swords later. He should grasp peace first."

That night, Diego sat in his private quarters, polishing his blade though he had not used it for days. The words would not leave him.

"Two flames. One from the king. One from us."

Could it be fate playing its cruel game again? A child of royalty and a child of conquest, born nearly in the same breath. One celebrated, the other hidden.

He thought of the king for a while,drawing his knife from his knight armor in the chamber.

"There's so much going on in the minds of the people the king soughts to unite,each houses are like a king in their own cities with their own wants and concerns".

Looking through the flame torch in his room,he stabbed the knife on the nearby table in frustration.

The stars outside the tower window glinted like sparks across the black sky. Diego stood, his sword now resting on the table. He was not a man of riddles or prophecy. But he had lived long enough to know when the world stirred its ancient bones.

Needing answers,he went down the winding stair into the library. The keeper, old Talron, was asleep on a stool, his nose buried in scrolls. Diego searched for the scrolls of lineage, flame lore, and the old wars.

Hours passed.

And in those hours, he learned that twins had once been born to fire before—twin kings in the time of the First Blaze. One ruled with justice, the other with wrath. Their divided kingdom burned.

He closed the scroll and sat back.

Could history be whispering again?

By morning, Diego returned to the hidden chamber. Mira was asleep on a mat, the baby resting peacefully beside her.

The mother sat awake, quietly whispering prayers.

Diego entered softly. He carried something wrapped in cloth.

"I brought you this," he said.

The woman tilted her head.

He unwrapped the cloth, revealing a small flame charm made of bronze. A royal trinket, usually reserved for blessing noble-borns.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because the flame may choose more than one," he said. "And if it does... then may the gods help us avoid certain destruction.."

He placed it beside the child and left.

For once, even Diego didn't know what he would do next.

But the ember had been set. And it would burn.