CHAPTER TWENTY - THREE: THE PRICE OF POWER

The road beyond the Cradle was slick with mist, winding through a forest that seemed to breathe with each step they took. Emberlynn walked ahead, silent, golden veins still glowing faintly beneath her skin. Malphas followed at her side, his wounds slowly healing, eyes ever on the shadows.

The first shard had awakened something in her. And it had awakened something in him too—an old oath, a feeling he had long buried beneath centuries of guilt.

"The next shard," Emberlynn said, "where is it?"

Malphas didn't answer right away. He looked up. Beyond the trees, the sky was dark—darker than night, as if the stars themselves had turned away.

"The Hollow Spire. North of the Emberfen. It's where you buried your fear."

She frowned. "Fear?"

He nodded. "You locked away pieces of yourself to keep the seal strong. Not just power. Emotion. Memory. Love. Hate. All of it. The shards are you—fragmented. And the more you reclaim, the more whole you become."

Her pulse quickened. Becoming whole... that sounded right. It also sounded dangerous.

They traveled in silence. But the forest was not still. Eyes watched from every branch, whispers curled around their ankles like smoke.

When they camped by a broken stream, Emberlynn asked the question she had been holding back.

"Do you ever wish I hadn't remembered?"

Malphas hesitated. Then shook his head. "I wish I'd been strong enough to help you carry it. Back then. But no—I don't regret you remembering. I regret how much it hurts."

She met his gaze across the fire. The distance between them wasn't far. But it felt like lifetimes.

They reached Emberfen three days later.

Or what was left of it.

Ash covered the ground like snow. The trees were charred black. Crows circled overhead, silent as ghosts.

"This place..." Emberlynn stepped into the ashes. Her voice caught. "I was born here."

She bent down. A broken toy lay half-buried in the soot—a small wooden horse.

She touched it, and the world shifted.

She was no longer standing in ash. But in sunlight.

Children laughed. Her mother's voice called her name. A younger version of herself danced in circles with other village girls. Laughter. Safety. Peace.

Then—screams.

Fire. Wings of shadow. The sky ripped open.

And the village burned.

She staggered back, the vision shattering.

Malphas caught her.

"You locked this shard in grief," he said softly. "Buried it beneath the memory of fire."

Emberlynn stood. Her eyes shimmered with gold and tears.

"Then I'll take it back. All of it."

She raised her hand. The ash stirred.

And from it, a shard rose.

This one was different—dark violet, pulsing like a wound. It hovered in the air, resisting her touch.

Malphas stepped forward. "This one will fight you. It's the shard of fear. The part you rejected."

"Good," Emberlynn said. "I'm tired of being afraid."

She touched it.

And the world broke.

Flames engulfed her vision.

Not past flames—present. Real. All around her.

She was trapped in her own mind, walking through fire. And from it, something crawled.

A figure. Burning. Screaming. Wearing her face.

"You failed us," the burning Emberlynn said. "You sealed him and left us to burn."

"You're me," Emberlynn whispered.

The figure lunged.

Outside, Malphas watched her collapse, body twitching, light flashing in bursts. He drew a blade of silver flame and stood guard.

Because something was coming. He felt it in his bones.

And whatever it was—it wasn't part of her memories.

It was a hunter.

A shadow moved behind the trees. And then a voice like cracked stone whispered:

"She remembers too much."

Malphas growled. "You're not taking her."

The hunter smiled. Its eyes were voids. Its cloak was made of shriveled skin.

"She was promised."

Malphas struck.

Fire met darkness.

And Emberlynn? She screamed inside the shard's illusion, facing the worst version of herself.

But she didn't run.

She reached out, gripped the burning figure's hand—and pulled it into her heart.

"I'm done hiding."

The flame died.

She woke.

And the shard—the violet one—rested in her palm.

Whole.

Another piece of her restored.

But the moment her eyes opened—she saw Malphas bleeding, kneeling over the smoking corpse of the hunter.

And she knew:

Every shard she reclaimed would bring more.

More memories. More truth. More enemies.

But she wasn't alone.

Not anymore.