Chapter 7: Embers Beyond the Veil

Night in the Ember Citadel was not truly dark.

The central spire burned softly at all hours, casting golden flamelight across the city's tiered terraces. But tonight, that glow seemed dimmed, as though the fire itself was holding its breath.

Kael stood atop the Spirewatch, overlooking the lights below. From here, he could see the academy domes, the training fields, the flame towers at the border—everything he'd once believed untouchable. Solid. Eternal.

Now, even the stars looked unfamiliar.

Behind him, Rael approached in silence.

"You should be resting," she said.

Kael didn't turn.

"I don't sleep well anymore."

"Visions?"

"Voices," he said quietly. "Memories. And something else. Like... knocking, from the other side of a door I can't see."

Rael stepped beside him.

"It's the veil," she said. "You brushed against it when you touched Vaelen's ember. The boundaries of soul and time don't always stay intact afterward."

"Is that what happened to him?" Kael asked. "Did he go mad?"

Rael didn't answer immediately.

"No," she said finally. "Madness implies a lack of logic. Vaelen was too logical. That was the danger."

Kael studied her face. The stoic Warden, always composed, looked older tonight. More human.

"There's a Council division now, isn't there?" he asked.

Rael nodded. "Three want to bind you in stasis until your Mark can be extracted. One wants you executed. The others… are watching."

"And you?"

Rael looked him in the eyes.

"I still believe in choice."

...

The next morning, Kael found himself summoned again—not to the High Chamber, but to a forgotten section of the Citadel's outer ring.

When he arrived, he was surprised to find Iria waiting outside.

"You got called too?" he asked.

She nodded. "Joint summons. No reason given."

The iron doors before them were ancient, marked with the glyph of the Veilguard, an order Kael had only ever heard in whispers—those who studied flame aberrations and borderflame phenomena.

A man emerged from the shadows inside.

He wore robes unlike any Kael had seen. Threaded with iridescent lines of pale silver flame, his hood concealed most of his face, but his voice was sharp and clear.

"Kael Thorne. Iria Vance. Come. Time is brittle."

They followed him into a vast hall that pulsed with eerie flamelight—not red, but colorless, shifting with every movement. Strange devices lined the walls: flame stabilizers, resonance prisms, echo-forged mirrors.

Kael swallowed. "This is…"

"The Echo Atrium," the man said. "Built to house records and anomalies not permitted in the Flamecourt."

He turned to face them.

"My name is Saelin. I am a Veil Warden. And I've summoned you here because the Mark is no longer just a curiosity. It's a key."

"To what?" Iria asked.

Saelin walked to a mirror of black glass.

"To what lies beyond."

...

The mirror pulsed as Saelin activated the surrounding glyphs. A swirling image emerged—a battlefield, scorched and cracked, under a sky torn by flame and darkness. Figures fought in the distance, wielding impossible fireforms.

Kael gasped.

"That's not from history," he said. "That's—"

"The future," Saelin finished. "Or one of them."

Kael tore his eyes from the mirror.

"Time is fractured now," Saelin said. "When Vaelen's ember bonded to you, it reopened the fracture at the veil. The Ashen Star is not just a flame—it's a memory of destiny. It contains echoes of all who've held it... and glimpses of what might come."

"Why show us this?" Iria asked.

"Because something else has awakened. Something older than Vaelen. Something that predates flame."

Saelin pressed a hand to the mirror.

The image shifted.

Now Kael saw a colossal figure—a shadow against flame. It didn't burn. It devoured.

"Chrona," Kael whispered.

Saelin nodded grimly.

"It has begun to move again. And it will seek you, Kael. Because your flame is the only one it cannot corrupt."

Kael stepped back.

"How can I fight something that existed before the first flame?"

Saelin looked at him.

"You can't. Not alone."

...

That night, Kael sat with Iria on the training cliffs beyond the Citadel wall. They watched the flamehawks soar over the valley, their wings catching the last light of sunset.

"You know," Kael said, "I used to dream about being chosen. Becoming something more. Now I just want to survive tomorrow."

Iria gave him a sidelong glance.

"Survival and greatness aren't always separate things."

"You sound like a mentor," Kael said with a small smile.

"I'm trying to sound like a friend."

They were quiet for a while.

Then Kael spoke, voice soft.

"If this Chrona thing comes… if I lose myself again… promise me you'll stop me."

Iria turned fully toward him.

"No," she said.

Kael blinked.

"No?"

She moved closer.

"I won't stop you," she said. "I'll remind you. Of who you are. Of why you're still here."

And before he could respond, she leaned in—slow, certain—and pressed her forehead gently against his.

Kael closed his eyes.

And the flame inside him steadied.

...

The next day, the first Chrona rift opened.

It tore through the southern cliffs like a blade of night, and from it came horrors not born of flame—Nullborn, creatures immune to soulfire and impervious to conventional magic.

The first squad sent to investigate was torn apart in seconds.

Kael, Iria, and three other elite cadets were dispatched as a response unit.

They reached the rift at midday.

It pulsed like an open wound in reality. Around it, the grass had turned to dust, the sky dimmed unnaturally.

Kael felt his Mark react instantly—burning white, then dimming to ash.

He turned to the others.

"We hold the perimeter. No direct contact with the rift until I stabilize my flame."

A Nullborn emerged.

Seven feet tall, with skin like glass and a mouth full of silence. No eyes. No soul.

It moved like a thought—too fast, too smooth.

One cadet screamed as the thing sliced through his flame barrier like water.

Kael surged forward.

He didn't draw a blade. Instead, he opened his palm—and willed his fire to shift.

A white lance of star-ash burst forth, spearing the Nullborn mid-stride.

It shrieked.

Not with sound—but with memory. Everyone nearby heard it—a moment from their lives, twisted and shattered.

Kael's knees buckled.

But the flame held.

The Nullborn dissolved into ash.

Behind him, Iria steadied him.

"You okay?"

Kael nodded, barely.

"We're going to need more than cadets," he said. "This is just the beginning."

And above them, unseen by all, a second rift began to tear open in the sky.