Chapter 18: Embers of Doubt
Pain was a strange thing.
It dulled the world, made colors bleed and time stretch. Ember drifted in and out of sleep for two days, feverish and silent, haunted by memories of the Shadow Legion and the shock of Kael's fire.
Red edged with black.
That flame wasn't like hers.
It hadn't felt warm or wild.
It had felt… hungry.
When she woke fully, she was in the forge infirmary, wrapped in linen and lying on a cot surrounded by stone walls. A faint copper scent hung in the air—smoke and blood.
Kael sat beside her, unmoving, his eyes shadowed by exhaustion.
He looked up when she stirred.
"You're awake," he breathed, relief flooding his face.
Ember licked her dry lips. "How long?"
"Two days. You lost a lot of blood." He reached for a flask of water. "Here."
She drank, then held his gaze.
"You have fire."
Kael's shoulders tensed.
"I saw it," she whispered. "In the clearing. That wasn't just rage."
"No," he admitted, voice low. "I was born with it. Like you."
She frowned. "But it's different."
"I know."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He hesitated, then stood, pacing the room like a man balancing truth and destruction. "Because I didn't want you to see me the way others do. My fire… it's not a gift. It was taken from someone else. The Flame King gives it to his assassins."
Her breath caught. "You were… one of them?"
Kael's jaw clenched. "Not exactly. I was trained to be. Then I ran. Burned the outpost. Never looked back."
Silence settled between them.
He knelt beside her again.
"I swear I never wanted to lie to you. But if you'd known, if Talon had known… no one would've trusted me."
She didn't answer. Her shoulder throbbed. Her heart worse.
"I still don't know what you are to me," she said finally. "But I know what you saved me from."
"And I'd do it again," he whispered.
Outside the forge, Talon and Rowan watched the training yard fill with new recruits. The rebel camp was growing—word of Ember's fire was spreading like a prophecy.
"She survived the Shadow Legion," Rowan said. "And she lived to tell it."
"She's more than a survivor," Talon murmured. "She's becoming a symbol. That's dangerous."
"Dangerous how?"
Talon looked at the forest edge, where horses were just beginning to arrive—new allies from the southern ridges.
"If we're going to win this war, we'll need more than her fire. We'll need loyalty. Strategy. And someone who sees the game as more than just love and heat."
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "You mean someone like him?"
From the lead horse dismounted a tall man with pale blond hair tied back, a sword at his hip, and a scar crossing his left cheek.
He walked with the confidence of a warrior and the discipline of a noble.
And when he removed his helmet, his eyes—green as forest glass—swept the yard until they settled on Talon.
"Commander Lysander of the Southern Resistance," he said, offering a crisp salute.
"Welcome," Talon said. "We could use someone with your precision."
Lysander smiled. "And I've heard rumors you have a fire-blooded girl who needs a teacher."
That night, Ember sat by the forge's edge, her arm bandaged, her heart twisted. Kael joined her, silent at first, then offered her a small flame he conjured in his palm.
"Still trust me?" he asked softly.
She studied the flame.
Then touched it, letting her own flicker to life—golden, wild, warm.
For a moment, their magic intertwined.
"Yes," she said. "But that trust… it's fire. Beautiful. But dangerous."
He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.
"Then let it burn."
Far away, the Flame King watched the Pyre Mirror.
"She begins to doubt him," he said, amused. "Good. Doubt weakens fire."
Beside him, the Seer whispered, "But her power still grows."
He nodded. "Then let the boy win her trust… for now. When he breaks it, the blaze will be perfect."