Chapter 8: Ashes of Light

It rained the next morning, not with the usual cold slap of Arcadian storms, but with a misty drizzle that blurred the edges of the world and painted the streets in silvery hues. Everything felt softer. Quieter. The kind of quiet that came after something terrible had passed, but before anyone knew how to carry on.

The safehouse in the clocktower no longer felt like a place of strategy and grit. Now, it was filled with silence, and the air had the weight of grief in it. Starflare sat curled on the ledge of the broken window, one knee drawn to her chest, her usually radiant skin dimmed to a cool, gentle glow. She stared out over the rooftops, watching the city blink beneath the clouds.

Nightblade stood at the long table, hands braced on either side of a half-unrolled map, though he hadn't looked at it in some time. His mask sat beside it, the lenses cracked. There were bruises on his jaw, dirt beneath his nails. But none of that mattered. Not now.

They had lost him.

Embershade.

He had walked into the core of the sigil and torn the tether from the inside. Not with force, but with sacrifice. That kind of magic demanded more than strength. It needed will. It needed fire born from loss—and a reason to burn.

Nightblade hadn't said anything to Starflare when it happened. Not when they limped from the ruins. Not when the sigil cracked apart in their wake. Not when the wind howled and the rift sealed behind them like a wound stitched shut by something far older than time.

But now, as the soft morning rain tapped at the glass, he finally broke the silence.

"He knew he wouldn't come back," Nightblade said quietly.

Starflare didn't turn. "He told me once that his fire was borrowed. That he'd pay for it one day."

"He paid everything."

She wiped a hand across her cheek, though no one had said she was crying. Her voice trembled, but just barely.

"He saved us."

Nightblade nodded, still staring at the map. "And Revenant escaped."

Those words sat heavy between them.

Starflare finally stood, brushing the folds of her coat down as though she hadn't been sitting in stillness for hours. "What now?"

"We don't stop," Nightblade said. "We go after him. We find whatever piece of him survived. Because he always survives."

A knock echoed from the stairwell.

Both of them froze.

No one knocked on the clocktower.

Nightblade drew one of his blades, slow and silent. Starflare took her place behind him, hands already glowing.

The door creaked open.

And in walked a boy.

No more than sixteen. Tall, lean, with sharp eyes and a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. His hoodie was damp from the rain, and he looked like he'd run here from halfway across the city.

"Um… sorry," he said, voice cracking slightly. "I didn't know if I was supposed to knock. I'm, I'm looking for Nightblade and Starflare."

Nightblade narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

The boy took a hesitant step forward and held out a small black disc.

"This is from Embershade. He gave it to me yesterday."

Starflare blinked. "Yesterday?"

The boy nodded. "He found me near the market. Said I was going to be needed. Told me to bring this here if the sky turned red last night. And it did."

Nightblade took the disc carefully, studying it. Arcadian tech, but fused with a spell-seal. Embershade's work, without question.

"Why you?" Nightblade asked.

"I don't know," the boy said. "I guess… he saw something in me."

Starflare tilted her head. "What's your name?"

He hesitated, then said, "Call me Wren."

Nightblade placed the disc on the table and tapped a small glyph. The metal shimmered, projecting a flickering image above the table.

Embershade's face appeared. Tired, worn, but still burning with purpose.

"If you're seeing this," his voice began, "then I succeeded… and failed. The gate is sealed for now. But I've seen what lies beyond it. Revenant's form is broken, but not gone. The power he summoned is ancient. Patient. And it's found another host."

The image pulsed.

"His name is Callux. You'll know him by the sigil on his palm, the Eye of Endless Flame. If you find him, you find the next phase of Revenant's plan."

He paused, then looked directly into the lens.

"Nightblade, Starflare… I wish I could've stayed. But this was always the end I chose."

His voice faltered just once.

"Tell Lira I remember."

The image faded.

No one spoke for a long time.

Then Wren cleared his throat. "I know where to find that sigil. I've seen it before."

Nightblade turned to him, alert. "Where?"

Wren looked nervous now. "There's a group, young, mostly. People who don't want to be found. They meet in the wreckage under the old library dome. One of them had it… burned into his skin."

Starflare frowned. "And you just happened to be near them?"

The boy shrugged. "I was looking for scraps. I've been living out there for weeks."

Nightblade glanced at Starflare. "He's either bait… or a sign."

She smiled faintly. "Let's find out."

They left the tower under heavy clouds. Arcadia was still waking, slow and wary. The streets gleamed under the gray sky, and steam coiled from sewer grates like the city was breathing.

Wren led them through the lower wards, through alleys so narrow even rats hesitated. He moved quickly, used to slipping between walls, across broken fences, under forgotten bridges. And at every turn, Nightblade watched.

Not for threats.

But for the way the boy moved.

There was something practiced about it. Not just survival. Training.

Starflare saw it too. "Who taught you how to move like that?" she asked as they paused near a broken viaduct.

"No one," Wren said. "I watched the Sentinels when I was a kid. I memorized everything they did."

"They haven't patrolled the city in years," she said.

"I know."

He glanced back at her, eyes sharp.

"I was five when they fell. But I never forgot what heroes looked like."

The library dome was a ruin.

Once, it had been a marvel of glass and iron, housing Arcadia's central knowledge. But the quake had shattered its skeleton, and years of neglect turned it into a shell of glass teeth and twisted beams.

Wren crouched at the edge of a broken skylight. "They're below. In the sub-archives."

Nightblade nodded. "We go quiet."

Starflare ignited her hands just enough to cast light, and the three descended through the jagged opening.

Below, torches burned. Not many, but enough to illuminate shadows on the walls. Movement stirred ahead. And then they saw them.

Half a dozen teenagers. Young adults, really. Standing in a circle.

And at the center, a boy no older than Wren.

Bare-chested. His hands raised to the ceiling.

On his palm: the Eye of Endless Flame.