Chapter Fourteen: Shadows in Draventh

Even the flame fears the dark.

But in the city of chains,

It is not the darkness that kills

It is the silence that follows.

🌆 Arrival at Draventh — The City of Silence

It took us five days to reach the outskirts of Draventh, each one colder than the last not from the weather, but from the feeling that something unnatural pulsed beneath the surface of the land. Draventh was unlike any city I'd ever seen, even in Kael's fragmented memories.

It wasn't alive.

It was contained.

A place where magic held its breath.

Where the walls didn't just protect, they watched.

Where the streets didn't welcome, they endured.

A forest of jagged obsidian towers rose in the distance, like black teeth biting into a sunless sky. At the highest peak, the Circle's insignia a flaming sun wrapped in chains shone dimly, cast from a thousand enslaved embers imprisoned in glass cages.

This was enemy territory.

The heart of oppression.

And somewhere within it…

A fourth flameborn was imprisoned.

🛡️ Passing Through the Gates

We approached the eastern gate at dawn, blending into a caravan of traveling merchants. Our clothing was deliberately worn and mismatched. I carried a crate strapped to my back, and Eira kept her head low, the Scorchspire hidden inside a hollow walking staff wrapped in linen. Rion played the part of a silent, brooding mercenary with ease.

As we reached the gate, a tall, masked soldier stepped forward.

"State your name and reason for entry," he barked, his voice magically amplified through a rune-stone embedded in his chest plate.

I bowed slightly, keeping my accent neutral.

"Traders. Herbs and oils. Heading for the Silverroot Market."

He stared at us for a moment, his eyes if there were eyes obscured behind the gleaming black of his mask.

Another soldier stepped forward with a rune-scroll. She held it before my face.

I stiffened.

It was a flame-detection scroll.

But the moment the light began to glow—

Eira whispered a word under her breath.

The rune spark flickered, then died.

The guard frowned.

"Cheap scroll," he muttered, tossing it aside. "Move along."

And just like that, we passed through the gates of Draventh.

Alive. Unnoticed.

But not unseen.

🏙️ Within the City of Chains

Inside the city, the atmosphere was stifling like a spell of silence had been cast over the population. Citizens moved briskly, eyes downcast. Slaves thousands of them were chained in formation, their skin pale from years of confinement, their eyes hollow.

We passed markets where flame-suppressing artifacts were sold openly. Magic dampeners, emotion siphons, pain amplifiers the Circle didn't just rule with force. They ruled by making you forget how to feel.

I could barely breathe.

The Pyra Compass pulsed once then again.

Stronger now.

Whoever the fourth flameborn was…

They were close.

And suffering.

🏚️ The Hollow Ember Tavern

By sunset, we reached a hidden tavern Kael once mentioned in his letters. The Hollow Ember, nestled beneath a forgotten bridge near the city's edge. Its sign was worn to near invisibility, and its entrance hidden behind a curtain of rusted chains.

Inside, the atmosphere was suffocatingly warm.

Not comforting warm.

Artificial. Controlled.

No fire danced in the hearth. Instead, small heat stones hummed from beneath the floor—powered not by wood, but drained ember cores from former flameborn.

"How many of our kind died to heat this place?" Rion muttered bitterly.

"Too many," I replied.

The tavern keeper was an old woman with a milky eye and tattoos that glowed faintly under her skin Circle scars. She didn't ask questions. She never looked us in the eyes.

We ordered stale bread and lukewarm broth and took a table in the darkest corner.

And we waited.

Not for food.

Not for sleep.

But for the signal.

👤 The One Called Sera

She approached us two nights later.

She didn't sneak. Didn't lurk. She simply sat at the edge of our table one evening while the tavern crowd murmured low and distant.

Her cloak was simple. Her eyes were calm. And yet, I could feel the lie wrapped around her.

"You're not merchants," she said softly.

Eira's hand moved subtly toward her staff.

"You're not a tavern girl," I replied.

She smiled.

"No. I'm not."

She extended a hand.

"Name's Sera. I know this city. I know its secrets. And I know what you're looking for."

Rion scoffed.

"And why should we believe you?"

"Because I can take you to the one you seek. The boy with the ember inside. But if you try to find him without me…" She leaned in. "You'll die. Painfully."

"Convenient," I muttered. "A savior with perfect timing."

"Or maybe just a woman tired of watching the Circle eat people like you alive."

Eira studied her.

And nodded.

"Let's follow her. But keep your hand close to the flame."

🔥 The Fourth Flameborn

Sera led us through a maze of back alleys and hidden corridors. She spoke in whispers, pointing out runes we never would've seen without her help glyphs that disrupted detection magic, markings left by an old rebellion, now defunct.

Finally, we reached a steel door behind a collapsed statue of a forgotten general.

She knocked once.

Twice.

Then paused.

A soft click echoed from the stone floor, and the door opened inward.

Inside

A boy sat alone in a glowing ring of chains.

He couldn't have been older than sixteen. Skin pale. Lips cracked. And yet, his chest glowed with a slow, rhythmic pulsing the ember of a flameborn suppressed.

He didn't look at us.

He couldn't.

The collar on his neck was a Nullbind a spell-forged lock that dampened magical instinct, memory, and even emotion.

"They've kept him here for months," Sera said. "Harvesting his fire. Injecting him with silence."

Eira's eyes burned.

"We're getting him out."

"Careful," I said. "If we disrupt the chain circle without releasing the center glyph, we'll trigger a collapse curse."

"How do we release it?"

We turned to Sera.

She smiled.

Too calmly.

"You don't."

⚠️ Betrayal Unveiled

The chains flared.

Behind us, the shadows twisted.

A figure emerged from the darkness, tall and wrapped in silver-lined robes.

He wore no armor. Held no weapon. But the air bent around him.

And my flame

My flame vanished.

Just died in my chest.

"The Nullborn," Rion whispered.

The man stepped forward, boots silent on the stone.

"I see the bait worked," he said, voice as smooth as poisoned silk.

Sera no, Nyx stepped beside him and removed her outer cloak.

The feathers were back.

The mask returned.

"They trusted too easily," she said. "They always do."

But her voice…

Was hesitant.

As if even she wasn't sure anymore.

"You were never going to help," Eira said bitterly.

"No," Nyx admitted. "But I didn't want you dead."

"You just wanted us delivered."

"It was the only way."

The Nullborn raised his hand.

"Enough talk."

His eyes locked onto the boy.

"Four is too many."

He pointed at Eira.

"Three is tolerable."

And then the room collapsed into chaos.