The road back to the forge felt different.
Not shorter, not longer—just… changed.
Like the world itself had tilted slightly while they were away.
Ember kept glancing sideways at Kael. He rode silently beside her, hand resting loosely on his sword hilt, cloak fluttering behind him. The same Kael who had kissed her like she was his only anchor. Who had held her like he'd never held anyone before.
But now his jaw was clenched, his gaze distant.
"What's on your mind?" she asked as their horses climbed the rocky path.
He didn't look at her. "The Oathbound leaves runes as warnings. This wasn't a warning."
Ember frowned. "Then what was it?"
Kael glanced at her, his eyes dark. "A message. And we just haven't decoded it yet."
By the time they reached the forge, the air was thick with tension.
Rowan met them at the entrance, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever.
"You were gone too long," he said. "We thought the Flame King's hounds had sniffed you out."
"We found something," Kael replied, swinging down from his horse. "You'll want to see it."
As they talked, Ember caught a look in Rowan's eyes—a flicker of something like relief. He had been worried. About her.
She didn't know what to do with that yet.
Inside, they laid the rune-marked rabbit on a stone slab. Rowan examined it without speaking.
"This was carved with intent," he finally said. "Too precise for a beast. Too cruel for a warning."
Kael nodded. "We need more eyes in the field. If the Oathbound is scouting this close, we're already out of time."
Later that night, Ember found herself alone by the forge's rear balcony, watching embers dance in the distance. The wind whispered through the rocks—like voices caught in the flame.
She closed her eyes.
Show me.
And something did.
For a heartbeat, the world shifted.
She stood in the middle of a burning field. Bodies littered the ground—soldiers, rebels, creatures she didn't recognize. Above them all, the cursed crown pulsed on a blackened throne. At its foot knelt a figure.
Her.
But not her.
This version of herself wore flames like armor and a gaze like death.
And at her side stood two men.
Kael.
And another. Shadowed. Waiting.
A voice thundered in her head.
"Choose your fire wisely, child of cinders. One will consume you. One will survive you."
She jerked awake—though she hadn't fallen asleep.
Kael was there, wrapping his cloak around her shoulders.
"You're cold," he murmured.
"Just… thinking."
He sat beside her. They didn't speak for a while, only listened to the wind.
Then, slowly, Ember reached for his hand.
"I want this," she whispered. "Even if it burns."
Kael's thumb brushed her knuckles. "Then let it burn bright."
That night, they shared a bed again—not out of heat or urgency, but because they needed each other.
Kael traced her spine like he was memorizing her shape in the dark. Ember pressed her lips to his neck, listening to his heartbeat like it was a secret meant only for her.
Nothing rushed. Nothing loud.
Just fire, soft and steady, where it was warmest—at the center of the storm.
Elsewhere – Western Outpost
A rebel outpost burned through the night.
No survivors.
Just silver runes scorched into stone.
The Flame King's message was spreading.
And she was next.