Morning came with a blade of cold wind slicing through the valley.
The forge was alive with movement—shadows darted, steel clanged, and murmurs filled the halls. It was the pulse of something growing… something dangerous.
Ember stood at the training circle's edge, her hands bare and her brow damp with sweat. The ground around her was scorched in irregular circles, blackened from failed attempts to fully control her flame. She could ignite without effort—but shaping it remained a test of her focus, her will.
Across from her, Talon waited.
His stance was calm. Balanced. Like a tree rooted deep in the storm.
"Again," he said simply.
Ember exhaled. She lifted her palm and called the fire.
It roared to life, a blossom of heat and fury. Her eyes flared with light, and the magic poured from her veins like liquid sun—but as she tried to curve it into a ring, her control slipped. The flame snapped outward, wild and untamed.
Talon moved swiftly, raising a barrier of mirrored steel. The fire slammed into it, splitting harmlessly to the sides.
Ember cursed under her breath. "It doesn't listen to me."
"It's not supposed to listen," Talon replied. "You don't command fire. You invite it."
Kael, leaning against a column nearby, scoffed. "Spare me the Raesmeri poetry. Fire is a weapon. Treat it like one."
Talon didn't flinch. "And that's why you'll never master it."
Kael stepped forward, tension crackling off him. "What exactly is your place here, Talon? You train her, but to what end?"
Talon met Kael's glare evenly. "To keep her alive. And to make sure her power doesn't consume the rest of us."
The tension between them sparked like flint on stone.
Ember stood between them, breathing heavily.
"Enough," she said. "Both of you."
She turned to Kael. "I trust him. That doesn't mean I trust him more."
Kael's eyes softened, but his voice remained tight. "You're too important to be left vulnerable, Ember."
"I'm not vulnerable," she snapped.
"Then prove it," Kael said.
That evening, Ember returned to the forge's inner chamber alone.
Her muscles ached. Her head spun with conflicting emotions—Kael's protectiveness, Talon's challenges, the way the fire didn't respond the way she wanted it to. It was like a language she hadn't yet learned to speak.
She sat cross-legged, palms resting on her knees.
Let me try your way, she thought.
Instead of forcing the fire to her command, she opened her mind.
She remembered her mother's voice, soft and smoky in memory:
"Fire knows your truth. It will reflect it back."
So Ember closed her eyes, breathing deep, and let her magic rise gently—like warmth from a hearth.
And this time, the fire didn't lash or snarl.
It curled softly around her hands like silk. Glowed gold. Burned steady.
She laughed—giddy, disbelieving.
She was still laughing when Kael walked in.
"You did it," he said softly.
Ember stood, arms glowing faintly with light. "I didn't force it. I… trusted it."
Kael stepped closer, brushing a curl from her forehead. "That's dangerous, you know. Trust."
"Everything is," she murmured.
He kissed her then—slow and deep and full of promise.
That night, the two of them tangled in his bed again. There were no flames between them, only heat born from touch and breath and need. Ember's fingers traced every scar on Kael's chest. He whispered her name like a vow against her skin.
And for a time, there was no kingdom, no crown, no rebellion.
Just Kael.
And the fire they made together.
Elsewhere – The Dagger Circle
Six rebel leaders gathered around a circular table, carved from the bones of an ancient tree. Rowan stood at the center, voice hard as ice.
"She's growing stronger. Her power is stabilizing."
A woman in grey armor leaned forward. "And who holds her leash?"
"Not Kael," another muttered. "He's too close."
Rowan didn't flinch. "And Talon?"
"Too new."
There was silence. Then an old man with milky eyes spoke.
"When fire burns too bright, it scorches everything."
"And when it is tempered," Rowan replied, "it becomes light."