The training yard was alive with noise—clashing metal, barked commands, the rhythmic slam of boots against dirt.
Ember stood at the edge, her arm still stiff in its sling, but her eyes sharp. She hated watching. She wanted to move, to fight, to burn.
But Talon had insisted she rest. And Ember was too tired to argue.
Instead, she watched the man who had become the center of the forge's attention—Commander Lysander.
He moved like a blade—elegant, controlled, cutting through every exercise with precision that felt both practiced and natural. Soldiers obeyed his commands without hesitation, and when he spoke, his voice carried—not loud, but authoritative.
Kael stood beside Ember, arms crossed.
"You don't like him," she said quietly.
"I don't trust him."
"That's not what I said."
Kael glanced at her. "You've been through a lot. People like him? They wait for cracks. Then they widen them."
Ember raised an eyebrow. "That sounds familiar."
His jaw tightened. "You're not ready to train. You need to rest."
"I need to get stronger."
"That doesn't mean letting someone like him—"
"Someone like who?" a voice cut in, smooth as silk.
They turned to see Lysander standing a few paces away, sweat-slick from drills, a linen tunic clinging to his frame. He offered Ember a polite nod.
"Lady Ember. It's an honor."
"Just Ember," she said, stepping forward. "I'm not a lady anymore."
Lysander smiled. "All the better. Ladies follow rules. Fire doesn't."
Kael bristled. "What do you want?"
"I came to offer Ember a proposal," Lysander said calmly. "Talon asked me to help her hone her power—sharpen it. And I agree. She needs more than instinct. She needs control."
Ember tilted her head. "And you think you can give me that?"
"I know I can." His gaze met hers—sharp, but not unkind. "I've trained battle mages, windcallers, even two fireborns. You're different. But that's what makes you dangerous. And important."
Kael stepped between them, voice low. "She's already training—with me."
Lysander didn't flinch. "Then perhaps she deserves to choose which path leads her forward."
Silence stretched.
Ember looked between them—Kael, tense and guarded, and Lysander, collected and confident.
"I'll train with both of you," she said at last. "Different fires teach different things."
Lysander inclined his head. "As you wish."
As he walked away, Ember couldn't help but watch him. There was something about him—something measured.
Kael noticed.
"He's not here for the war," Kael said quietly. "He's here for you."
Later that night, Ember stood by the forge fire, sweat on her brow and soot on her cheek. She had pushed herself past pain, past fear—trying to reclaim the strength she'd lost.
Kael found her there.
"You didn't tell me you'd be training with him so soon."
"You didn't ask," she said simply.
He stared at the fire, then at her. "Just be careful."
"I don't need protecting."
"I'm not protecting you," he said. "I'm warning you. Lysander is political. Tactical. He'll use you if he has to."
She stepped closer. "And you wouldn't?"
His jaw flexed. "I care about you."
"Enough to tell me the truth? All of it?"
He said nothing.
She nodded, firelight glinting in her eyes. "Then don't ask me to stay in the dark while you keep secrets."
And with that, she walked away—toward the training halls where Lysander waited.
In the shadows of the mountains, a raven landed on an outcrop of obsidian. The Flame King stood on a ledge beneath the moonlight, cloaked in a robe of flickering embers.
The Seer stepped forward. "The girl trains with the southerner now."
"I see."
"She'll become stronger."
"Let her," the king said. "The higher a flame climbs, the farther it falls."