The air smelled different here—less salt, more sweat and dust, with a faint trace of blossoms drifting from the ceremonial stands nearby. I leaned against the wooden railing of the observation platform, arms crossed, eyes tracing the fading edge of the horizon.
"How long have I been here?" I muttered under my breath. "…How long since I last saw her? I'm sick of this."
A shadow crossed the sunlight. Before I turned, a familiar voice cut through the hum of the crowd.
"Kael."
Leilani stood there—hair wind-tossed, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion that clung to her frame. She carried herself like a fighter who'd already moved past victory or defeat—it didn't matter, only what came next.
"You won too?" I asked, raising a brow.
"Yeah." She exhaled slowly. "Though it didn't feel like a win."
Before I could ask why, laughter rolled down the stairs behind us—smooth, confident, too practiced to be real.
"Well, well, well," came Malik's voice, bright with theatrical flair. "What a blessed reunion! My dear rival and a friend? Both standing victorious!"
Leilani frowned. "Who's this guy?"
He gave an exaggerated bow, his dark braid falling forward. "Malik, at your service. Prodigy of our time—occasional heartthrob, constant thorn in the side of the serious."
Leilani's only reaction was an unimpressed raise of her brow. "Right."
Malik chuckled, brushing off the rejection with a grin. "Cold as the mountain winds. I like it."
I sighed. "Did you just come here to annoy us, or do you actually have a reason?"
"Both," he said simply, then gestured down the hill. "You do realize the four-day Festival of Embers goes on tonight, yes? And you missed the opening night yesterday! Food, music, dancing, maybe a few questionable decisions. Everyone on the island— even elders included—will be there."
Leilani tilted her head. "Oh.. right, I forgot."
"A festival during the trials?" I asked.
"Especially during the trials," Malik said, smiling like he knew a secret. "The festival runs alongside them every year. A celebration of flame and endurance. You've both earned a night to breathe, and—" He glanced at me. "You could use a chance to meet the island on better terms."
I frowned. "You mean after the whole 'outsider who shouldn't be here' thing?"
"Exactly!" Malik clapped his hands. "So—come. Eat, drink, watch the fireworks. It might be the last peaceful night you get before the next trial."
I hesitated, but Leilani gave a small shrug. "Could be good for morale."
Malik grinned triumphantly. "Then it's settled. Follow me, my friends—let's see if you can keep up."
The festival was alive long before we reached it. Lanterns swayed like drifting stars in the night sky, painting the streets in gold and amber light. The smell of roasted meat and sweet spice hung thick in the air, laughter and drumbeats spilling from every corner.
At first, the stares burned. People glanced at me, whispering just low enough that I couldn't catch the words. Then Elder Kahoni approached through the crowd, placing a warm hand on my shoulder.
"Welcome," he said. "You've passed the second trial and fought honorably. Tonight, even outsiders may share our fire."
The tension broke instantly. The air seemed lighter, the looks softer.
Malik led us to a crowded table near the square's heart, waving down food and drink with the charisma of a performer. His admirers trailed behind, basking in his orbit.
I leaned back, trying to take it all in—the rhythm of flutes, the scent of grilled fruit and burning incense, the blur of laughter and dance.
Leilani rested her arms on the table. "The third trial's next. It's… the hardest one."
I looked up. "What's it about?"
"It's almost a team-exercise. We'll have to work together to steal a flame—a ceremonial one, guarded by someone from the Oath of Ember," she said. "They test your spirit and your strength. If you pass, you're acknowledged by the island."
I frowned. "And who guards it?"
Malik's grin dimmed into something sharper. "Someone like me—only stronger. You've already fought them once."
I blinked. "When?"
"The day we met," Malik said quietly. "Those warriors—they were from the Oath. I was the only one who wasn't."
I felt my stomach twist. "Then the man I fought—the one with a body like a fortress…"
Malik nodded. "He's one of them, and so is Darin. My brother."
Leilani's tone softened. "Darin the Flame-Forged. He passed the Rite of the First Flame last year. One of the strongest among them."
I exhaled, trying to recall the moment—the sheer pressure in that man's stance, like standing before a wall of molten steel. "Then how did I beat him?"
Malik chuckled. "You didn't question how you beat me?"
I shrugged.
His grin faded into something quieter. "Luck. Mostly. But you were impressive too… even though neither my brother nor I had our weapons."
Leilani crossed her arms. "Didn't think you'd ever speak kindly of him."
"I'm not like the rest of my family," Malik said, tone smooth but eyes unreadable.
I didn't press. There was clearly more there than he wanted to say.
Silence lingered a moment before "Facing him would be the worst option," Malik went on. "He's the disciple of Elder Malu—the High Elder. The one who opposed letting you stay here, Kael."
I blinked. "The one who didn't want me here."
"Exactly," Malik said. His tone softened again, almost regretful. "Darin upholds the island's rules as his master does. But he's… conflicted, I think. He'll do what he must, but not without reason."
Leilani nodded faintly, gaze distant. "That's why this next trial matters. You're not just proving yourself—you're standing before what the island believes in."
The firelight flickered across their faces. For a while, none of us spoke.
Later, as the festival raged around us, I noticed Leilani's eyes drift again and again toward the festival grounds.
"Who are you looking for?" I asked.
She straightened, caught off guard. "No one. Just—thinking."
Malik snorted. "You're a terrible liar."
Leilani sighed, finally giving in. "Fine. I was hoping to see someone. Nythrel. We met during the first trial—he forfeited our duel in the second."
Malik leaned back, smirking. "Ah, a man who knows when to surrender. Admirable."
"Shut it," she said sharply, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. "He's… different. Focused."
I grinned. "Sounds like you respect him."
"That's one word for it," Malik murmured.
Leilani threw a plate at him. He caught it effortlessly, grinning wider.
For a moment, the world felt simple again—warm light, laughter, and something almost like belonging.
Then Malik looked at me. "Kael, be honest—do you know how to channel mana yet?"
"Channel what?"
He laughed. "Thought so. You haven't properly learned an art right? So that's impossible…"
Leilani turned, eyes wide. "Wait—you can already?"
"Of course," Malik said smugly. "The first move of my weapon arts. I used it in the final round. Perfect control, perfect execution."
Leilani shook her head in disbelief. "That's impossible. Most people can't even feel the mana for months."
"Talent," Malik said, tapping his chest. "And practice."
I groaned. "So I'm supposed to compete against warriors who can use some mystical power that I can not?"
"You can not yet," Leilani said firmly. "You'll get there."
Malik smirked. "Exactly. You've already done the impossible once, my rival. Don't make it a habit of stopping now."
I laughed, shaking my head. "You really like that word, huh?"
"Rival?" Malik leaned back, grin widening. "It fits."
"…By the way," I asked after a pause, "where's Aria? Shouldn't she be here?"
Leilani frowned. "She should, yeah. Maybe the Champion's busy overseeing the next stage."
"Or maybe," Malik said, swirling the dregs of his drink, "she's preparing for something greater. I hear The Banished are getting active."
The night settled over us—music fading into soft percussion, the lanterns glowing like trapped suns. None of us spoke after that. We didn't need to.
[Oath of Ember Hall]
The chamber of the Oath wasn't built like the council's sanctum. There were no carved pillars or embroidered banners here—only flame, steel, and silence.
A wide brazier burned at the center, its heat rolling over the polished obsidian floor. Weapons lined the walls, their shadows flickering like ghosts of battles past.
Around the brazier sat the Oath of Ember's highest ranks—the sworn Flamekeepers, warriors who had already passed the Rite and lived long enough to earn command. Their armor bore the marks of a hundred trials: charred leather, reforged plates, streaks of ash that never fully washed away.
They weren't as stiff as the elders—some leaned back in their seats, others spoke in low tones—but their eyes never left the fire.
The conversation was already underway when a heavy step echoed from the doorway.
"—the candidates will be tested soon," one of the Flamekeepers was saying. "We need a guardian chosen by dawn."
Another scoffed. "Bah. Half of them won't even reach the flame. Pick someone with patience. Or at least humor."
A few chuckles broke the tension—low, knowing, the sound of warriors who'd earned the right to laugh in places like this.
Then a quiet voice cut through.
"I'll do it."
All heads turned toward the far side of the hall.
Darin stepped forward, emerging from the shadowed archway. The brazier's light traced across his scars—one running vertically near the corner of his mouth, on his cheek, others faintly webbed across his arms like memory etched into flesh. His build was compact and hardened, every line of muscle a mark of discipline rather than vanity. His hair, once gold, had dulled to a bronzed hue, falling unevenly above sharp amber eyes that burned like coals under control.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
"You?" said one of the older Flamekeepers, his tone half-surprised, half-amused. "Didn't think you'd bother with ceremony anymore."
Darin's reply was simple. "It's not ceremony. It's duty."
A younger Flamekeeper leaned forward, smirking. "You do realize one of the candidates is your brother, right? That's bound to raise some eyebrows."
A dry laugh escaped someone's lips. "You must not know Darin's relationship with his family."
Darin met his gaze without flinching. "Then they can raise them."
The smirk faded. The hall went quiet again, the fire crackling softly between them.
Another voice, calm and even—one of the more level-headed among them—broke the silence.
"You're sure about this?"
"Yes." Darin's hand rested lightly on the hilt of the blade at his side. "As the disciple of Elder Malu, I will test this outsider myself."
A few of the veterans exchanged glances—half respect, half unease.
The eldest among them finally nodded once, his voice carrying the weight of old flame.
"Then it's settled. Darin Flame-Forged will guard the First Flame."
Darin gave a short nod, turned, and began toward the exit.
The firelight caught the faint sigil burned into the back of his neck—a spiral of ember and fang, the mark of the Oath's keeper.
"…Didn't even mention his brother," one whispered.
Another shot him a look. "Don't speak of Darin's family. Not when he's in the room."
The hall fell back into silence as the doors shut behind Darin.
Only the flame remained, its light pulsing across the black stone like a heartbeat.
And far from that chamber, beneath the same restless glow of lanterns and festival fire, Kael sat unaware—his own trial already waiting to ignite.