The first light of morning never reached the lower streets of Elarion.
It only bled faintly through the smog — pale and tired, like a sun afraid to rise.
Lyra ran through the mist, boots splashing through puddles that glowed faintly from the city's dying lamps. Every breath burned her throat. Behind her, the distant hum of patrol orbs echoed like angry wasps.
Kael kept pace easily, moving like a shadow — silent, effortless, maddeningly calm.
How are you not winded? She hissed.
I do not breathe the way you do, he said without looking at her.
Oh, of course. You do not breathe. You do not feel. Anything else you do not do?
I do not waste energy arguing in alleys.
Lyra shot him a glare but did not reply. They ducked under a collapsing archway and burst into an old aqueduct. The air was damp, echoing with the drip of forgotten water.
Kael paused, tilting his head slightly. We are clear. For now.
Lyra leaned against the wall, her heart racing. Her palms trembled from the lingering heat of her magic. She looked down at them — faint trails of gold still flickered under her skin.
Stop glowing, Kael said.
Sorry, it is not exactly a switch, she snapped.
He moved closer, the faint light from her magic reflecting in his eyes. You need to learn to control it, or it will control you.
Do you ever stop sounding like a cryptic fortune cookie?
No.
Lyra almost laughed. Almost. But exhaustion pulled it away before it could reach her lips. She slid down the wall, sitting on the cold stone. Where are we even going?
Kael glanced toward the faint outline of dawn beyond the tunnel's mouth. Out of the city. There is a safe place in the Ember Vale.
Safe? Or just far enough that if I explode, no one notices?
His lips twitched — the smallest, quickest motion, almost a smile. Both.
She let out a long breath, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face. You know, you are really bad at comforting people.
I was not designed for comfort.
Something about the way he said made her look up. Designed?
Kael's expression shifted — subtle, but enough. Wrong choice of words.
No, Lyra said, pushing herself up. You said designed. Like you are not—
A sharp sound cut her off — the faint whirring buzz of an orb. Kael grabbed her arm, pulling her into the deeper shadow of the tunnel wall just as a patrol light swept past the entrance. The pale glow brushed the edge of his coat, then vanished.
They stood still. Too close.
Lyra's pulse hammered against his hand where it held her wrist. He did not seem to notice — or maybe he did and just did not care. But she did. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to move, to step back, to breathe. And yet she did not.
When the light faded, Kael released her. The sudden absence of his touch left a strange coldness.
Next time, he murmured, listen first, talk later.
Next time, don't grab me like—
I saved your life.
She crossed her arms. You also nearly stopped my heart.
That is not how hearts work.
You had know, would you?
His gaze flicked to her, and something unreadable passed through it — not quite emotion, but not absence either.
Lyra's voice softened despite herself. What happened to you, Kael?
For a moment, he did not answer. The tunnel dripped quietly around them, water whispering secrets to the stone. Then he said, The same thing that will happen to you if we fail.
He turned and started walking.
Lyra hesitated, watching his silhouette fade toward the faint light ahead. Then she followed.
They emerged from the edge of the Ember Fields — a barren stretch outside the city where nothing grew. The ground shimmered faintly with ash. Far off, the sun was climbing, weak but determined.
Kael stopped beside a crumbling statue — an old monument to the first Soul binders. Its face was worn away, its eyes hollow.
This used to be beautiful, Lyra murmured.
Beauty does not last here, Kael said. Not anymore.
She crouched beside the statue, brushing dust from the inscription. Half the words were unreadable, but one phrase remained clear: Emotion is the flame of creation.
Lyra looked up at him. The Council says emotion destroys.
The council lies.
Her breath caught. You say that like you know.
I do. He met her gaze, calm and sharp all immediately. Because I remember the world before the Council.
Lyra stared at him, stunned. That is not possible. That was centuries ago.
Time works differently for those who don't feel it.
There it was again — that quiet impossibility in his voice. The kind that made her want to argue but also to believe.
She turned away, her heart pounding. The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of burnt rain.
Kael, she said quietly, If you really do not feel anything why are you helping me?
He did not answer right away. He just watched the horizon, the dying light painting silver across his face. Then, softly. Because once, I did.
The words hung between them, fragile as dawn.
Lyra looked at him — really looked — and for a heartbeat, the emptiness she always sensed around him flickered. Something human, something broken, flashed behind his eyes before vanishing again.
She wanted to ask what he meant. But the wind rose, and somewhere far off, the sound of the city's bells began again — slow, mournful.
Kael turned toward the hills. We keep moving.
Lyra followed, glancing once more at the ruined statue. The engraved words glowed faintly as she passed. Emotion is the flame of creation.
And deep inside her chest, that flame stirred again.