Chapter Four: The Price of Power
Power is a promise made in blood—and always collected with interest.
The Citadel was never truly silent.
Even in the dead of night, something always moved—guards patrolling, the distant clang of steel, whispers through stone corridors like the empire itself was murmuring secrets to those brave—or foolish—enough to listen.
Kael stood on the eastern battlements, wind tugging at his cloak, jaw clenched tight. Below, the city flickered with firelight and torch glow, unaware of the battle smoldering inside their so-called Ash Knight. He couldn't stop thinking about Riven. The words, the touch, the look that broke through Kael's practiced indifference.
"I'm not asking you to fix me. I'm asking you not to break me."
Kael had spent years becoming a weapon. Unfeeling. Precise. Loyal. But now... he wasn't sure which way the blade was pointing anymore.
"Commander."
The voice behind him snapped him back. General Ilyra, silver armor glinting, stood with hands folded. She always looked like she was carved from marble—flawless, immovable.
"General," Kael replied curtly.
"You've been spending a great deal of time with the prisoner."
"Is that a problem?"
She stepped forward, face unreadable. "Only if your judgment is clouded. Riven is not a man. He is a fire barely leashed, born of chaos. Magic like that corrupts. You know this."
Kael didn't answer.
"I trust you," Ilyra said, and Kael heard the warning beneath the words. "But don't make me question that trust."
She left without another word, her footsteps swallowed by the wind.
Riven's magic had grown restless.
He felt it even in his sleep—ash curling at the corners of his vision, his veins like molten rivers just under skin. In the deepest parts of his mind, the Heartflame whispered. Not with words, but hunger.
He jolted awake on the floor of his chamber, breath ragged, fingers seared into the stone beneath him. Thin curls of smoke rose from where his hands had touched.
It's happening faster.
He couldn't control it much longer.
He didn't know if Kael understood how close he was to losing himself. If the magic broke free completely, it wouldn't just destroy the Citadel—it would burn Riven from the inside out.
He needed to leave. Escape. Die, if he had to.
The door opened.
Riven looked up, expecting guards, maybe another lecture. Instead—Kael.
Armor-less, jaw set, eyes stormy.
"You look like hell," Kael muttered.
Riven smirked, sweat beading his brow. "You should see the other guy."
Kael didn't smile.
"Ilyra thinks I'm getting too close to you," Kael said.
"Are you?"
Kael stepped forward, kneeling beside him. "Yes."
The answer stunned Riven into silence.
"I shouldn't be," Kael continued, his voice rough. "You're dangerous. You're everything I was raised to hate. But I look at you and I feel like I've spent my whole life walking through ash, and you're the first real thing I've ever touched."
Riven's heart twisted.
"You don't want me," Riven whispered. "Not like this. You don't know what I've done."
Kael took his hand—scorched skin and all—and didn't flinch. "Then tell me."
For a moment, Riven wanted to. He wanted to let Kael in, to share the weight that had crushed him for years. But as the fire inside him pulsed, he knew words wouldn't be enough.
So instead, he showed him.
Riven's eyes burned gold. The room darkened, shadows curling like smoke as memory took shape—holograms of his past. A village reduced to cinders. Soldiers screaming. His own hands glowing, blood staining the earth beneath him.
"I killed them," Riven said, voice hollow. "I lost control. The Heartflame fed on my pain, my anger. I didn't mean to. But they're still dead."
Kael didn't speak for a long time.
Finally, he said, "And yet you're still here. Fighting to control it."
"I don't want to hurt anyone again."
Kael's hand gripped tighter. "Then let me help you."
"You really think you can?" Riven asked, voice shaking.
Kael leaned in, forehead nearly touching his. "I don't know. But if you burn, then I'll burn too. That's the price."
Riven's breath caught.
Kael kissed him.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was a collision—of guilt, pain, desire, fire. Their mouths met like sparks striking dry kindling, heat erupting in waves as Kael pushed Riven back against the stone floor. The fire inside Riven surged, but it didn't lash out.
It calmed.
For the first time in years, it listened.
Kael's hand slid under Riven's jaw, thumb brushing his throat, grounding him. Riven arched into the touch, the flames retreating just enough to let him feel—truly feel.
They broke apart, breathless.
"If I lose control—" Riven started.
"I'll bring you back," Kael said.
Not a promise. A vow.
Later, as Kael left the room, he didn't see the golden glow still flickering behind Riven's eyes. Or the single drop of blood that fell from his nose and hit the floor, sizzling.
The Heartflame was watching.
And it did not like being tamed.
To hold fire is to court ruin. To love it? That is madness.