Chapter Five: Ashes Beneath the Throne
What the empire builds with glory, it buries with secrets.
The throne room was colder than it should've been.
Tall windows lined the stone walls, but the glass was tinted, filtering sunlight into gray streaks that never reached the high dais where the obsidian throne sat. Behind it, carved into the wall, was the sigil of the Empire—a phoenix rising from a ring of swords.
Kael stood before it, stiff in full uniform again, his eyes fixed on the man seated in the throne: King Voren.
Voren was not old, not by a ruler's standards. But his face was hollowed, his once-black beard now streaked with silver. His eyes, however, remained sharp—like razors dipped in poison.
"You've grown reckless, Kael," Voren said, voice like chilled wine. "Your bloodlines were chosen for discipline. Order."
"I serve with precision, as always."
"Then explain to me," Voren leaned forward, "why you haven't executed the rebel. Why Riven still lives in my Citadel."
Kael didn't flinch. "Because he's not just a rebel. He's a weapon. A power we don't yet understand."
"And you think you can control that power?"
"No," Kael replied. "But I can guide it."
Voren stood. The move was small, yet the room itself seemed to tense. "You believe you can tame fire, Kael. You forget what happens when fire is allowed to grow."
He stepped down the dais, closer. "Do you know how your great-grandfather died?"
Kael's jaw locked. "He was consumed by a cursed flame during the Old Revolt."
"No." Voren's voice dropped to a whisper. "He was burned alive—by a boy who bore the same magic as your precious Riven. A child barely able to speak incinerated an entire regiment with one breath. That is what you're protecting."
Kael's heart thudded in his chest. "And yet we banished the magic instead of understanding it. That fear—that ignorance—is why we keep making the same mistakes."
Voren stared at him for a long moment, then nodded to a guard.
The heavy doors creaked open, and General Ilyra stepped through, dragging someone behind her in chains.
Kael's blood ran cold.
It was Eris—a former noble, now a defector rumored to have helped Riven during the rebellion. She was bruised, bleeding, but defiant.
Voren turned to Kael. "She helped him escape capture three months ago. She held back intelligence. She chose the fire over the throne."
"She chose freedom," Eris spat.
Voren ignored her. "Kill her. Or I will begin to question where your loyalties lie."
Kael's pulse spiked. He looked at Eris—at the bruises, the way she held herself tall despite the pain. A mirror of the same rebellion that now lived in Riven's eyes.
He thought of the night before. Of Riven's fire curling around his skin like a lover's breath. Of the way Kael's name had trembled on his lips.
"Do it," Voren ordered.
Kael drew his blade.
The room held its breath.
And Kael turned.
"Take her to the dungeons," he said coldly. "She'll answer under my interrogation."
Voren's eye twitched. "You dare disobey me?"
"I dare to be strategic," Kael replied. "You want the rebellion crushed, don't you? Then I'll use her to draw the rest out."
Silence.
Then a slow clap echoed in the throne room.
"Very well," Voren said. "But fail me again, and I'll carve your name into the list of traitors myself."
That night, Kael visited Riven again.
He found him standing near the small window, arms crossed, the golden glow under his skin faint but pulsing.
"You look worse than usual," Riven said dryly.
"I made a choice today," Kael said. "A dangerous one."
Riven turned. "Was it for me?"
Kael didn't answer. He stepped forward, cupping Riven's jaw. "If I fall, I want it to be my choice. Not the king's. Not the Empire's."
"And what if I fall first?"
Kael kissed him—desperate, fierce. "Then I'll follow."
The air around them warmed, the Heartflame stirring.
But in the shadows, far beneath the Citadel, something else stirred too—drawn by the bond now growing between soldier and flame.
Something ancient.
Something forgotten.
Every throne stands on bones. But sometimes, the bones whisper back.