Blackmoor's east wing had collapsed years ago in a fire. Most believed it was an accident. Thorne knew better—he'd lit that fire himself in another life, a desperate act to cover an escape that had failed.
Now he stood in the ruins again. But this time, he wasn't running.
He was recruiting.
> "You sure they're ready?" Ruby asked, watching a cluster of orphans spar with wooden staves in the scorched courtyard.
> "No," Thorne replied, arms crossed. "But if we wait for perfection, we'll die imperfect."
Ruby smirked but said nothing. Her long black hair blew in the wind, but something shimmered beneath it—*a flash of red*, like coals beneath soot.
Thorne noticed.
> "You're letting it show again," he said.
Ruby paused, brushing a lock behind her ear.
> "It's exhausting, hiding it. The dye fades too fast. Besides, if people are afraid of red, maybe it's time they learned to fear *me.*"
Thorne didn't smile often, but this time he did.
> "Let it burn, Ruby."
---
🩸 *Training the Ember Blades*
Thorne's recruits were misfits—half-starved, beaten, abandoned. But they had one thing in common: *hate*. Hate for the system that crushed them. Hate for the names that branded them. Hate for the silence that followed every scream in Blackmoor.
Thorne fed that hate—tempered it like steel.
He taught them how to strike a vein with a needle. How to move without sound. How to hide a blade in a smile.
And Ruby? Ruby taught them how to kill.
She was merciless in drills. Anyone who hesitated got bruised. Anyone who cried was ignored.
But at night, when the others were gone, she'd sit by the fire with Thorne, her red hair now half-grown, catching the flame like a banner.
> "They're scared of me," she admitted once, her voice quieter than usual.
> "They should be," Thorne said. "But they'll follow you too. You're not just a blade, Ruby. You're a *symbol.*"
> "Of what?"
> "That we don't bend anymore."
---
🕯️ *The Noble Girl Arrives*
A week later, the orphanage received a new arrival. Not a starving street brat. No, this girl came in a lacquered carriage, her wrists bound with glowing runes. Her hair was gold, her skin flawless, her posture… regal.
She was dumped into Blackmoor like a broken toy.
> "Noble mage," Rikkan whispered. "Stripped of title. Power sealed. Exiled."
[5/9, 11:22 PM] ChatGPT: > "Why?" Thorne asked.
> "Refused an arranged marriage. Burned a suitor's manor down to its bones."
Her name was *Lady Lysena Valehart*.
And she was *exactly* what Thorne needed.
---
🌑 *The Proposal*
That night, Thorne found her sitting alone in the rain, her eyes fixed on the moon.
> "You're not broken," he said.
She looked at him, wary.
> "Everyone else thinks I am."
> "They only say that because they can't imagine a girl like you taking control."
> "And you can?"
> "I've already imagined worse."
She stared, then laughed—short and bitter.
> "What do you want, Blackwood?"
> "I want you to join me. Not as a prisoner. As a partner."
> "Why?"
> "Because you hate the world too. And I don't build empires with sheep."
Her eyes glowed faintly, despite the seals. And for the first time in weeks, Thorne saw something new in them.
*Hunger.*
---
*End of Chapter 4*
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