They left the forge before dawn, cloaked in grey and silence.
The mission was simple—retrieve a shipment of fire-stone from a rebel smuggler's outpost near the Glass Ravine. What wasn't simple was the tension crackling between them like live wires.
Kael rode ahead, back straight, jaw tight. Ember followed, hood drawn, eyes fixed on the road—but her mind was still tangled in his note. For the nights you doubt your light. I never will.
She shouldn't have read it twice.
Or five times.
They camped in a hollow by nightfall, surrounded by ash trees whose leaves shimmered red under moonlight. Kael built the fire, quiet as always, and Ember watched the flames lick upward like they knew her name.
"You're not going to say anything?" she asked.
Kael looked up. "About what?"
"You gave me a flame-heart pendant like it was nothing, then acted like I was just your partner on a supply run."
He shifted, fingers curling into the dirt. "It wasn't nothing."
Ember stared at him.
"I don't say things I don't mean," he said quietly. "But this—whatever it is—it's dangerous. For both of us."
"I don't care."
Kael's eyes lifted to hers, amber reflecting firelight.
"I do."
He stood, pacing away from the fire, then turned back.
"I've spent years building walls around people I care about. Because they always die. Or leave. Or I have to let them go. You… Ember, you break through all of it like fire through frost."
She rose too, her pulse hammering.
"I'm not asking you to protect me."
He stepped closer. "You don't have to. I'm trying to protect myself."
They stood inches apart now.
"I know," Ember whispered, "but I'm already burning."
Kael's breath caught. Then he kissed her.
It wasn't tentative.
It was raw, aching, desperate.
His hands cupped her face, her fingers dug into his shirt, and the world around them disappeared. Only the fire remained—between them, within them. She didn't care where it led. Only that for the first time in so long, she felt wanted—not for her power or her bloodline, but for herself.
When they finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers.
"I'm still afraid," he whispered.
"Me too," she said. "But I'm not running."
The next morning, they reached the smuggler's outpost—a crumbling ruin of stone walls and hidden vaults carved into the cliffs.
Inside, Ember found herself drawn to a sealed chamber beneath the ruins.
The air shifted when she stepped inside—heavier, almost sacred. In the center stood a pedestal, and atop it: a fragment of scorched obsidian etched with runes she didn't recognize.
Kael followed her in, unease etched into every step.
"Ember…"
She stepped closer.
As her fingers brushed the stone, it pulsed.
A thousand voices whispered in her head. A crown. A throne. Fire without end.
Her knees buckled.
Kael caught her before she hit the ground. Her eyes rolled back, and for a moment—just a moment—she saw.
A woman made of fire and bone. A battlefield of ash. A crown that burned into the wearer's skull like chains of molten iron.
And in that vision—Kael.
Standing at her side, and then… driving a sword into her chest.
She gasped awake, drenched in sweat.
Kael held her close, panic in his eyes. "What happened?"
She clutched his arm. "I saw something. A piece of the crown. It was here. I think I touched part of it—and it touched back."
Kael helped her stand, his arms steady around her. "We need to get out of here. Whatever that was, it's cursed."
Ember didn't argue. But she didn't let go of his hand either.
Elsewhere – Near the Ravine
The air turned cold. Too cold.
Three rebel scouts didn't return from patrol.
Their bodies were found hours later.
No blood.
No fire.
Only silver marks carved into their foreheads—runes that pulsed with unnatural heat.
The Oathbound had arrived.
And it was moving fast.