Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Burned Path Forward
"Peace is never given freely. It is built—stone by stone, heart by heart—and guarded not by walls, but by the will to protect what's been lost and found again."
It began with a whisper.
A traveler from the north. A child who didn't blink. A healer who found symbols carved into the flesh of the dead.
Kael heard the first rumors a month after the new council began rebuilding the outer districts. He said nothing at first—not to the council, not even to Riven.
He'd hoped it was coincidence. Madness. Fear taking root in a weary people.
But hope had no place in the face of blood.
Not when he saw the bodies himself.
In a clearing beyond the old forests, three men were found hanging upside down from the trees, their throats carved with fire runes Kael hadn't seen since the Emperor's darkest days. Their chests were hollowed out—heartless—and the grass beneath them blackened to ash.
Kael stood over the corpses with his sword drawn, not because he feared attack, but because his hands needed something to hold.
Behind him, Riven said nothing.
Until he did.
"This was ritual."
Kael turned to him sharply. "You know this?"
"I've read of it. The Emperor used to test new fire-rites on prisoners before the war," Riven said, his voice low. "These markings… these aren't his."
Kael stared at him. "Then whose?"
Riven looked toward the north.
"I don't know. But they're coming."
Back in the city, fear began to spread again.
Crops went missing from the far fields. A town two days east was found abandoned, the only thing left behind—a message scrawled in coal on the tavern wall:
"Fire answers to one master."
The council demanded action.
Kael, grim-faced, agreed to double patrols and send scouts north.
But Riven moved quietly.
He returned to the catacombs beneath the palace. To the locked archives. To the books too dangerous to burn.
There, he found what the Emperor had hidden even from his own court—fragments of lore that spoke of a forgotten sect. A splinter faith that believed the Heartflame was not a gift, but a judgment.
Their creed?
"The world must burn to be reborn."
"They called themselves the Scorchborne," Riven said later that night as Kael wrapped a bandage around his hand, burned from a trapped page.
"They believed the Heartflame came to purge weakness. That it shouldn't be wielded by rulers or warriors—but prophets."
Kael's brow furrowed. "And they were wiped out."
"So we thought."
"But if they're back…"
Riven looked at him, his voice flat. "Then they'll come for you. And me. And the throne we refused to take."
Kael exhaled slowly.
"We've only just started to rebuild."
"Then we fight smarter this time," Riven said. "And together."
That night, as they lay side by side, Kael traced the curve of Riven's spine with a finger.
"Do you regret it?" he asked softly. "Choosing to stay. To build."
Riven turned toward him. "Every day."
Kael stilled.
Riven's eyes softened.
"And every day, I choose it again."
Kael smiled faintly, leaned in, and kissed him—slow, sure, anchoring.
Whatever came next—prophets, blood rites, madness—it would not take this from them.
In the shadows beyond the kingdom, a figure stood before a gathering flame.
Around him, masked acolytes knelt.
The figure raised his hands, voice ringing out into the night.
"Two have stolen the fire of the gods. One wears the crown of mercy. The other carries the flame in his blood."
The fire flared, turning gold-white.
"And both shall burn."
End of Chapter 38