The forge's training hall was a cavern of shadows and light.
Flames flickered along the stone walls, dancing to a rhythm only firebloods could hear. Ember stood in the center, sweat already slicking her brow, her hands clenched at her sides.
Across from her, Rowan adjusted the runes on the practice ring, his fingers moving with precision and patience.
"Again," he said, stepping back. "Let the fire come to your center. Then guide it—not like a whip, but a thread. Controlled. Gentle."
Ember exhaled slowly.
She closed her eyes and felt the heat coil behind her ribs, a pulse of warmth that had once terrified her—but now felt like something sleeping just beneath her skin.
She extended a hand, focused—and flame bloomed in her palm like a flower.
Not explosive. Not wild.
Balanced.
Rowan's lips quirked into a smile. "Better. Not bad for someone who lit the wall on fire two days ago."
Ember rolled her eyes. "That was one time."
"You melted a steel bracket."
"I said one time."
He laughed, and she found herself smiling before she realized it. Rowan's presence was like water—soothing, steady, and impossible to ignore. He never pushed, only guided. He didn't look at her like she was a weapon. He looked at her like she could choose who she wanted to be.
Which, in the rebel camp, was rare.
Later, she walked the upper halls with Kael. He was still sore, his side tightly wrapped, but he refused to rest for long.
"Rowan said you're stubborn," Ember said, nudging him as they passed a lantern.
"Rowan says that about everyone. He thinks stubbornness is contagious."
She hesitated. "You've known him a long time."
Kael nodded. "We met in the capital. He was supposed to become the Flame King's royal healer. Got too close to one of the marked girls. Tried to protect her when her power flared. They punished him for empathy."
Ember looked away. "They punish everyone for empathy."
Kael stopped, catching her hand gently. "That's why we fight."
Ember didn't pull away. Her heart thudded in her chest like a warning. She could feel the warmth of his skin, the calluses of a fighter and the softness of someone who still cared.
"You know," he said, quieter now, "when you lit up the tunnel during the Seeker fight… I thought I was hallucinating. It was like watching the sun catch fire."
"I was terrified."
He smiled faintly. "You were magnificent."
The silence that followed was heavy with possibility—until Rowan's voice called down the hall.
"Kael, I swear if you've reopened that wound—"
Kael groaned. "Tyrant."
Ember bit back a laugh. But as she watched Rowan approach—eyes narrowed in irritation, carrying a satchel of fresh bandages—she felt something strange twist inside her.
Two different flames. Two different pulls.
She turned away before she could wonder which one burned brighter.
Meanwhile – The Flame Citadel
The Oathbound was not kept in chains.
It didn't need them.
It stood in the darkest wing of the royal vaults—motionless, faceless, wrapped in silver veils and branded armor. Its skin was covered in ancient scripts, its eyes sealed shut by fire-forged iron.
Yet it heard everything.
Tharos entered, alone, draped in robes of molten thread.
"They say she burns brighter than the last," he said, his voice low and filled with the weight of centuries. "They say Kael is with her."
The Oathbound tilted its head, ever so slightly.
"Then you know what to do," Tharos said. "Find them. Split them. Break her. Return the crown—or return her ashes."
A tremor passed through the stone as the Oathbound moved for the first time in years.
Its mouth opened—and no breath came.
Only silence.
Back at the Forge
Night came slow.
Ember returned to her quarters to find a small flame-glass pendant on her pillow—its core glowing with everburning embers.
A note was tucked beneath it, written in Kael's hand:
For the nights you doubt your light. I never will.
Ember pressed the pendant to her chest, heart aching.
She didn't want to fall.
Didn't want to be torn between shadows and flames.
But it was too late.
The fire had already chosen her.
And something was coming—something darker than anything she'd faced yet.
She could feel it in the air.
Like smoke before the blaze