Chapter 6 – Cael's Flame
The road south of Frostveil wound through jagged cliffs and mist-veiled forests. Jean rode in silence, Cael seated behind her, clinging to her cloak. Whitney walked beside them, watchful, ears flicking at every shift in the wind.
"Why didn't you let them kill me?" Cael asked, voice small.
Jean didn't answer right away. Her thoughts were still on Frostveil. The blackened craters. The corpses melted to bone. He's dangerous. But so is any sword in the wrong hands.
She looked down at him. "Because you're still human."
Cael blinked. "They said I wasn't. That the Magisters turned me into something else."
Whitney glanced back, his golden eyes calm. "They twisted your gift, but they did not break your soul."
Cael stared at the dire wolf in wonder. "You're… not normal, are you?"
Jean smiled faintly. "He's divine."
Cael's gaze shifted to her. "And you? You're a goddess?"
Jean's smile faded. "No. Just someone trying to stop the world from dying."
That night, they camped beneath a broken archway of ancient stone—remnants of a time before Martin Luther's sword carved order into the chaos. Whitney hunted. Jean meditated. Cael tried to stay still, but the fire flickered unnaturally around him.
"Can you teach me to control it?" he asked.
Jean opened her eyes. "No. But I can help you find someone who can."
"Who?"
She looked into the night sky. "There's a Sage in the Argon Sovereignty. They train gifted mages in ways that don't tear them apart. We'll go there."
Cael's eyes lit up with fragile hope. "Really?"
She nodded. "But you'll have to learn discipline. And patience."
He looked down. "I'll try."
Jean offered a rare smile. "That's all you need to do."
As the stars wheeled above, Whitney returned with news.
"Scouts ahead. Luther scouts. Not ours."
Jean's hand went to her sword. "Which sibling?"
Whitney bared his fangs slightly. "Darien."
Jean stood slowly, her aura rising like a tide. "Then it's time we reminded him who's really next in line."
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