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Chapter 7 – The Cloak and the Flame
Dawn crept across the horizon, painting the scorched skyline of Westgate in bruised violet and pale gold. The air still reeked of ash and blood, but somewhere in the ruins, a sense of hush had returned — not peace, but a temporary breath between storms.
Kael and Lys made camp beneath the broken frame of what had once been a clock tower. There, a stream of clear water still trickled from a cracked aqueduct, cold and silent as a secret.
Lys knelt beside it, splashing her face. Her reflection rippled, sharp silver eyes and streaks of grime smudging pale skin. The frost-thread cloak shimmered faintly behind her, draped over her shoulders like the wing of a phantom bird.
She closed her eyes, and for the first time in days, she let herself feel the stillness.
Then — something stirred.
The cloak shifted on its own, tightening gently around her shoulders. A pulse passed through her spine like a second heartbeat. Frost traced the edge of the pool before melting away.
Her breath caught.
A whisper brushed her mind, not a voice exactly — more sensation than sound. Recognition. Bond.
The cloak wasn't just enchanted. It was alive with old magic.
It had chosen her.
Her body felt lighter. Movements smoother. She flexed her arms experimentally, and the cloak melted into transparency — blending seamlessly into the air around her. Gone, and yet still there.
She whispered, "Oh..."
Behind her, Kael watched. "You okay?"
She stood slowly. "It's bonded. Fully."
"Did it hurt?"
"No." She looked down at her hands. "It felt like remembering something I'd forgotten."
Kael nodded, then sat cross-legged beside the fire pit, coaxing a flame into life with flint and sheer will. His Emberfang Blade lay across his knees, still warm with last night's upgrade. He studied the runes etched into its reforged surface — draconic script. Ancient. Wild.
He hadn't dared ask the Gracebound System what it really meant. Something inside him said: not yet.
Lys joined him, tucking her knees up to her chest, frost-cloak fluttering faintly despite the still air.
"You ever wonder why the system chose you?" she asked.
"All the time."
"I don't think it's random."
Kael stared at the flame. "No. Me neither."
They sat in silence for a while. Then Lys spoke again, quietly, as if unspooling something fragile.
"I was born in the north, beyond the Shatterspine Peaks. My people didn't keep names. Just stories and scars. My real name isn't Lys."
Kael looked at her, but didn't interrupt.
"I took it from a girl I watched die. She was strong. Brave. I wasn't. I ran." She exhaled. "And then I lived. And I've been trying to make that worth something ever since."
Kael didn't say anything at first. Then he set a piece of wood into the fire and said, "I don't know my real parents. I was taken in by the Temple when I was a kid. Trained in silence, obedience, discipline."
Lys looked over.
He gave a thin smile. "Turns out I sucked at all three."
"What happened?"
"They tried to burn the fire out of me." He met her gaze. "Didn't work."
A small smile tugged at her lips. "Good."
From the shadows beyond the clock tower ruins, a slow crunch of boots echoed.
Both stood instantly, weapons drawn — Kael with his gleaming Emberfang Blade, Lys vanishing into shimmer with her cloak, eyes narrowed.
But the figure that emerged raised both hands in peace.
"Easy," the woman said. She was older, wrapped in layers of deep gray armor, her eyes sharp and gold-rimmed. At her belt hung two curved daggers etched in wind-runes. "I'm not here to fight."
Kael didn't lower his blade. "Then talk fast."
"My name's Riven. Scavenger, sometimes courier. And maybe your next problem, depending on how much trouble you two have stirred up."
Lys narrowed her eyes. "We've stirred plenty. What do you want?"
"Your heads," Riven said calmly. "But not on a spike."
Kael blinked.
She grinned. "I'm here with an offer. From someone who noticed you lighting up the city last night. Someone with a very particular interest in fire-wielders and frost-bonded ghosts."
Lys's voice turned to ice. "Who?"
Riven shrugged. "He goes by many names. But the one you might recognize is Ashlord Icaron."
Kael's blood ran cold. That name — he'd heard it once. Just once. In a forgotten chamber beneath the Temple. A forbidden scroll. A warning.
"You're lying."
Riven smiled. "Am I? He knows about your Gracebound System, Kael. And he knows why you were chosen."
Then she tossed something through the air — a simple iron ring, etched in flame-runes, still warm from enchantment. Kael caught it.
"Gift," she said. "Proof of interest."
Then she turned. "If you want answers, follow the crows at dawn. They'll show you the way."
Riven vanished into the ruins like smoke swallowed by wind.
Lys stepped out of stealth. "We're not following her."
"No," Kael said softly. "But we'll follow the crows."
Lys's voice was quiet. "Because you know he's tied to you."
"To both of us," Kael said. "And maybe even this system."
They both looked at the iron ring in his palm. A storm was coming. They could feel it in their bones — old secrets waking, paths twisted long before their birth.
And somewhere far away, watching through flame and frost, Icaron smiled.