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1. After the Fire, the Ashes Whisper
The outer walls of Scorchfront were rebuilt faster than anyone anticipated.
Burnt stone was replaced with flame-tempered obsidian. Mage towers now bore enhanced runes forged by emergency reinforcements from Flamehold. Refugee camps became organized barracks, and scouting patrols expanded their routes.
Yet despite the repairs, something festered.
Aira felt it each time she returned from the perimeter.
Too many whispers in the halls.
Too many eyes lingering on her back.
And not the fear or awe she was used to—no, this was something colder. Calculating.
> "Someone's plotting," she murmured.
Kaelen looked up from the map he was studying. "You've been saying that for days."
> "I know the rhythm of fear. This isn't fear. It's intent."
She tapped a finger against a burning sigil. "We're being watched. Not by monsters. Not from outside. From within."
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2. Flamehold's Watchdog
Her unease deepened when a new envoy arrived from Flamehold: Elandis Varn, a high-ranking member of the Flame Accord—tasked with auditing wartime operations.
He was everything Aira hated: polished, politically immune, dressed in crimson robes with a flame-bird crest she suspected had never seen actual fire.
> "Lady Aira," he greeted her with a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Or should I say... Commander of Ash?"
She folded her arms. "Depends. Are you here to help rebuild, or to make accusations?"
> "Neither. Merely observing." He glanced around her command room, noting everything. "After all, it would be… unfortunate… if your brilliance were overshadowed by internal mismanagement."
She studied him carefully. "Speak plain."
> "Some say the Beast Tide's success in breaching the walls wasn't merely luck."
He let that hang.
> "Are you implying someone helped them?"
> "Merely reporting the rumors circulating the High Council. I, of course, remain neutral."
Neutral. She nearly laughed.
But she didn't.
Because his gaze sharpened just a fraction when she looked away.
He knew something.
---
3. Shadows in the Guildhall
Later that evening, Aira walked into the ruling guild's inner sanctum—The Emberhall—with every sense stretched tight.
The Emberhall was a palace of flame-glass and volcanic marble, where the city's top strategists, merchant lords, and mage elite debated policy. The ruling guild, The Pyreborn Circle, had grown quiet in recent weeks.
Too quiet.
Inside, Grand Marshal Tyven was speaking to a small group. When Aira entered, the conversation stopped instantly.
> "Oh, Commander," Tyven said, mustache twitching awkwardly. "We weren't expecting you."
> "I noticed. You never call strategy meetings without notifying the field commander. Unless there's something you want to hide."
The tension thickened.
> "Paranoia doesn't suit you," said a woman in robes of silver flame—Archivist Mieris, head of intelligence. Her tone was clipped. "You act as though you're the only one allowed to protect this city."
> "No," Aira said coolly. "I act like someone who's not secretly feeding our gate schematics to the enemy."
A sharp inhale from one of the mages.
Tyven narrowed his eyes. "You go too far."
> "Do I?"
She reached into her satchel and dropped a scorched metal token onto the table.
A Pyreborn insignia—twisted and charred—and found inside a beast lieutenant's remains three days ago.
> "One of your men lost this. Or gave it away."
---
4. The Web Tightens
The next few days were a whirlwind of silent tension.
Kaelen and a team of loyalists began investigating quietly. They reviewed mage tower security logs. Food supply manifests. Summoning rituals during the last tide. A pattern emerged—sabotage in disguise.
Gate sigils overwritten.
Anti-air defenses disabled before winged beasts struck.
Disinformation spreading just before attacks.
Too clean for accident. Too scattered for coincidence.
Worse, the spell trail led back to a sigil used only by Pyreborn high-rankers.
> "They're hiding something in the lower vaults," Kaelen whispered. "But only three people have access. Tyven, Mieris... and General Ravon."
Ravon. Flameborn war hero. Retired... and unaccounted for during the last wave.
> "Then we smoke them out," Aira said.
> "How?"
> "By offering bait."
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5. The Decoy Operation
Aira announced a classified weapons transport would be moved through the southern tunnels—new firecore weaponry capable of leveling siege monsters.
In truth, the cargo was inert.
But the message was intercepted—on purpose.
That night, Aira and her elite team waited near the southern passage.
At exactly the time the "transport" was scheduled to pass, a cloak-wrapped figure appeared, moving through shadows.
She stepped out from hiding, flames glowing softly in her palm.
> "Bit late for a stroll."
The figure bolted.
She gave chase.
The tunnels flared with heat as her footsteps echoed like thunder, firelight casting monstrous shadows on the walls.
At a corner, she caught them.
A fight broke out—fast, vicious. Sparks burst. Steel clanged.
She kicked the attacker back, tore off their mask—
> "Mieris."
Blood ran down the archivist's face.
> "You don't understand," Mieris hissed. "It was for the greater good."
> "Betraying thousands? Killing innocents?"
> "They were already dead! The Tide can't be stopped. I was just… slowing the collapse."
> "You let them inside. You gave them our defenses."
> "We needed a controlled fall. Better a manageable breach than total annihilation."
Her madness rang clear.
> "You were guiding them," Aira whispered. "Not resisting. Or surrendering."
> "Negotiating. Survival has a price."
Aira stood in silence, a thousand memories of fallen comrades passing through her mind.
She raised her hand.
> "Then you've chosen the wrong side of fire."
---
6. The Trial Before Fire
Mieris was dragged through the streets the next morning, and word spread like wildfire.
> "Traitor in the Pyreborn!"
> "Archivist Mieris fed the Tide!"
> "She said others are involved!"
In the Emberhall, the guild cracked. Investigations spread. Tyven resigned "for health reasons." Ravon fled the city and was declared rogue.
The Pyreborn Circle fell under direct martial supervision, and Aira—once an outsider—was now the only trusted authority.
But she felt no triumph.
She sat atop the Emberhall that evening, watching the distant clouds shimmer with unnatural purple light.
Kaelen joined her.
> "You saved the city from within."
> "No," she murmured. "I exposed a crack. But there are more. There's always more."
He offered her a sealed scroll.
> "This came while you were in the trial chamber. From the no
rthern border."
She opened it.
Her heart stopped.
> "They've started moving."
Kaelen frowned. "Who?"
She stood slowly, wind brushing her hair like a funeral bell.
> "The Pale Choir."
> "Again?"
> "No. Not beasts."
> "Then what?"
> "Something worse."