They didn't stop moving until the ash-fall turned the forest white.
Kael collapsed against a rock outcrop, sweat freezing on his skin. His body ached from the fight—not just from blows, but from using the fire. Every time he unleashed it, the Sovereign Ash seemed to devour something in return. Tonight, it felt like it had eaten half his strength.
Eira tossed him a skin of water and crouched near a dead firepit. She didn't speak for a long while.
"You're still alive," she said at last.
"You sound surprised."
"I am. Ascendants don't let their prey walk away."
Kael's hands curled into fists. "He called me 'child of Sovereignty.' What does that mean?"
Eira hesitated. "It means the shard you hold isn't just power—it's lineage. The god it came from was a Sovereign. A ruler above the pantheon. Those fragments choose their bearers. Or… remake them."
Kael's stomach knotted. "Remake?"
Eira's gaze was sharp. "You think your glowing veins and unburning skin are a trick of light? You're changing. And not entirely in ways you'll like."
The next days blurred into training and travel.
Eira pushed him harder than before—forcing him to call the fire without anger, to shape it instead of letting it pour out wild. He learned to form small flames, barely visible, to light kindling without turning the whole forest into cinders. He learned to project heat without flame, enough to melt a dagger in his grip.
But the fire wasn't passive. It whispered. It hungered.
Sometimes, when Kael's mind wandered, his fingertips would spark on their own. Sometimes he'd wake in the night to find the ground around him scorched.
The shard wanted more than just release. It wanted fuel.
Kael didn't ask what kind.
On the fourth night, as they camped in the ruins of an old watchtower, Kael woke to find Eira gone.
The fire was cold. The air sharp.
Then he saw her—at the edge of the clearing, speaking to something in the shadows.
It wasn't human.
It crouched low, a figure of black ash with ember eyes, its shape flickering like it couldn't decide on a form. Its voice was a low rumble, words too muffled to hear.
Eira glanced back once, her eyes catching his.
She didn't call out. She didn't explain.
By morning, she acted as though nothing had happened.