Chapter 8 – The Poisoned Shadows
The morning fog hung heavy over the valley as Kiran and his companions prepared to move deeper into the mountains. The world felt quieter than usual, the kind of silence that came before storms.
Kiran stretched his fingers, sparks dancing across his palms. The fire within was restless, warning him of something unseen.
"Eat," Miren urged, handing him a strip of dried meat. "You'll need your strength."
Kiran hesitated, then accepted it. He couldn't afford to appear paranoid, not yet. But the unease gnawed at him.
---
As they traveled, Orin's gaze stayed sharp on the ridges above them. "We're not alone," he murmured.
Moments later, arrows whistled from the cliffs. Syndicate assassins dropped from the rocks, blades gleaming with venom.
"AMBUSH!" Orin shouted.
The battle exploded. Kiran's fire roared to life, streams of flame bursting from his hands, igniting the fog around them into a glowing inferno. Assassins screamed as fire swallowed them, but more poured in.
Miren fought beside him, blade flashing, but Kiran's eyes caught something strange—Miren's movements seemed too measured, too controlled, as if he knew exactly where the Syndicate would strike.
---
One assassin lunged at Kiran with a curved blade dripping green poison. Kiran caught the strike in his bare hand, fire melting the weapon to slag. The poison hissed, sizzling into smoke.
"Back!" Kiran roared, unleashing a firestorm that sent the assassins scattering.
When the last of them fell, Orin knelt beside the bodies. He pulled out a vial from one assassin's belt, sniffing the contents. "Poison," he said grimly. "Deadly. One cut, and you'd be gone in minutes."
Kiran's pulse pounded in his ears. "They weren't just trying to kill me… they wanted it slow, painful."
Orin's expression hardened. "They knew your route. This wasn't luck. Someone told them."
---
That night, by the campfire, the tension between the three of them was a living thing. The flames crackled, shadows flickering across their faces.
Kiran's eyes burned into Miren. "You fought hard today," he said slowly. "Almost like you knew what was coming."
Miren froze. His grip on his blade tightened. "Are you accusing me, Kiran?"
Kiran didn't answer immediately. The fire in his chest flared, casting his suspicion in light. "I'm saying someone betrayed us. Someone close."
Orin's gaze shifted between them, voice like steel. "Careful. Trust is fragile. One wrong word could shatter it forever."
The silence dragged, thick and suffocating. Finally, Miren looked away, muttering, "Believe what you want. I've bled beside you since we were children."
Kiran clenched his fists, the fire inside warring with doubt. He wanted to believe Miren. He needed to. But the whispers of betrayal coiled tighter around his heart.
---
Far away, in the Syndicate's hidden fortress, the scar-faced leader poured a vial of the same green poison into a glass, swirling it.
"The shadows creep closer," he said to the hooded figure standing across the table. "Soon, the Flameborn will no longer question the enemy outside… but the ones at his side. And when trust dies, he dies."
The hooded figure lowered their hood, revealing a familiar face—a face that smiled with cruel betrayal.