Kaelra woke up to a deafening silence surrounding her. It pressed against her like a second skin. It was thick, wrong, but she was alive… She didn’t know how she made it out or even what happened, but she was still alive. Her eyes blinked open slowly, trying to adjust to the dark which she woke up to. The ceiling above her was made out of stone, cracked at the corners and lit softly by a flickering wall torch. The scent of an antiseptic stung inside of her nose and her body ached with every breath. This was the kind of ache that reached deep into her bones but didn’t come from any kind of injury but from something more invasive… like her muscles had been pulled apart and stitched back together with thread made out of fire.

  For a few long moments, she didn’t move an inch. She only breathed, taking in the inventory. Her arms, legs, fingers, toes. Everything was still attached and working as far as she could tell. No bandages were wrapped around her, but her uniform was completely gone, replaced by a rough, linen work shirt which barely covered her knees. Her boots were gone, too. Her feet were bare, touching the cold stone tiles under her. She was in a room. It wasn’t a prison, exactly, but a place you were not meant to leave easily.

  She wasn’t surprised, though, not after what happened.

  Her jaw clenched as the memories flooded back, slowly and jumbled at first: the plaza, the altar, the flame rising behind her instead of above the altar. Her feet burning the stone beneath her. The way the world had fallen silent and stopped for only a moment. And then the voice. Not just a random voice. A command which was embedded deeply in her ribs. A prophecy carved straight into her bones. She hadn’t asked for any of this.

  Kaelra dragged her knees up to her chest and nuzzled her forehead against them. Her body felt like it belonged to someone else, like she wasn’t herself anymore and had been switched out. Her breath didn’t taste like hers and worst of all, there was something still there. A presence, low and steady, like a candle flickering right behind her ribcage. The Ashborne hadn’t just touched her…it hadn’t let go.

  She wasn’t one of them, and that’s also what the whole city had seen. That’s what the flame should have proved to everyone. The Imperium had sent thirteen of their best people. Children of legacy, of controlled bloodlines and flawless training, and it had rejected every single one of them. And then… it had chosen her, a soldier from the frostbitten outer regions, born to no House, with a mother who died in childbirth and a father who sharpened blades for a living.

  She was no one. She wasn’t even supposed to be here.

  Kaelra had grown up in the northern mountains, in a village where winter came early and left late. Where magic was something whispered about and never used, unless you wanted to disappear in the middle of the night. The empire hadn’t even cared about places like Frostmere. Not until it needed bodies. Her recruitment had come on her seventeenth name-day. She hadn’t protested, and she hadn’t cried. She’d only kissed her sister goodbye, left the house she was too young to inherit, and boarded the supply ship that smelled like fish, rust and old chains.

  Everything after that blurred into a mass of repetition.

  Training at the far post near the Fanged Mountains. Being thrown into training sessions with recruits who treated her like dirt because of the way she spoke and where she came from. Learning to shoot before she even learned how to sleep through the sound of constant screams during the night. Two years of border duty in the snow, three years stationed on the icy perimeter of the empire’s edge. Fighting off raiders, freezing through supply shortages, watching friends bleed out over meals they hadn’t even finished yet just because everyone became hungry. It had strengthened her in all the wrong places. But it had also made her resilient to a lot of things, mostly.

  She only trusted a few things: her aim, her instincts, and the knowledge that power protected itself. The rest was politics, and politics got people like her killed.

  Kaelra sat upright now, pressing her back firmly against the wall behind her. She closed her eyes, focusing herself on her breathing, trying to ignore the flickering sensation in her chest, pulsing deep within her. It wasn’t painful. It was more like a pressure. Just as if the flame was waiting for her to do something, anything. But she didn’t really know what.

  But what she did know was this: the moment the empire had realized what she was, it would try to control her. And if it couldn’t…if she didn’t fall into line or acted in a different way… then they would find a way to silence her. Maybe not with a blade or chains. Maybe with poisons in a goblet of wine. Or a quiet sentence whispered from a balcony. That was how they did things here. Not with fire. With rot. And she didn’t intend to rot, so she needed to be careful.

  Footsteps echoed down the hall, reaching her. Finally, she heard the sound of a door unlocking as the footsteps halted to a stop. Instinctively, her muscles tensed together, even though she had no way of protecting herself. After a few agonizing seconds, the handle finally turned and a figure entered, tall, backlit by the hallway’s dim glow.

  It wasn’t a guard. It was someone even worse. She didn’t need an introduction to know who exactly he was. His face was plastered on imperial banners all over the city, watching her closely. She’d heard his name whispered through frostbitten tents like a warning.

  Commander Thorne Vael. The Blighthound of the Crown. The empire’s favored enforcer and also the prince’s bastard half-brother.

  Quickly, she sat up straighter, following him closely with her eyes. If he was here, the empire wasn’t going to kill her. At least not yet. This meant they needed her for something. And that was dangerous.

  Commander Thorne Vael stepped into the room without a ceremony, the door clicking shut right behind him. He didn’t speak at first, he just stood there, assessing her the way a butcher inspects their meat before the cut. He was just as tall, as she’d heard, broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, dressed in dark imperial military black with the crimson outlines of his station curling around his collar and cuffs. No armor and also no weapons she could see, but Kaelra had heard the stories. He didn’t really need them to finish his duty.

  His gaze settled on her like a blade. Cold. Measured. She knew that kind of look. It was the kind you learned to fear, because it didn’t come from hate. It came from duty. Detached, surgical, thorough.

  “You’re awake,” he said at last, his voice just as cold as his gaze lingering on her. It wasn’t a question. “Good.”

  Kaelra didn’t answer.

  She wasn’t sure what they’d told him, but she knew how the Imperium worked. They would spin it, twist it, claim it was divine will or heresy. Maybe both just so that they can make it seem like it was already planned. Either ways, she had been reduced to a tool and that much was clear.

  Thorne walked further into the room, stopping a few inches away from her. “Do you remember the Rite?”

  “I’m not an idiot,” she scoffed.

  He didn’t flinch. “Good. Then you understand what will happen next.”

  She didn’t ask what that meant. She already had a guess, and it wasn’t good at all.

  He studied her, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re remarkably calm, considering what your future brings.”

  Kaelra tilted her head in question. “Would panicking help?”

  A pause.

  “No.”

  “Then what exactly would be the point?”

  Thorne didn’t smile, but something flickered in his expression. Almost like approval. Almost.

  “You’ve been unconscious for two days,” he said coldly. “The flame burned through three layers of stone and scorched the plaza down to the bone. The priests are calling it divine destruction. The nobles are calling it sabotage. And the Emperor…” he exhaled, the first sign of any emotion in his calculated stance, “...hasn’t yet decided what to call you.”

  “I could make him a list,” she joked dryly. “Might save him the trouble.”

  He didn’t respond. Instead, he took a folded document from the inner pocket of his coat and dropped it onto the bench near the wall. She didn’t pick it up, but her eyes scanned the seal. Imperial black wax, stamped with the Flame Crown. Official.

  “You’re being reassigned,” he said. “By order of the Emperor.”

  “Let me guess. Not to the kitchens?”

  “You’re being placed under direct imperial control,” Thorne continued, untouched. “Effective now, your rank is suspended. Your title is no longer soldier. It’s Ashbound.”

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  Kaelra laughed once, sharp and dull. “That’s not a title. That’s a death sentence.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But now it’s what you are.”

  “I didn’t ask to be Ashbound. I would rather be something else. Heck, assign me to be a maid.”

  “No one does, and you can’t change that.”

  For a moment, the room felt heavier. The light from the torch flickered again. Kaelra shifted on the stone bench, the cold creeping back into her spine, a shiver escaping her.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked ultimately.

  “Me? Nothing,” Thorne replied. “My orders are only to escort you to the containment wing, initiate containment protocol, and begin evaluation.”

  “Containment?,” she repeated. “That’s what we’re calling it now? Sounds like I’m mere an object now and not a human anymore.”

  He met her gaze without flinching. “You burned through holy stone and survived. You were chosen by a spirit known for destroying the minds of seasoned Ardent wielders. You’re carrying power no one else understands, and half of the Senate wants you to be executed just for breathing. Containment is the least of what’s been considered.”

  Kaelra was silent for a moment.

  And then she asked, voice low and even, “And what do you think I am?”

  Thorne didn’t answer.

  He turned to the door. “You’ll walk under guard. You’ll follow protocol. You’ll speak only when spoken to. You’ll be treated as a potential weapon, not a person. And if you lose control even once…”

  He didn’t finish the sentence.

  But he also didn’t have to, as she knew what it meant.

  Kaelra stood up slowly, her bare feet pressing against the cold of the floor. The faint ember still flickered in her chest, faint but constant, as if it knew something she didn’t. At least not yet.

  She was exhausted, sore, and out of options, but she wasn’t broken.

  “Fine,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Thorne didn’t nod. He didn’t offer his hand. He opened the door and just walked out. She followed obediently, because that’s what survivors do and for now she will have to follow their orders if she wanted to stay alive.

  Outside the cell, the corridor was dim and narrow, carved from dark stone and lit by floating fire-lanterns suspended in metal rings. Two guards walked around the hall. Ardent-trained, just by the looks of their armor. They straightened their stance once they saw her coming, one hand on their spears, the other on their belt triggers, just in case. Kaelra didn’t look at them, and she didn’t need to because she already knew that they feared her. Not because of what she’d done, but because of what she might do.

  Both of them escorted her down two halls and up a flight of spiral stairs before reaching another sealed door. This one was reinforced with spell-etched iron. The guards unlocked it with dual sigils, and a hiss of warm air slipped out into the corridor as it opened. Kaelra stepped inside and saw the facility for what it was: not a simple room, not barracks and also not a recovery ward. It was a cage. The room was vacant, the walls lined with suppression runes. No windows to be seen and a narrow bed, a desk, a basin. Nothing sharp. No corners. No escape.

  She turned slowly, taking it all in. Thorne stepped in behind her. “This is where you’ll stay for now. Medical staff will monitor you. If you’re stable, you’ll be approved for controlled field exercises.”

  Kaelra raised a brow at him. “Field exercises?”

  “You’re not being trained,” he said. “Right now, you’re being studied closely.”

  She scoffed. “Lovely.”

  “You’re not the first weapon the empire’s tried to control,” he said evenly. “But you’re the first one it didn’t craft itself.” That stuck.

  Kaelra sat down on the edge of the hard bed. Her hands curled loosely in her lap, but the tension in her shoulders didn’t let her go. The flame behind her ribs pulsed again, but only once and then remained quiet.

  “I don’t care what they want,” she muttered. “I’m not theirs.”

  Thorne didn’t move. “Then you better learn fast how to pretend.”

  He turned and left her alone in the room. The door shut with a soft finality and Kaelra was alone once again with only the fire inside her accompanying her.

  The hours passed in silence. No windows. No clock. Just the hum of the suppression runes and the quiet thud of her own heartbeat, too slow to be panic, but still too fast to be considered calm. The flame inside her, or whatever it was, had stopped pressing against her edges. But it hadn’t vanished. It waited, patiently and tightly twisted.

  During her time, she didn’t sleep. She didn’t even eat when her meal was brought to her. She only stared at the wall, counting the lines etched into the stone, the flickers of the rune embedded above her near the ceiling.

  Eventually, the door opened again. This time it wasn’t Thorne, but two soldiers stepped in, armed and silent, watching her. One of them gestured toward the corridor.

  She stood. Didn’t ask. Didn’t resist. She followed.

  They led her through a narrow passage, up another stair, and through an unusual set of doors carved with flame-crested sigils. This was no cage, this was something worse…

  The Chamber of Embers.

  Kaelra had never seen it, but she’d heard stories about it back in the barracks. This was where the Senate met in times of internal crisis. Where the Emperor ruled not as a leader, but as the final word. It was said to be a room for decisions that never left the walls, and now she was the subject of one.

  Inside, the chamber was circular, the walls tiered like a reversed arena. Velvet banners hung from every arch, marked with the sigils of the Ardent Houses. A single raised platform sat at the far end, beneath a window of tempered glass. And on it, his presence unmistakable, sat the Emperor, waiting for them.

  He didn’t speak when she entered, and neither did the dozens of councilors seated below him. She was brought forward right to the center ring and then the guards stepped back. Now she was alone, fighting against the gazes of everyone in this room.

  Not long after, a man stepped forward from the side. He was tall, silver-haired, robed in crimson and gold. Lord Vhailen, High Ardent of the Flame Court and also the Emperor’s mouth when the Emperor did not wish to speak.

  Kaelra didn’t lower her gaze. She wouldn’t kneel. Being already stripped of everything else, her name, her rank, her freedom, she would keep her spine and radiate confidence until the very end.

  Vhailen’s voice cut through the air like a polished knife. “Kaelra Morwyn. Soldier of Frostmere Company. Northern Reach. Drafted into imperial service six years ago. No notable commendations and also no recorded infractions. An unremarkable record. Until two days ago.”

  Murmurs echoed around the room.

  “You stand here as the only living vessel of the Ashborne Flame in over a century,” he continued, his eyes fixed on her. “A spirit which rejected every heir of the noble lines. A spirit which chose you. A nameless soldier from a frozen outpost with no magical lineage, no political value, and no legacy.”

  She said nothing. The silence in her throat wasn’t fear, it was restraint. She knew how this worked, the first one to speak was the first one to bleed.

  “We have discussed your fate at length,” Vhailen said. “Many argue you are an anomaly. A threat. A misfire of magic that must be corrected before it becomes something worse.”

  Another voice, sharp and stern, rang out from one of the upper tiers. “The flame was always meant for the nobles. This is a blasphemy! The spirit was definitely corrupted!”

  Another, deeper and more measured voice sounding in: “Or perhaps it saw something in her, we refused to acknowledge.”

  “She has no training,” came a third. “No discipline. She will burn herself and the city with her!”

  “She survived it,” said another. “That’s more than any of our contestants managed.” A rising storm of voices. The council divided along its old lines.

  Kaelra stood in the center of all of it, unmoving, but inside, her pulse had begun to pound. Not from fear, but fury. Not one of them had asked her what she’d felt. What it had done to her. They were arguing not over a person, but a weapon. An object to control.

  The Emperor raised one hand. Silence fell all around the room. Once he spoke, it was with a voice that wasn’t loud, but sharp enough to pierce walls.

  “I built this empire with fire. I will not let it be undone by it.”

  His gaze settled on her and once she met it, she felt the weight of it press against her ribs. There was no warmth in it. No mercy. Just a cold, sovereign calculation.

  “She will stay alive,” he said finally. “For now.”

  A pause as he looked to his left. “Assign her to Commander Thorne. He will oversee her containment.”

  There were gasps and even a few shouted protests. One woman in green silk stood, face red with outrage. “You would place her in the hands of your son?” The Emperor’s gaze flicked toward her. She sat down before he even spoke a word.

  Kaelra didn’t react outwardly, but something inside her shifted.

  Thorne was his son? That explained the command. The detachment. The weight behind his name. But not the look in his eyes, not the way he hadn’t flinched when she stood in fire. Not the way he hadn’t treated her like a monster.

  Vhailen nodded once before stating, “The council is dismissed.” Guards stepped forward and Kaelra expected to be dragged out. But surprisingly, she wasn’t. Thorne was already waiting for her just beyond the doors.

  They didn’t speak on the walk back, but as they reached the lower levels again, he turned slightly, just enough for his voice to brush against her ear.

  “You have impressed him.”

  Kaelra raised a brow at him. “That wasn’t the message I got.”

  “He let you live. That’s his version of a gift.”

  She didn’t reply.

  When they reached her cell again, she stopped at the threshold. “Why you?” she asked quietly. Thorne looked at her. Not cold, not kind. Just still.

  “Because I follow orders through.”

  “Even the ones you disagree with?”

  “I don’t have to agree. I just have to obey.”

  Kaelra stepped back inside and the door shut within a second.

  She stood there for a long time, alone, trying to piece together the shape of her new prison. Of the game they were playing and of how she could survive it.

  And then, just as she turned to sit down on her bed…

  The flame in her chest surged.

  She staggered, clutching the edge of the bed with sweaty hands. It wasn’t painful, but it was pulling her, not outward, but within herself.

  A loud sound split the silence. It was not coming from the hall but from inside of her head.

  A voice…not Thorne’s, not the Emperor’s.

  A whisper she had only heard once before, it was at the moment the flame chose her.

  But only this time… it didn’t whisper.

  “You are not alone.”