Lady Kiyo stood atop the scorched ridge where the final battle had taken place just a week before. The banners of the Phoenix King still fluttered, now tattered and broken, along the edges of the ruined command post. Blood still stained the stones beneath her feet, a chilling reminder of what had been won—and what had been lost.

  She wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders, the wind sharp even under the rising sun. From here, she could see the temporary camps sprawled across the valley below—makeshift barracks, tents flying the sigils of the Embers, and others bearing hastily painted new crests. The Southern Factions had taken their victory as an opportunity, not a conclusion.

  Kazuki had yet to wake. His duel with the Phoenix King had nearly killed him. He’d collapsed after the final blow, bloodied and barely breathing. The healers had done what they could, but no one knew when—or if—he would rise again.

  Without him, things were unraveling.

  “I told him this wouldn’t end with a crown,” Kiyo muttered to herself, eyes narrowing. “He won the war, but the peace... the peace will kill us.”

  A voice interrupted her thoughts. “They’re calling for a summit.”

  Kiyo turned. General Daigo, one of the Ember commanders who had joined late in the war, approached with the casual arrogance of someone testing boundaries.

  “Which they?” Kiyo asked.

  “The Southern Houses. Lord Tanegawa especially. He says Kazuki made promises. That the Embers were supposed to step down after the King’s defeat.”

  Kiyo didn’t answer right away. The promise had been real—Kazuki had sworn not to replace one tyrant with another. But promises made in fire rarely held once the smoke cleared.

  “And what does Tanegawa want?” she finally asked.

  Daigo shrugged. “A council. Power-sharing between the old noble clans and the rebel leaders. He wants to be the one holding the reins.” He tilted his head. “He’s not the only one. The Embers are split. Some think we should take the throne. Others think we should vanish before the vultures turn on us.”

  Kiyo’s jaw clenched. “Kazuki didn’t bleed for this just to hand it to parasites.”

  “No,” Daigo said, “but if he doesn’t wake up soon, someone else will take it.”

  Inside the makeshift command tent, Kiyo sat at Kazuki’s side. He looked so young like this—his face pale, jaw bruised, one arm bound in a sling. The fire that had driven him was banked for now, but not gone. She could still see it flicker beneath his closed eyes.

  “We’re holding it together,” she whispered, brushing a lock of hair from his brow. “Barely. If you don’t wake up soon, they’ll tear everything apart.”

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  She heard the door flap open behind her. Taro entered, armor scraped and bloodstained. He looked exhausted.

  “They’re fighting over territory now,” he said quietly. “Tanegawa has already claimed the eastern strongholds. Says he’s the rightful steward until a new ruler is named.”

  “By whose authority?” Kiyo spat.

  “His own,” Taro replied grimly. “And he’s not the only one making moves.”

  Kiyo stood, fury bubbling in her chest. “Then we stop them.”

  “How?” Taro asked, eyes dark. “Without Kazuki, we’re just another faction.”

  Kiyo’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Then maybe it’s time they remembered what happens when fire spreads too far. It consumes everything.”

  Kazuki’s eyes fluttered open to the scent of burning oil and the sound of whispers—soft, panicked voices that stopped the moment they noticed him move.

  He couldn’t feel his left arm.

  Pain—deep, bone-heavy pain—radiated from his shoulder, chest, and ribs. Breathing hurt. Even blinking felt like dragging his soul through smoke.

  “Kazuki…” a voice said, breaking through the haze. It was familiar. Gentle, strained. “You’re awake.”

  His vision sharpened just enough to recognize Lady Kiyo leaning over him. Her eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion, but her face held firm—like the steel sheathed beneath velvet.

  “Where…” Kazuki croaked, the word barely audible.

  “You’re in the Ember stronghold. We pulled back from the field a week ago. You’ve been unconscious ever since the duel.”

  The duel.

  It came back like a wave crashing through his mind. The Phoenix King’s flaming glaive. The ash-covered battlefield. That final strike—raw, instinctive, desperate. The look in the King’s eyes before they dimmed, that moment when fire met fire and died.

  “Is it over?” he asked.

  Kiyo hesitated. That pause told him everything.

  “No,” she said. “Not even close.”

  Kazuki forced himself up, groaning as pain lanced through his side. He could barely sit, but he needed to hear it. All of it.

  “The nobles are carving up the country. Lord Tanegawa and the Southern Clans are rallying for a new council. They claim you’re too injured to lead and that your promises demand a transition.”

  “I said I’d burn the throne,” Kazuki muttered.

  “You did,” Kiyo said. “But they’re building a new one from the ashes anyway.”

  An hour later, Kazuki stood—barely—wrapped in bandages and leaning against the edge of a map table. Around him stood what remained of the Ember leadership: Taro, armored and stone-faced; Daigo, eyes sharp and skeptical; and a few new commanders he barely recognized.

  They’d grown since the war.

  But so had their ambition.

  “You don’t have the strength to fight another war,” Daigo said bluntly. “Let them form their council. Play nice. If we move too fast, they’ll unite against us.”

  Kazuki’s jaw tightened. “And if we wait, they’ll turn everything we fought for into their next empire.”

  Taro stepped forward. “Then what? You want to storm their palaces again? With what army? We’re scattered. Supplies are low. Morale is worse. Half the Embers are just waiting for an excuse to switch sides.”

  Kazuki looked around the table.

  “We bled for this,” he said. “Not to replace tyrants, but to end the cycle. If we surrender now, we lose everything.”

  Kiyo spoke softly. “Then we need a new kind of war.”

  Everyone turned.

  “No more battlefields. No more sieges. We strike politically. Swift, silent, decisive. We find the ones playing kingmaker and remove them—quietly.”

  A chill settled over the room. Assassinations. Subterfuge. The kind of war that turned heroes into monsters.

  But Kazuki saw it then—clear as day.

  They didn’t need a throne.

  They needed fear.

  That night, alone in his tent, Kazuki sat before the remains of the Phoenix King’s helmet—blackened, broken, and still hot with phantom heat.

  “You told me fire always consumes,” he whispered.

  His reflection in the metal was fractured, twisted by the war.

  “Let’s see what happens… when I stop holding it back.”