Chapter Thirty-Nine: A Storm in the Ashes
"Even a flicker of hope can set a kingdom ablaze."
The fire reached the gates of Vareth at dawn.
It wasn't a siege, not at first. It was a warning.
A line of scorched earth cut from the forest's edge to the city's southern walls, a perfect crescent of blackened grass and ash. No footprints. No signs of who had done it. But Kael recognized the message.
They had arrived.
The Scorchborne were no longer whispers.
Council chambers erupted with fear.
Some demanded the city be closed. Others spoke of fleeing to the isles. One man suggested surrender—perhaps these new fanatics only wanted the Heartflame's vessel.
Kael silenced him with a single glance.
"We do not hand over kings," Kael said coldly. "Or the men we love."
Riven stood at his side, silent but sharp-eyed. No longer just a shadow in the council—he'd earned their fear and their respect both.
"We hold the line," Riven said. "But we don't wait behind it. Let them fear us."
Kael found Riven later, alone in the observatory, staring into the smoke curling on the horizon.
"You were quiet back there," Kael said, stepping close.
"I was listening."
"To what?"
"The fire. It's changing."
Kael's brow creased. "How?"
Riven turned to face him, the sunset casting red across his skin. "It's not just elemental. It's... sentient."
"You think it's a spirit?"
"No," Riven murmured. "I think it's bound to someone. Someone powerful enough to awaken it. And it wants you."
Kael stepped in, placing a hand on Riven's waist. "Then it'll have to go through you first?"
A corner of Riven's mouth twitched. "Through both of us."
The Scorchborne struck that night.
They didn't breach the gates.
They burned the sky.
Flames burst into the clouds above the city, a torrent of golden fire raining down like judgment. The palace shields barely held. Streets ignited in seconds. Panic thundered through Vareth like a storm bell.
Kael and Riven fought side by side—Kael with sword and shield, Riven with flame and blood-bound magic.
But in the smoke, a figure stepped out—tall, robed in smoldering crimson, a half-mask of scorched gold hiding their face.
"The fire does not belong to you," the figure said, voice like crackling embers.
Kael raised his blade. "Then come take it."
They clashed beneath the burning skies.
Riven threw flames that spiraled like dragons. The masked Scorchborne leader caught them in one hand and devoured them.
Kael struck with brutal precision—his blade singing with raw Heartflame—but the figure moved like smoke, untouchable.
"You are thieves," the enemy said. "The Heartflame belongs to the ashes, not the throne."
Kael growled, "It belongs to us. We paid in blood for it."
The figure paused—tilted their head—then whispered, "Then you will drown in it."
With a scream of flame, they vanished, leaving a charred crater where they once stood.
In the aftermath, dozens were dead.
The outer districts burned.
Kael stood in the ruins, his sword buried in the earth, shoulders heavy with smoke and grief.
"They won't stop," he muttered.
"No," Riven said beside him, voice soft. "But neither will we."
He reached out and took Kael's hand in full view of the survivors—bold, open, defiant.
No one looked away.
That night, Riven traced the burn scar on Kael's chest as they lay in bed.
"They wanted to break the symbol," Riven murmured.
Kael's eyes opened. "They didn't."
"They'll try again."
Kael pulled Riven close, his voice low.
"Then let them come. I'll let the world burn before I let them take you."
End of Chapter Thirty-Nine