Night fell over the Emberfen Wastes like a slow exhale, the sky glowing with trapped heat and the scent of scorched salt. The Council of Cinders had not yet made their decision, but Rose and her allies had been offered the "Hospitality of the Flame"—which, so far, included a tent made of dragon-hide and tea that tasted like molten cinnamon.
Rose paced outside, her boots crunching glassy soil. The firelight from the council ring flickered against her face, making her look like a god of war had carved her out of a hearth.
Mortain emerged from the tent. He didn't speak right away, simply watching her. When she didn't stop pacing, he finally said, "You're worried they'll say no."
"No," she said. "I'm worried they'll say yes—for the wrong reasons."
Mortain tilted his head. "Such as?"
"They see us as firepower. Not people. They see the storm and the flame and think, how can this burn our enemies? Not what are they risking?"
He nodded. "You want allies, not opportunists."
"I want people who'll stand beside me because they believe in the world we're trying to save—not just in the ruins they can dance on afterward."
Mortain stepped closer, quiet, then said, "You're not alone in this."
Rose stopped, finally meeting his eyes. "You know they'll come for you first. If we move forward with this, your old kind—your siblings, your pantheon—they'll see you as a traitor."
"They already do," he said with a faint smile. "But let them. I'd rather fall a thousand times as myself than stand once more as something I'm not."
There was a beat of silence.
Then he added, almost shyly, "You've made me braver than I ever was as a god."
Rose's fire flared behind her eyes. "And you've made me believe I'm more than chaos on two legs."
His hand found hers, tentative at first. She didn't pull away.
In that moment, the storm and the flame were quiet—not diminished, but at peace.
A flicker of movement near the council's ring broke their silence. Basil stepped out of the shadows, where he'd clearly been eavesdropping, arms crossed.
"I hate to interrupt the warm fuzzies," he said, "but they've lit the second torch."
Rose blinked. "Meaning?"
"They're calling the vote."
Nimbus zipped overhead, the ember-swirled sky catching on his cloud-body like a spark-dappled cloak. "Ten to cast. Five needed for the pact. One no, and we're back to running."
Mortain looked to Rose. "Are you ready?"
She smirked. "Always."
They stepped into the ring together. The Council of Cinders watched them from their obsidian thrones, ancient and sharp.
The lead councilor stood.
"Rose of the Flame," he intoned, "and Mortain, once of Storm—speak your final truth."
Rose lifted her chin, power thrumming beneath her skin.
"We will not kneel," she said. "We will not burn for you. But we will burn with you—if you have the courage to stand in the fire."
The wind stilled.
Then the first vote was cast.