The celebration began as all things in Emberfen did—loud, flaming, and slightly dangerous.
Once the pact was sealed, the Council of Cinders summoned the Emberkin: flame-sprites, lava-born dancers, and fire-summoners who lit up the night like a festival of stars falling in reverse. The sky shimmered with smoke-woven patterns, and even the ash cracked with joy beneath their feet.
Rose stood beside Mortain on a ridge overlooking the revelry, her fingers still warm from the ceremonial flame she'd held when she and Mortain sealed the oath in fire. She didn't say anything at first—she just watched.
People were dancing. Laughing. Living.
She found it almost disorienting. When had peace started feeling more dangerous than war?
Mortain, sensing her thoughts, said quietly, "They believe in you."
Rose arched a brow. "Me? I'm just the chaos. They believe in the fire."
"Because you are the fire."
She turned to face him. His storm-gray eyes were lit by nearby flame, but they held a softness she rarely saw—one that wasn't ancient or powerful or divine. Just... mortal. Present.
"I used to think fire destroyed everything it touched," she said.
Mortain nodded. "I used to think storms could only drown."
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then he said, "You were brilliant today. You didn't flinch. You didn't plead. You demanded respect and they gave it to you."
Rose snorted. "You say it like I had a plan."
"You didn't?"
"No. I just got angry and decided not to hide it."
He laughed—an actual laugh. Deep, real. And it hit her like a spark to dry leaves: she wanted to hear that again.
A long pause followed, and she said, more quietly, "They'll come for us now, won't they?"
Mortain's smile faded, but not into sadness. Into certainty. "Yes. The gods will move. They won't tolerate this kind of rebellion."
"I'm not afraid of them."
"You should be."
"Are you?"
He looked at her for a long time, then shook his head. "No. Not when I'm with you."
She felt heat curl in her chest—different from the Bramble Flame. Wilder, gentler. The kind that could warm a home, not just burn one down.
Before she could say anything, Nimbus floated down beside them, dripping melted marshmallow from an unfortunate encounter with fire-roasted snacks. "I'm ninety percent sugar and ten percent fear. But hey, the locals love me."
Basil followed close behind, stuffing a chunk of smoked lizard meat into his mouth. "Don't trust the punch. It moves."
Rose grinned. "Good to know."
Mortain touched her arm lightly. "We should rest. Tomorrow, we prepare the first march. If the gods are coming… we'll need more than allies. We'll need an army."
Rose nodded, but her eyes lingered on the firelit crowd below—on the mortals who danced like the world hadn't tried to kill them yesterday.
"We'll give them something worth fighting for," she said.
Mortain met her gaze. "No. You already have."