The council chamber was a crucible of silence that morning. The air inside burned with unease, thick enough to choke on. Elders sat high upon their crescent dais, robed in ceremonial golds and crimsons, yet no shimmer of reverence lingered in their expressions only the slow erosion of trust.
I stood alone in the center, my boots echoing softly against the marble floor as I took position before them. I had faced enemies with claws and steel, but this was different. This was politics sharpened into daggers, waiting to find the soft spot in my armor.
Lucian, Lira, and Kieran had been barred from the chamber. Not even my Flame-born allies were permitted inside. The council had insisted it was a matter of protocol, but I knew the truth it was isolation. Strip me of allies, strip me of voice.
Elder Vira, ever the voice of tempered wisdom, began the session. "We are gathered under the Oath Flame to discuss the future of the bearer. Let judgment be guided not by fear, but by truth."
Her words sounded noble. But truth had long since taken flight from these halls.
Elder Saran, clad in robes of ink-dark crimson, rose to speak next. "Aurora Quinn, bearer of the Fourth Seal, has returned from the North carrying not just the Flame but shadows. She disobeyed council command. She awakened ancient forces. She now walks with knowledge no mortal was meant to hold."
He stepped forward, palms open as if offering peace, though his tone carved wounds.
"She is no longer the Aurora we trusted. And I ask how long before her power becomes a threat to all of us?"
A ripple of murmurs spread through the chamber. I held my ground.
"I have done only what was necessary," I said, voice even but firm. "I went north to seek answers. To understand the seal I carry and what lies beneath it. I faced what none of you would dare, and I returned not corrupted, but changed. Changed because I learned."
"You admit it then," Saran said quickly, seizing the moment. "You are changed. The question is: into what?"
"I am still Flamebearer," I replied. "I carry the same fire that protected this valley from the scourge of the Wraith War. The same fire that held back the corrupted tides of Ashrend. Have you forgotten who stood in the breach when the Gate cracked open?"
Vira raised her hand. "Let the vote proceed."
One by one, the elders rose. Elder Thorne, loyal to Vira's teachings, voted to support me. So did Elder Ilan. But the rest… they hesitated. They fidgeted. They exchanged glances like cowards weighing who might win before choosing a side.
Four votes to retain me. Four against.
All eyes turned to Elder Saran.
He rose slowly, like a priest preparing a sermon.
"For years, I have warned of unbridled magic. I've seen it tear kingdoms apart, corrupt good men, poison sacred grounds. And yet..." he paused, his sharp gaze fixed on mine, "Aurora has stood against the darkness time and time again. If what she carries is dangerous, then so too is the only weapon we have to face what's coming."
Gasps whispered across the room.
"I vote to keep her," he finished.
The silence that followed was thunderous.
Vira nodded solemnly. "The bearer remains."
My knees didn't shake, but I felt the tension leave my shoulders like smoke dissolving. I had won.
Barely.
That evening, Lucian wrapped me in a tight embrace the moment I left the chamber. Kieran and Lira weren't far behind, expressions a mix of relief and frustration.
"I thought we were going to have to tear down the doors," Lucian muttered.
"They came close," I said. "But Saran surprised me."
Kieran frowned. "He plays a longer game. Always has."
I should have known that victories earned in politics are often temporary and come with hidden costs.
That night, Emberreach trembled.
It was not the shaking of earth, but something older. Deeper. As though the foundation of the temple groaned beneath the weight of an unseen hand.
Lucian and I ran through torch-lit corridors until we reached the Flame Vault. The protective wards around it sparked violently then failed altogether.
The blade was gone.
The obsidian monolith, the cursed weapon brought back from the North, had been secured behind layers of sigils, divine barriers, and blood-sealed locks. Now it lay missing, and its pedestal cracked in half as if struck by lightning from within.
"Who had access to this chamber?" I asked the trembling archivist.
"Only a few," he stammered. "Elder Vira. Guardian Harun. And... Lira."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"She would never..." I whispered.
But her room was empty.
Her pendant an oath relic was left on her bed, its fire gone cold. A small, deliberate scorch mark marred the edge of her window.
She hadn't been taken.
She had left.
We called an emergency council session at dawn. Panic rippled beneath the surface of every whispered exchange. Though Saran held his tongue, I saw the calculation in his eyes.
"This cannot be public," Elder Thorne urged. "The valley cannot survive more uncertainty."
"But it's truth," I countered. "We've been betrayed. And not by a stranger. By one of us."
I looked around. Every face was haunted.
The blade was alive.
And someone was using it.
That night, I stood alone before the Oath Flame. Its fire burned low, as if burdened by the same unease that gripped my heart.
Lucian approached, his voice low. "You think she took it for someone else."
"I know she did," I said. "She would never betray me unless something or someone forced her to believe it was right."
"You think she's being used?"
I shook my head. "No. She chose. But not for power. For purpose. And that's more dangerous than greed."
Lucian nodded. "Then we find her before the blade does."
Far from Emberreach, in the hollow ruins of the southern cliffs, Lira knelt before a shallow flame. The blade pulsed darkly in her grip, its whispering voice curling around her like smoke.
A cloaked figure stood behind her.
"You've done well," he said, voice like gravel and frost. "She suspects nothing."
Lira swallowed hard. "I don't want to hurt her."
The figure stepped closer. "You already have."
Lira looked down at the blade. It shimmered red for a moment, then black.
"She won't understand," she murmured.
"No," said the figure. "But the world will. When it burns."
And as Lira raised the blade, her oath burned away, piece by piece.