Whispers in the Night
Ashvale no longer slept soundly.
When darkness draped its ruins, huts trembled with whispering. Families huddled in corners, voices hushed yet urgent. No songbirds dared to sing in the trees; only the wind stirred, and the snapping of embers in the hearths.
But even the wind carried words.
"He cannot stay."
"He'll draw soldiers here."
"We'll all die because of him."
"Haprer to turn him in now, ere armies come."
The fear grew teeth.
And Lioran knew. He heard them every time he passed, though their tongues stilled as soon as his shadow fell over their door. Their whispers clung to him like ash, though he did not falter.
Kyrris padded at his heels, bigger now, its scaled body the size of a wolf. Its molten eyes locked on all that moved, its tail looping in slow threat. The villagers cowered from it, cursing, but none would raise a hand.
Not yet.
....
Tomas's Plan
Old Tomas called a group of men into his hut. His cane leaned against the wall, but his voice was firm.
"Farren did what had to be done. By now he will have arrived at Dunghal. The duke will come."
The men shifted restlessly. "And if the duke will not spare us?"
Tomas's eyes were flint-hard. "Then we save our own skins by demonstrating we are not in league. When soldiers enter Ashvale, they will want one thing: the boy and his monster. If we bind him, if we offer him up willingly, then maybe they will spare the rest of us."
There was a heavy silence afterwards, full of guilt and relief.
Finally, one of the men grumbled, "And what if he fights back?
Tomas bent forward, his creased face cast in shadow by the flame. "Then we will have to be prepared to strike when he sleeps. Fire will burn, but even fire can be extinguished if the fuel is taken."
The men looked at each other, uncomfortable but desperate. Survival had always come before loyalty.
....
Mira's Despair
Mira heard them. She had slipped into Tomas's hut in order to beg him one last time, but his words pierced her like knives.
She stepped back into the cold, hand against her mouth. Her heart pounded. Her people—her neighbors—plotted to kill her son.
Her son.
Tears seared down her face as she stumbled blindly back to her hut. Within, Lioran stooped over Kyrris, shaping small flames, blood still glistening on his lips from effort. His eyes glowed with the same hot light as always.
Mira fell against the wall, weeping.
"Leave," she gagged. "You have to leave Ashvale, Lioran, before they kill you."
He gazed at her, and for an instant, his eyes softened. But then there flared within him the ember of rage, and his lips twisted into a thin smile.
"If they attempt it, they will find out why fire is feared."
She shook her head, shattered. "You sound no longer human."
His gray eyes shone dimly, abnormally, unwinking. "Perchance I am not."
....
Dunghal's Rising
Somewhere far to the south, at the stonemake core of Dunghal Keep, the court of the duke burned with preparation.
Messengers thronged the halls. Armor crashed. The stag banners of House Rhaemond spread in the torchlight.
Duke Rhaemond stood at the railing, looking out over the courtyard below where soldiers formed ranks. His lips curled into a smile. "The dragon age ended centuries ago. And yet… one comes to me. Mine, if I take it."
Next to him, the court mage bent low. "With the beast captive, your armies will be invincible. Kingdoms will bow."
The Pure Flame priest glared. "Or kingdoms will burn. Abominations cannot be governed, only cleansed."
But Rhaemond did not heed him. His eyes moved instead to Ser Kaelen, upon his knees in shining mail.
"You rode to Ashvale, witnessed the boy aflame. Speak truth: is he threat, or instrument?"
Kaelen's head came up. His cold, hard eyes held no fear. "Both, my lord. His flame is wild, his power untrained. But I say to you—if we leave him to his beast, it will be one we cannot bind. More productive to strike now, while his monster is still young."
The duke's head moved in slow agreement, his face pleased. "Then ride with my vanguard, Ser Kaelen. Test him again. If he kneels, let him live. If he resists—
Kaelen's fist gripped his hilt of a sword. "Then I will kill him myself."
....
The Bond Strengthens
Deep in the woods of Ashvale, Lioran stretched himself.
He stood bare-chested, his chest heaving, his arms shuddering as he pushed flame into shape. Fire coiled around itself like snakes, twined into a shield, whipped outward like a lash. Each shape seared his body raw, his veins crying out with every beat of the ember.
Kyrris kept pace with him, fire breathing from its mouth, wings growing wider by the day. Its muscles grew thick and strong, its scales becoming harder ridges, darker in color. The trees trembled when it roared.
And always, their breaths synchronized.
Two fires. Two hearts.
One bond.
When Lioran stumbled, dropping to his knees, Kyrris pressed its snout to his chest, enveloping him in warmth, urging him up once more.
"Good," he breathed, voice harsh. "Together we flourish. Together we overcome."
And deep inside, the ember glowed brighter, hungrier.
....
The Priest's Vision
Meanwhile in Dunghal, the Pure Flame's priest crouched by a brazier, reciting incantations. His eyes rolled back as the fire blazed, visions swelling before him.
He beheld a boy wrapped in flame, standing on burning cities. He beheld a dragon made immense, its wings occluding the sun. He beheld kingdoms falling, temples crashing, and the earth covered in ash.
Sweat streamed down his forehead as the vision dissolved. His chest labored.
"This is not a sign of blessing," he murmured. "It is devastation. The boy is not savior, but curse.
He stood up, resolve blazing in his eyes. If the duke would not kill the boy, then the Church would.
....
Betrayal Brewing
In Ashvale, the men Tomas had rallied conducted their stealthy preparations. Ropes were dragged out of barns, axes honed, chains of iron rusty but unbroken.
They concealed their purpose with silence, waiting for the time when fear would overwhelm hesitation.
Mira sensed it in each glance they directed her. Afraid, ashamed, but determined. She longed to scream, to plead that they not do this, but her throat was empty.
She prayed—and feared the response.
.....
Lioran's Oath
That evening, under a sky of iron-gray clouds, Lioran and Kyrris stood at the border of the forest. Whispers on the wind brought the fear, but he did not listen.
He gazed south, toward the duke's lands. He could feel it—shadows closing in, marching men, steel and flags approaching.
The ember glowed fiercely, agitated.
"Bring them," he breathed, fingers on Kyrris's neck. "If Ashvale betrays me, if the duke would bind me, if the Church declares me abomination—let them all bring it."
His smoky eyes burned with fire.
"I will not bend. I will burn the world before I bend."
Kyrris let out a roar, wings unfolding, a column of smoke into the night.
And in the village below, Tomas's co-conspirators stood frozen at the sound, hearts trembling.
For even in fear, they knew.
The boy was no longer theirs.