Heat shimmered above the bridge as Jayden stepped past the crimson gates.
For a heartbeat he thought the fire in his chest had flared again, but it was only the air of Pyraeth—the floating city that pulsed with its own inner flame.
Everywhere he looked, glass and metal twisted into impossible towers. Rivers of molten light ran between them, coursing through channels that hissed softly, feeding the heart of the city. People walked those glowing streets as if the heat meant nothing to them—soldiers, smiths, children playing with sparks in their palms.
Jayden felt the warmth press against his skin like a living thing. The flame inside him stirred in response, as though Pyraeth recognized him.
"Keep your head low," said the woman who had greeted him on the bridge. Her armor reflected the firelight in shifting golds. "The Council doesn't like surprises."
"I'm not sure they'll like me at all," Jayden muttered.
Her mouth twitched in something like amusement. "That depends on what kind of heir you intend to be."
She led him through the outer ward. The streets were alive with clangs of metal and song—smiths forging blades that burned blue instead of red, vendors selling fruit that smoked gently in the sun. Jayden tried not to stare, but the sights overwhelmed him. Back in the Vale, the world had been small and quiet. Here, every sound carried weight, every breath shimmered with power.
At the center of the city rose a tower shaped like a torch, wide at its base and narrowing toward a crown of flame. "The Ember Spire," the woman said as they approached. "The Council hall. Don't speak unless spoken to, and for the love of the Flame, don't try to show off."
"I wasn't planning to," Jayden said, though the truth was he barely trusted his control.
Inside, the hall blazed with light. Columns of obsidian ran to a vaulted ceiling, their edges etched with glowing runes. Seven thrones stood in a circle around a great brazier whose fire burned without smoke. The heat made Jayden's eyes sting.
The woman struck her spear against the floor. "My lords and ladies of the Council, the traveler has arrived."
One of the figures rose. An old man with eyes the color of cooled embers studied Jayden in silence. "Step forward," he said. "Let us see the mark."
Jayden raised his hand, revealing the glowing sigil. Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
"The flame answers him," someone whispered.
"Impossible. The House of Embers was lost."
The elder stepped closer. "What is your name, boy?"
"Jayden," he said. His voice sounded small against the roar of the brazier.
"Jayden… son of whom?"
"I don't know." The admission came out rough. "Kaelen—he told me I was born of this world, but my parents lived in the other. He said they vanished before the war."
At the name Kaelen, the murmurs grew louder. The elder's eyes narrowed. "Kaelen the Keeper lives?"
"He was with me," Jayden said quietly. "But the shadows attacked us before we reached the bridge. He… he fell."
A silence heavier than grief settled over the room. Then another voice spoke—sharper, younger. A woman with hair like flame and armor traced with silver stepped forward from her throne. "If what you say is true, then the Gate has opened again. That cannot happen by accident."
Her gaze cut into him. "Who are you, Jayden of nowhere? What have you brought upon us?"
"I brought nothing," he said, his pulse quickening. "I was dragged into this. I only want to know who I am."
The elder lifted a hand. "Enough, Lady Seral. The flame does not lie. If the mark accepts him, his blood is our blood." He turned back to Jayden. "But proof is not acceptance. You carry the legacy of fire, yet you do not command it."
Jayden felt the challenge in the words. "Then teach me."
The councilors exchanged glances. The elder's mouth curved in the faintest smile. "Bold. Perhaps too bold. Very well. You will stay within the Spire. You will train under the Masters until the next cycle of suns. If by then you have not burned yourself—or us—then we will speak again."
The woman who had escorted him bowed slightly. "I'll see him to his quarters."
As she led him away, Jayden risked a look back at the circle of thrones. The councilors were already arguing in hushed tones. For the first time since crossing the Gate, he felt something colder than fear: suspicion.
They gave him a room high in the Spire, its walls of dark stone alive with veins of orange light. From the window he could see the endless sky and the floating peaks that drifted like islands in the clouds. He couldn't decide if the view made him feel small or infinite.
A knock sounded behind him. The armored woman entered again, now without her helm.
Her hair was a deep auburn, streaked with soot. "You handled that better than most," she said. "The Council hasn't welcomed a stranger in years."
Jayden managed a tired smile. "Didn't exactly feel like a welcome."
"It wasn't," she said simply. Then, after a pause: "My name's Lyra. Captain of the Ember Guard. For now, I'm assigned to keep you alive."
"'For now'?"
"Depends on whether the Council decides you're a threat."
He sat on the edge of the bed. "You don't seem convinced."
Lyra crossed her arms. "You remind me of someone I once knew. A soldier who thought he could out-burn destiny." She shrugged. "He was wrong. Maybe you won't be."
Before he could ask more, she tossed something onto the table—a pendant shaped like a flame. "Wear it when you train. It keeps the fire from turning on its bearer."
Jayden picked it up. The metal was warm, almost pulsing. "Does it really work?"
Lyra smiled thinly. "You'll find out tomorrow."
The next morning began before dawn. Lyra led him to a courtyard at the Spire's summit where a dozen warriors moved through patterns of flame. Their bodies glowed faintly, each motion trailing embers that hung in the air like sparks from a forge.
"Focus on breath," Lyra said. "The flame answers rhythm, not rage."
Jayden tried to mimic the stance she showed him—one palm open, the other clenched near his heart. He inhaled, felt the heat rise through his chest, exhaled, and let it flow. A faint line of fire traced the air before flickering out.
"Again," Lyra said. "You're thinking too hard."
"I'm trying not to burn the place down."
"That's the thinking I'm talking about."
He tried again. This time the flame held longer, dancing between his fingers like a living ribbon. For a moment he felt a thrill—then pain shot through his arm, searing up to his shoulder. He gasped, losing control; the flame flared wildly.
Lyra's hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. Her own flame surged, wrapping his in gold light. The two fires merged briefly, then vanished. She released him with a sharp look. "You fight it every time. Fire isn't a beast to leash—it's breath. Let it move through you."
He rubbed his wrist, grimacing. "Easy for you to say."
"Not really." She turned away, gaze distant. "It took me years to stop fearing it. Maybe that's why they chose me to train you."
Jayden looked at her curiously. "Why? What happened?"
Lyra didn't answer. Instead she said, "Again."
Hours passed. Sweat mixed with ash on his skin, but gradually the flame began to obey. It no longer burst out of him—it flowed, steady and controlled. By sunset, when the city's lights mirrored the clouds, Lyra nodded in approval.
"You're rough, but you learn fast," she said.
"Tomorrow we test what you've learned in real combat."
"Combat?"
She pointed toward the horizon. "Out there. In the Ember Fields. If you want the Council to take you seriously, you'll have to prove the fire doesn't own you."
Jayden followed her gaze. Far beyond the Spire, storms flickered across the clouds, flashes of red lightning tearing through shadow. For the first time since leaving the Vale, he felt something like purpose burn beneath his ribs.
"I'll be ready," he said.
Lyra smiled faintly. "We'll see."
She turned to leave, but hesitated at the door. "Jayden… whatever they tell you about your parents—don't take it all as truth. The Council has their own history, and their own guilt."
He looked up sharply. "You knew them?"
"I knew of them." Her eyes softened. "And if you're truly their son, then Aetherion hasn't seen the last of its storms."
When she was gone, Jayden sat alone in the fading light. He held the pendant in his hand, feeling its warmth pulse with his heartbeat. Below, Pyraeth shimmered like a living forge.
He didn't know what awaited him in the fields, or whether Kaelen was truly dead, but one thing had become clear: the fire no longer frightened him. It was his to carry—and to master.
He whispered into the dark, "I'll find the truth. Whatever it costs."
The flame within the pendant flickered in answer, as though it understood.